Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

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"Daryl..." The girl breathed, slumping against a tree before passing out entirely. Her body slipped to the ground, in what seemed like slow motion. 

Daryl approached the girl, keeping his crossbow trained on her head. When he nudged her shoulder with her boot, her entire body slumped. Unconcious for sure. She really had come after that mutt. He hesitated. He knew he couldn't leave her out here, but he wasn't sure where all those scratches had come from. A walker? A knife? Trees? Those thoughts kept him from slinging her over his shoulder and trekking back to the prison right away.

"You better not fucking die on me, damnit." He muttered as he slung his crossbow across his back. It'd be easier to carry her in his arms rather than carry her over his shoulder and hold the crossbow. However, it wouldn't end up very well if they ran into any walkers. Never the less, he was willing to take that chance.

He lifted the light girl into his arms, her entire body simply slumping against his own. If he hadn't seen the soft rise and fall of her chest, he would have assumed she was a goner. He looked down at her, his expression almost fond. In the woods he could lay down that bad ass act for just a little while, because nobody was there.

He shuffled his way back to the prison, grunting every now and then when his boot snagged on a stick or something. Every slightest sound could attract all the walkers in an area, and that was the last thing they needed at the prison. There was already a large enough build up- they didn't need a dozen more. Nevermind he didn't want to fight while guarding an unconcious girl.

Finally, he saw the shining light reflecting off of the chain links. He moved quickly along the fence until he reached the gate, where somebody was already pulling the doors open. Glenn and Micchone.

"That doesn't look like no lunch." Michonne snickered. She stopped when she saw Presley's muddy face as he walked by. The dark brown eyes widened. "Well I'll be damned..."

"Holy shit. It's Presley." Glenn said, his eyes as wide as saucers as he stated the obvious. Ignoring the both of them and muttering nonsense under his breath, Daryl continued to the prison. He approached Cell Block C and entered, ignoring the curious looks he gained from the people. "Hershal! Hershal!"

"Dear Jesus child, must you yell?" The man muttered as he hobbled out of his cell. He stopped when he saw the girl hanging in Daryl's strong arms. "Well I'll be damned. Here, lay her on the bed." Hershal ordered, motioning for Daryl to carry her into the cell. He did as he was supposed to, laying her carefully on the matress.

"She alive?" Carol asked, frowning from the center of the room.

"Yea, barely." Daryl muttered, stepping away to give Hershal some room to examine her. "Found 'er stumblin' through the woods. Passed out cold when she saw me." He explained when Rick entered the room as well.

"Well isn't it our old friend Presley." He said, tsking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "What a lovely surprise."

"It'll be a helluva surprise if she dies and turns." Daryl muttered, leaning against the wall as Hershal lifted the shirt over her stomach, lifting it until they could all only see the bottom of her bra. They all went silent at the sight.

Her rib cage was black in multiple spots, obviously broken. Daryl cringed, knowing that the way he had been carrying her couldn't have helped her the least bit. There was virtually no way she could have done this on her own- even if she had deliberately thrown herself down a hill. Somebody had done this to her. His hands clenched at the sight of large hand prints on her arms and on her side. He hadn't even noticed those before.

It looked as if she had went to war against a hundred men.

"Broken ribs. Two at least." Hershal muttered, lowering her shirt and examining her bare arms. "A hand prints... Looks like somebody grabbed her." He said tenderly at the red and yellow marks on her pale skin. He laid down her arm and stepped back, shaking his head.

"A person did this to her?" Carol gasped.

"She was beat pretty badly. Her breathing is pretty ragged and shaky." He noted, nodding his head towards the rough rise and fall of her chest. "But she should make it, if she's as tough as she played off."

"Zeva!" A sudden voice shouted, meek and quiet, no doubt feminine. Either Lizzie or Mika. They could hear the clicking of nails against the concrete ground and the metal stairs, and suddenly the black dog appeared at the entrance of the cell. Taking no time to look at the people surrounding her owner, the dog hopped on the foot of the bed and laid down, pressing her face against Presley's thighs.

None of them said anything about the sudden presence of the dog, for they were all afraid to try and move her.

"There's not much we can do until she wakes up." Hershal admitted. "Those scratches are all shallow and have already stopped bleeding, and we'll have to wrap up her rib cage when she's awake."

"We should take turns keeping watch on her," Rick said, quietly. "just in case."

"I'll take first watch." Daryl muttered.

"You just got back-." Rick tried to intervene, but Daryl shut him up with a glare.

"I found her and I brought her back." He spat, more rudely than intended. "She's my responsibility."

- - -

I kind of liked this chapter actually xD

Guys look at Daryl carrying Carol. If I were Melissa McBride, I would probably piss myself while reading the script if Daryl had to carry me. *drools*

Vote, comment, xo