When they started walking, slowly following Hershel who had already disinfected his hands and put on gloves and was busy getting one of his surgery trays by the time they arrived, she realized that he was leaning on the two of them with nearly all of his weight. He grunted with the effort of moving his injured leg every time he dragged it forward. Once they reached Hershel's table Michonne let go of Daryl and stepped back, giving him space, and Carol carefully helped him climb onto the table and lie down.

Turning on his one remaining foot, Hershel set his covered tray down on the small table next to Daryl and slid onto his stool while Carol leaned over Daryl, who had closed his eyes as soon as his head had touched the table. She whispered that she was removing the bandage on his leg and taking off his pants now to give Hershel access to the cut in his thigh. Hearing her voice, Daryl nodded numbly. But as soon as she started working his pants down over his narrow hips he got agitated, finally reaching back for his pants pocket with his face contorting in pain as he strained the gunshot wound in his bicep.

His hand came back forward in a tight fist, and after that he quieted down and let her work, relaxing enough for her to continue undressing him. Once his thigh was exposed, she sucked in a lungful of air at the sight of the long, jagged horizontal tear in his skin. It still wasn't bleeding, but she could see pine needles, small leaves, and grit stuck under the loose flap of skin and fat covering the hole, and instantly felt sick to her stomach.

Fighting to regain control of herself and her fear for him, she asked Hershel if she should start working on Daryl's arm, and he told her to go ahead. She removed the soaked bandage, competently dug out the bullet with a pair of tweezers while doing her best to ignore his contorted face and low grunts of pain, cleaned and stitched him up and bandaged his arm properly. More than ever, she was grateful for the medical training she was receiving from Hershel every time someone came in injured. She just wished it weren't Daryl so often.

In the meantime, Hershel placed clean sheets over Daryl's left leg and abdomen, uncovered his tray, got a syringe out of its sterile packaging and carefully injected Daryl with a local anaestetic all around the gash to numb his thigh, six pinpricks in all, before he started to work on it.

Once Daryl no longer reacted to Hershel touching his leg, he pulled up the flap of tissue to get a closer look at what he was faced with. First he removed the larger things - leaves, needles, small stones - with a pair of tweezers, then grabbed a squeeze bottle of boiled water and superficially cleaned the wound by squirting water into it. Next, he used a scalpel to cut out dirt as well as tissue smashed beyond healing, cleaning the wound until he was reasonably certain that there was no danger of Daryl tearing any major blood vessels as long as he took it slowly and it was clean enough to be sure it wouldn't start festering after he'd closed it.

Rick showed up, an extremely worried expression on his face, explaining that Michonne had told him that Daryl had been injured, but Hershel assured him that their hunter would be okay and would only need a few days of rest to give his injuries time to start healing. To maintain Daryl's privacy he then sent Rick off again, asking him to come back later to help get their patient to his bed. By now, he'd started stitching Daryl up, finally handing the needle to Carol to finish the job.

Both Hershel and Carol noted with amazement how some of the tension seemed to drain right out of Daryl as soon as it was Carol alone working on him instead of just assisting Hershel. While he had managed to open up cosiderably to the members of their family, an older man touching his body as he lay injured and helpless still threw him back, trapping him in his past. He started mumbling about walkers and someone getting eaten on a sidewalk, a radio and reinforcements, until Carol gently ran one hand down his good arm and whispered that he was home and safe with them. Only then did he manage to truly calm down.

Carol carefully dressed and bandaged his thigh, which was turning black and blue by now, while Hershel gently inspected Daryl's hip and knee to find out if the joints had been damaged by the jolt they'd suffered at the impact of the shaft cover. He made sure to finish quickly for the aneasthetic was beginning to wear off. When Hershel helped him sit up on the table once they were both done, Daryl groaned with pain, his whole body aching, and Hershel all but forced him to wash down some painkillers with a glass of water.

Rick returned and assisted Carol in getting the younger Dixon off the table, draping a sheet around his hips as his pants were beyond rescue, and supported him on the way up to his cell and onto his cot. Rick told him to stay put and heal quickly while Carol announced that she'd get him some water and be back right away. With Rick in his cell anyway, Daryl took the opportunity to fill him in on the nature of the group they had met, explaining to what extreme lengths they had gone to capture them alive.

„We find any people that set traps, we need ta take them out, all of ‚em", he said tensely, clearly agitated as he squinted up at Rick. „They sent thirteen people to catch the two of us, and half of them only when they thought we were getting away. I dunno what they woulda done with us, but it can't be good." His eyes seemed to drill holes into Rick now. „They must never find the prison."

Reaching out with his right hand, or rather, fist, he pulled open the drawer of his small bedside table doubling as a nightstand with one hooked finger, dropped whatever was in his fist into it, closed the drawer with a pained grimace and rested his arm on the cot again with a relieved sigh. „Leader's name is Gareth, and they're afraid as hell of him." Now he raised his head, still holding Rick's eyes. The tension in the cell was almost palpable as he added: „These were some ruthless pricks, and if they're that afraid of their leader, he's gotta be a piece of work - Randall, Governor, they got nothin' on him." Rick, deeply alarmed, assured him he'd brief everyone going on runs from now on to look out for these people, and Daryl managed to relax after that.

When Carol returned after a few minutes with a bottle of water and a plate of food, he was calmer than before, and Rick left them alone once she told him she'd sit with Daryl and make sure he had everything he needed. Carol's heart ached when she looked down at their battered hunter. Daryl's open, empty hands rested on the covers beside him and his eyes were closed. There were dark circles under them, and she hoped that he'd be able to get in a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Hearing her set the plate on his nightstand with a clinking sound, he opened his eyes once more. „‚ve put it away, it's safe", he mumbled, his speech slightly slurred with exhaustion and the added effect of the painkiller. Although she had no idea what he might be talking about, she told him that was great and asked if it would be okay to clean him off a little more as he was still quite dirty. With a weary nod he said that yes, it was okay, then mumbled: "Didn't think I'd make it back for some time there." He hesitated briefly, then added, softly: „Sorry if I scared ya."

Her vision blurred with tears as she finally gave in to her emotions. "You had me quite scared for a while", she admitted. „When you got out of the car, the blood on your arm … the bandages … Not knowing if you'd been -„ She closed her eyes, unable to breathe as she remembered how the fear of a bite under one of those bandages had kindled panic and the chold ache of loss inside her.

She made a conscious effort to calm down and gently started wiping down his good arm with the wet towel she had brought back. „But you're good now. Hershel says you'll heal just fine if we manage to keep the wounds from getting infected. All he's really worried about now is you getting antsy again by tomorrow." She managed a brief smile before turning serious again. „I'll forgive you for scaring me - just promise that you'll take better care of yourself."

"Can't", he mumbled, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He seemed to be already asleep from the way he looked. "But I c'n promise I'll try. Tried like hell today. Even climbed a balcony to get away from walkers and murderers. That good 'nuff for ya?" He already sounded playful again, probably because the painkiller was working, and she was infinitely grateful for the effort he was making for her here. He certainly looked as if he'd gone through hell and back today.

"You're right, my man of honor, you shouldn't make promises you can't keep", she whispered, aware, just as he was, that one day she would wait for him in vain, that one day he would not make it back, no matter how hard he tried. And it wouldn't even necessarily be his fault - that was just the way the world worked these days. "I'll be good if you promise to try."

"Alright, then", he murmured, clearly on the verge of sleep now, "I promise ta be more careful, Carol." His use of her name brought tears to her eyes again. He said it rarely, at least to her, as if it was too precious to use every day, and her breath caught in her throat every time he said it. He always gave her the impression when saying it of treating himself to something special, giving a gift not so much to her as to himself.

She reached out and gently took his dirty right hand, curled up on his stomach now, and squeezed it briefly, overjoyed when he didn't flinch away or tense up from her touch. Leaning down, she brought her mouth close to his ear, his longish hair tickling her nose, and whispered: "I'll hold you to it."

Feeling her next to him, he finally allowed himself to let go, one corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly even as he fell asleep.