Title: Stay by Peta2

Summary: Sometimes, the things you find in the woods can change your whole life.

Prompts: Nice: Hands and naughty: Outdoor sex

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

Part One

He returned to camp with his hands drenched in blood. Carol had spied him across the field as he'd marched from the cloak of trees on the edge of the property, striding even faster than usual across the tall, swaying grass, and she watched as each step brought him closer, almost mesmerised by the rhythm of his boots hitting the earth and the drops of blood that left a path behind him, like Hansel and Gretel dropping crumbs. Randomly she thought, walkers might follow that, then shut the thought down before she succeeded in scaring herself and opening her mouth to panic the whole group.

She was one of the first to make it to him, her touch mixed in with the blood before she even knew what was happening, and his eyes clashed with hers so abruptly that they immediately skittered away and he stared at the dirt floor of their camp, flickering up now and again as each new group member crowded him and demanded to know what had happened.

"Hell, man. You still got hands underneath all that red stuff?" Shane shook his head as the others went silent, walking away without a concern in the world while Carol experienced Daryl's unexpected response. He was astoundingly quiet as his hands flexed in hers, somehow tightening around her smaller ones as he breathed out his fury at the nastiness of the comment.

"Jackass," he breathed out angrily. They all heard it, and they all watched him carefully, stunned that he didn't throw himself at Shane and attempt to beat him to a pulp, potential chokeholds be damned.

Carol saw how pale he was, though, noticed when his stiffened posture loosened a little and he swayed to the side. If he hadn't been holding her hands so hard she thought he might well have toppled over.

"We should probably ask Hershel to take a look at your hands," Carol said, then sighed as he seemed to become as aware as everyone else that hers had been captured and almost squeezed to death within his. He threw them away fiercely, the expression on his face one of complete dismay and fury at himself, and without anyone's help, he pivoted to face the farmhouse and made his way in that direction through sheer force of will. Every few steps he seemed to pause, take a breath then move on, and Carol was once again caught by the quickly spilling drops of blood that were leaving a trail of fresh, warm life, from the trees now across the farm. It worried her, and as she frowned in concern, Lori caught her eye and jerked her head toward Daryl.

"You should follow him up. He looks like he's about to pass out. No surprise with how battered that man keeps getting himself. Seems to draw trouble like a moth to a flame," she said with a short laugh and a shake of her long locks.

Rick chuckled and threw an arm across Lori's shoulder. "You best run, Carol," he suggested, a grin almost splitting his face. "Learned enough the last time that Daryl don't have a whole lot of patience with Hershel's points of view."

Before she could take a step in pursuit, however, Daryl had turned back to them and shouted to them from half way across the yard, "Hey, someone best be gettin' that hog I left up at the trees before some other rank dead bastard stumbles along it. Didn' get my hands ripped to shit for nothin'." He stomped off with a new burst of energy, though with a few interesting uncomfortable-looking accents.

Carol looked down at her own hands, now covered in Daryl's blood, and she felt a little odd. She felt a little…warm.

"Guess now we know how he got injured this time," T-Dog said as he ambled up to them, putting on a heavy-duty pair of gloves. "Lucky Andrea wasn't out with her gun this time, too," he chuckled before jogging off across the field.

"You go on," Lori persisted, nudging Carol with her elbow. "Patricia wasn't feelin' so great earlier and was havin' a nap. Hershel might need some help with stitches."

"Of course." Carol shuddered. She could do stitches, she'd done lots of stitches in her time. Okay, well, not that many but she'd definitely done them before and she doubted Hershel needed any help except for maybe trying to keep Daryl calm while he wielded the needle, and what chance she had of achieving that miracle she just had no idea.

It was cooler in the house than outside, a throwback summer's day before Fall got serious and the cool nips of the wind picked up. Goosebumps prickled on Carol's arms as she moved into the house, following the sound of Daryl's curses to the room down the hall that seemed to almost be their permanent hospital with how regularly group members ended up in there needing to be patched up.

"Carol," Hershel greeted, resignation and slight impatience making him frown. "Can you take Daryl to the bathroom and see if you can get most of this blood off? I can't see a thing as it is."

Startled, Carol watched Daryl with wide eyes as he slowly stood from his spot on the bed and then led her out into the hall and the bathroom. His progress was awkward, and from somewhat understanding how his body usually moved, Carol could tell that Daryl was suffering pain from places other than his hands. She didn't bother asking, knowing that his grouchy response would be more than her poor constitution could handle while she was already attempting to clean his hands enough for Hershel to see the actual wounds.

He waited for her to push the bathroom door open and she smiled, encouraged by the manners that kept him from spreading the blood pooling in his hands all over the Greene's house. It was…unexpected, and Carol liked that he surpassed that. That he surprised her. That her assumptions were proven foolish.

"Might wanna hurry up before I start bleedin' all over the carpet," he grumbled and Carol realised with a blush that she'd been staring at him and smiling like a fawning teenager.

"Oh! Sure, hold on." She pushed the door open, took in the faintly mouldy scent of the room before guiding Daryl's hands to the sink. It seemed like a real treat to be able to turn on a faucet and experience running water like it was one of the last great miracles. She held his hands under the flow, gently swiping at the red rivulets forming to see the gaping wounds beneath. The gasp was undisciplined, and her chest felt tight, wondering if it was worth him putting his body so at risk every time he went out there for them, hunting food. His hands shook in hers, her fingers gently stroking across the non-lacerated sections of his flesh and she wondered how much of his reaction might be to her as opposed to his obvious trauma.

He didn't say anything to her, didn't draw away and that was probably proof to Carol that his inability to move had as little to do with her as anything ever had. When she glanced at him in the mirror above the vanity, he was staring straight at her, a frown indenting his forehead and his lips drawn tight. She watched a little long, cataloguing the flex of his jaw before his eyes darted away from hers, peering back down at the clear flow of water that revealed the halt of his blood flow. Carol turned off the faucet, then dug in a cupboard for a fresh towel, but before she could wrap it around Daryl's hands, he jerked them away.

He shrugged in some kind of explanation, his shoulders stiff as he stood away from her, cupping his hands in front of him and dripping onto the floor.

"Ain't wantin' to get their dainty shit all dirty," he confided, his face cracking in the tiniest smile Carol thought she'd ever seen, mystified at how it tried to tuck in and hide in the corner of his mouth. Before he could move, she surged forward and wrapped the towel around his hands, bestowing a soft, shy smile upon him as she wrapped her own hands around his in the towel.

"I'll wash it, Daryl. It's fine."

Hershel had his equipment prepared when they returned, and when Daryl finally lowered a body that was obviously in agonising pain to the bed, Carol gently unwrapped his hands, turning them over palm side up so they could see the deep gouges his hunt had left behind. He still wasn't rejecting her touch and Carol felt a little giddy, losing herself in the warmth and roughness of his skin, clasping hold of one finger before letting go as softly as a caress.

"You sure do know how to bang yourself up." Hershel pursed his lips in astonishment, lifting Daryl's hands to get a better look. "I'll have to flush this out with alcohol. What on earth did you do to yourself?"

"Bitch hog took me by surprise." He didn't elaborate despite Hershel's raised brow, but then the kindly vet seemed to notice how Daryl was curled up and favouring his belly and then a bruise blossoming along his collarbone that was peeking mysteriously out from the opening of his shirt made itself known.

"How much more damage are we talking about?" Hershel got some alcohol and prepared to flush out the wounds, his actions weary and resigned.

Daryl shrugged, his back stiffening and Carol couldn't help but take pity on him. All he did was try his best, and all that kept happening was that he got hurt. It was almost like the world held some kind of grudge against the both of them and just never seemed satisfied with the pound of flesh it kept stealing away.

"Heavy bitch damn near gored me to death. Ain't that enough?" His surly tone did nothing to alleviate the sharpened look of irritation that was starting to take over Hershel's patience and Carol rested a hand almost instinctively on Daryl's shoulder. He startled at the unexpected pressure of her touch, but then seemed to force himself to relax as he concentrated on glaring at Hershel. He tilted his head at the older man and Carol felt a shudder ripple through his body and it electrified her without warning.

"Held it off with my hands while it jumped up an' down on my guts an' my balls. After that I lost track of what fuckin' hurt."

Carol jerked her hand off his shoulder in shock, red-faced yet intrigued and then smiled as Hershel chuckled over the bandage he was wrapping around Daryl's hands.

"You need me to check that they're all right still, son?"

Daryl slumped forward, his head hanging low between his outstretched arms and Carol could see the burn spreading up the back of his neck to capture the tips of his ears.

"Ain't no need," he said, his voice quiet yet confident. "Done checked 'em already when I slit that fucker's throat."

Carol's gaze was compelled to check out his groin, gulping hard at the evidence of blood splattered at the front of his pants. She was pretty sure she shouldn't have been here for this conversation, yet the visuals she was getting made her infinitely glad that she was. While his parts being the victim of a brutal attack wasn't something she could be pleased about—despite such a scenario being something she'd have cheered for if Ed had ever been so unlucky—at least she was on hand to recognise he'd need to wash the blood off other areas of his body.

"I'm surprised you managed to get away from it long enough to use your knife without getting gored anywhere else. That's pretty lucky."

Daryl's awkward shrug conveyed that to him, it was just something that had to be done and probably combined with a bit of dumb luck anyhow, like most everything else in his life.

"Lucky woulda been gettin' out of it without my damn balls bein' crushed."

"Hershel? You got any plastic bags Daryl can put over his hands so he can take a shower? He's going to need to wash that blood off."

Both men turned to look at her like she was equal parts crazy for suggesting Daryl take a shower and for interrupting a conversation about men's private parts, while she thought they were pretty crazy for letting her stay for the discussion in the first place. She was really kind of surprised Hershel hadn't tried to head the discussion off somehow, but then he was quickly getting used to the topics of conversation that seemed to burst untamed out of Daryl's mouth, and so she was kind of impressed that he let them flow out without further recrimination. They'd all come such a long way in such a short time.

"The hell I need I shower for?" Daryl stared at her like she was the most stupid woman he'd ever not had time for but Carol knew the score now. She was never going to believe his gruff, confrontational attitude ever again—not when it was aimed at her, anyways.

"Do I really have to state the obvious?" She watched him, amused, as he looked at his hands, then at her, obviously not quite being able to follow her natural thought processes when he was still suffering from his ordeal. "Okay, so maybe I do." The delight on her face seemed to distract him enough that when she pointedly looked at his groin his face turned red so fast she thought it might actually ignite.

"The hell you lookin' at my crotch for? Jesus fuckin' Christ."

His horrified reaction was so comical that she couldn't hold back the burst of laughter. "Daryl, you've just spent the last five minutes talking about the damage a wild hog did to your private parts and now you're embarrassed because I'm pointing out that while you checked them to make sure they were intact and still functional, you might have transferred a whole heap of blood from your hands to your…other parts?"

There wasn't even a hint of a blush on her face but Daryl's burnt so hot she could feel the temperature rising in the room.

"Carol has a point." Hershel finished up with the bandaging and stepped back, contemplating them carefully. "Pretty soon any blood you might have spread to the rest of your body is going to itch. Your hands are out of action for the time being, though, son. You might need some help."

Daryl was on his feet instantly, aggression replacing his earlier exhaustion. "The hell you mean? I ain't needin' anyone's help to wash my own damn balls." He turned and glared at her, then he stomped off, his other injuries forgotten.

Carol stared after him dolefully, feeling more than a little guilty. "Oops. Probably should have tried to check out his other injuries before I mentioned the shower part."

Hershel placed a big, fatherly hand on her shoulder and ducked to look into her eyes, a glint of glee recognisable in his own. "That boy does seem rather attached to his dirt." He shook his head and laughed as he left the room, leaving Carol to clean up the mess that was left. She didn't mind it one bit.