Daryl's Angel (Book One in the Apocalypse Angel Trilogy)

Chapter 25: Twinsies

We get him into one of the guest bedrooms. Rick and Shane step back, allowing Hershel to help him. Shane leaves swiftly, but Rick stays.

"Daryl? It's ok. I'm here," I say softly as I wipe the blood off his face.

Hershel and Rick lift him up and I pull off his shirt carefully. There's a wound in his side, most likely from an arrow. I also notice that his chest and back are covered in scars, crisscrossing all over. A stab of pain goes through my heart. Everything seems to become a little clearer, seeing the wounds from obvious abuse.

Daryl grunts and his eyes open.

"Hey Daryl," I say, tears welling in my eyes again.

"Hey..." He winces. "Did I get shot?"

"Andrea thought you were a walker," I explain.

"Daryl? Where'd you find this doll?" Rick asks.

"Found it by the creek bed over there. She must have dropped it crossin' there somewhere," Daryl answers, holding his head.

Hershel is still treating the wound on his side, preparing to give him stitches.

"That cuts the grid almost in half," Rick says.

"Yeah. You're welcome," Daryl grumbles, lying back down on the bed.

I continue dabbing lightly at the cut on his head with a damp rag. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly, wincing every once in a while.

"How's he looking?" Rick asks Hershel.

"I had no idea we'd be going through the antibiotics so quickly," he replies. "Any idea what happened to my horse?"

"The one that almost killed me? If it's smart, it left the country," Daryl says, annoyed.

"We call that one Nelly, as in Nervous Nelly," Hershel says, ignoring his comment. "I could've told you she'd throw you if you'd bothered to ask."

Daryl just lays there. I've cleaned off most of the dirt from his arms and body, so he looks relatively clean now. Rick leaves the room, but I stay behind. Hershel finishes stitching up Daryl's head and he wraps it in a bandage.

"Dinner will be ready soon," he tells me.

"I'll just stay here," I say, sitting next to Daryl.

Hershel nods and leaves. As soon as he's gone, Daryl relaxes noticeably.

"I swear, you gave me a heart attack," I say, a few tears slipping down my cheeks.

"Hey hey hey. I'm fine. No tears," he says, wiping off my face.

"You can't always tell me not to cry. You could've died."

"Well, I'm alive, so I'm still here to tell you not to cry." He sighs heavily, shutting his eyes briefly. "I don't need you wastin' tears on me."

I scoot to his side, leaning up against the headboard. He looks up at me, his hand resting on top of mine. A part of me wants to lay down and cuddle right up to him, like at the CDC, but I don't want to risk hitting his injuries and making the pain worse.

"So what exactly happened out there?" I ask.

"I'm on the horse, lookin' for the little girl, and this snake spooks it. Throws me down into a ravine. Damn arrow gets me in the side. Then, walkers attack me, and I gotta take the arrow outta my side and load up my crossbow so I can kill them," he explains.

"And the blood on your face?"

"Got hungry. Ate a squirrel." He shrugs.

"Raw?" I grimace.

"Yeah. Ain't that bad."

Someone knocks on the door, and I get up to open it. Carol stands outside with a tray of food.

"You two must be hungry. I brought you something," she says as she walks in.

Daryl quickly pulls the blankets all around himself, making sure Carol doesn't see his scars as he turns over and hides from her gaze. I meet her eyes, knowing that she saw them too. Our expressions are both pained.

"How're you feeling, Daryl?" she asks kindly, setting the food down.

"Bout as good as I look," he mumbles.

"Let me just say, you've done more for my little girl today than her own daddy did in his whole life. Thank you."

She leans down and gives him a kiss on his forehead. He cringes slightly when she does. Carol gives me a weak smile before going back to the dining room.

I take a deep breath, grabbing some of the meat on the plate and eating it. I sit down on the bed again. Daryl sits up, reaching for his food. He gobbles it down swiftly.

"Daryl?" I ask.

"Yeah?" He swallows some of his mashed potatoes.

"Those scars..." I start, feeling my throat tighten with sadness. "Did your father do that to you?"

A look of immense pain comes over his face, as if he's remembering a distant and painful memory.

"Yeah. Yeah he did," he answers quietly.

"Is that why you have a hard time trusting people? Is that why you're scared of any love anyone wants to show for you?" I ask, moving closer to him. I rest my hand on his gently. "You know that I care about you. You can trust me."

He just looks at me. There's a pain in his eyes that's almost too unbearable to see, but I find myself unable to look away.

"My momma died in a fire. Fell asleep smokin' a cigarette. I was young when it happened," he starts. "Merle was always away, in Juvi or somethin'. My dad was an alcoholic, abusive piece of shit. He would come home, drunk and angry, and he would just...beat me." He chokes, playing it off as a cough. "Merle was the only family I had. He cared for me when he wasn't in Juvi. I'm just another broken person in this broken world." He continues to stare at me. I stay quiet. "I'm only tellin' you cause I care about you too."

"You don't have to be like this. Scared to trust or love. You can start over," I murmur, placing a hand on his jaw gently.

He shuts his eyes at my touch, but not in a pained way. No; instead he looks content, happy. I lean forwards, kissing him on the cheek. I lay down and rest beside him, my head on his defined chest. He hesitates before pressing his lips to my forehead softly. His scruff of a beard tickles my skin, making me smile.

"I don't think we're still just friends after this," he whispers.

"I'm ok with that," I murmur. "Are you?"

He takes a deep breath, looking down at me again. "Yeah. I think I am."

We stay like this for a bit, and I laugh softly.

"What?"

"We've both got bullet wounds now."

"Shut up," he grumbles teasingly.