No Good (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 23

SAXON IS NOT DEAD.  

~Rebel's POV~

"Get off 'em Rebel." Daryl grunted, pushing me off Saxon's bleeding body.

"He's dying!" I yelled at him.

I struggled to move to where I could safely examine Saxon's wound. Daryl looked up at me and his eyes hardened, making him look intimidating. 

"He deserves to." Daryl said harshly.

I flinched at his words and scrambled to my feet, wiping my stinging hands on the pockets of my jeans. I didn't glance back at Daryl or Saxon as I walked back to the RV. Blood was flowing through the knees of my jeans and the palms of my hands were grazed enough to bleed profusely.

"Hershel," I called, "You mind checking out Saxon's wound? Daryl shot him in the arm." 

Hershel nodded at me and hobbled down the steps on his new crutches and with Beth and Lori's help, he made his way towards Saxon. 

Daryl had followed me back towards the RV and he kept trying to talk to me, but I wouldn't hear it. Just because Saxon did what he did, doesn't mean he deserves to die.

Daryl had aimed to kill and if he had another shot, he would've taken it without hesitation.

I moved towards the paper towels in the RV and I dabbed them with the scarce amount of water I had left. I blotted the blood from my hands, hissing when it came into contact.

"Lemme' help." Daryl muttered, trying to take the cloth from my hands. 

"No." I snapped, wiping the cloth the slightest bit rougher across my hands, increasing the pain.

Daryl stood there watching me for a few moments before huffing and exiting the RV. Through the window I saw him board his bike and lean back against the seat, waiting for us to move on again.

I didn't notice when I subconsciously moved out of the RV after him, but I didn't follow him to his bike. Instead, I sat on the ground next to Saxon while Dale worked to cut the arrow out of his bicep. 

His cries of pain were muffled by Beth's hand and Lori was doing her best to hold Saxon down without getting in Hershel's way. Tears slipped down my cheek as I watched him thrash around in pain, trying to escape the grasps weakly.

"How long did you know him?" Hershel asked.

I could see that he was trying to take my mind off all the blood that Saxon was spilling, and it wasn't really working.

"Since I was 15." I muttered, not taking my eyes off Saxon's arms and Hershel's skillful hands.

"That's nice. Did he ever break any bones around you?" Hershel prodded at Saxon's arm tissue and I sucked in a breath.

"Yeah. He was a wrestler and took habit to fight with my brothers." I said, the memory making my eyes glassy.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you." Beth said taking my hand in her free one.

I squeezed her hand tightly and leaned against her shoulder, taking joy in the human comfort she was giving me.

Daryl's face was red and you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him from where he sat on his bike.

"Alright! I think we need to camp overnight. Saxon is clearly in no condition to move on so we may be here for a few days. Set up camp!" Rick ordered.