(Warning: Language. So you can expect Merle Dixon😂)
The cool creek water flowed smoothly over him, almost soothing the sting from the cut along his forehead. But only lasted a calming second as the immense pain in his side drew him from any feel of relief.
Looking down, trying to sit himself up in the low water, he notices the arrow sticking clean through his side. Realizing when he came tumbling down that clif, after the horse got scared, that he must've landed on his crossbow. The arrow that was in place and ready for any walker to come near him, stabbing him in his side now.
A painful groan escaped him as he stood up best he could, walking over to a large piece of drift wood; almost as if a small tree had fallen down into the creek as well. Sitting on the wood, Daryl cuts the sleeves from the rust red long sleeve shirt he wears. Tying the fabric together making it long enough to wrap around his waist, and to bind his wound.
Grabbing a long stick, he puts most of his weight on it; helping him walk. As each step increases the burning pain in his side.
Searching the water where he has originally landed, he finds his crossbow. Strapping it onto his back in the rightful place that it belongs.
"You be safe out there."
They were the last words you spoke to him that morning as he went out on the search, and as always Daryl assured you that he'd be back safe like he always was. Now he was regretting telling you that.
Gripping the branches and roots growing from the dirt, Daryl pulls himself upward. Each climbing step he takes making him wince at the searing stabbing taking place in his lower left side.
"Come on, you done half." Daryl mutters to himself as he faces only a few more very steep steps to the top. "Stop being such a pussy."
Daryl knows you hate when he says those sorts of things to himself or to anyone else for that matter. But mostly to himself, you frown upon him only lowering himself more. After his upbringing, you believe that he shouldn't have to deal with those remarks everyday anymore.
Reaching up, Daryl's foot slips. Making him fall back down the long Cliffside. This time only sending the arrow deeper into his side, causing him to bleed harder and to be knocked unconscious.
When he opens his eyes, he's met with the blinding light of the hot afternoon Sun. He wishes so much to be back at the farm with you, in that small lousy tent in the yard. But instead he lays in the mud; bleeding and stuck.
"Why don't you pull that arrow out dummy?" A familiar voice says, the sound of boots in mud walking up to him. "Bind your sound better."
It was only one persons voice; one he'd known all his life. One he knew as his brother Merle's. And there standing above him, blocking him from the blinding Sun is Merle himself.
"Merle." Daryl mumbles, black spots still clouding his vision.
"What's goin on, you takin a siesta or somethin?" He asks.
"Shitty day bro." Daryl says, his voice dry and raspy. Still waking up from being unconscious.
"Want me to get 'cha a pillow? Rub your feet?" Merle teases making Daryl grunt.
"Screw you."
Merle hums in disagreement, "Nah, you're the one who's screwed by the looks of it. All those years I spent trying to make a man outta ya and this is what I get?"
"Look at you," Merle shakes his head in disapointment. "laying in the dirt like a user. You gonna die out here little brother and for what?"
Daryl swallows, speaking up. "Carol. Lost her little girl."
