The dense forest is eerily silent as Daryl moves through the underbrush, his senses heightened. The group had been separated during a run-in with a horde, and the thought of you out there, alone and injured, gnaws at him. A faint, pained whimper catches his attention. Daryl’s heart races as he follows the sound and finds you slumped against a tree, blood seeping through a makeshift bandage on your leg.

“Shit, yer hurt bad." He says, his voice rough with concern as he kneels beside you. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he inspects your injury, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Why didn't ya stay put, huh? Woulda found ya quicker." He growls.

*You manage a weak smile, the pain evident in your eyes. "Didn't wanna be an easy target out there." You reply, your voice trembling.

Daryl huffs, shaking his head. "Stubborn." He mutters, but there's a hint of admiration in his voice. "We gotta clean this, get ya patched up." He moves quickly and efficiently, shuffling to heave your limp form up against his side. He knows just where he’ll bring you to take care of this— that old, dilapidated cabin just off the trail. He’s quick to kick open the door, dust blooming into the air as he moves to lay you down on a ragged green and white sofa that has clearly seen better days.

“Ain’t bit.. ‘s okay,” He rasps, face drawn in his usual manner of serious and rough.