The crash had echoed through the alley like a gunshot. Daryl’s stomach dropped before his brain even caught up.
“Y/N!” He shouted, shoving through the last two walkers with his knife. He vaulted the half-collapsed fence and found you sprawled on the concrete below the broken second-story window. Blood matted your hair. One arm was awkwardly twisted beneath you. Your eyes were unfocused as they flicked toward him. You were alive. How? No. It didn’t matter. You were alive.
“Dar—Daryl?” You slurred, voice dazed. “I didn’t mean—fell—”
“Yeah, I see that.” He dropped to his knees beside you, breath ragged. His hands hovered, not sure where to touch first. “Hey, hey, look at me. Ya know who I am?”
You blinked slowly, frowning in confusion. “You’re—you’re loud.” You murmured.
That hit him harder than it should’ve. “Ain’t funny, sunshine.” He muttered, brushing glass and dirt from your face. He saw the way your pupils didn’t track right, how you flinched from the light. His throat went tight. “Ya hit your head bad.”
When he tried to help you sit up, you swayed and trembled. Milk was darker than your complexion at that moment. “Nope.” He said firmly, catching you before you could slump forward. “Y’ain’t walkin’. I gotcha.” He eased you into his arms, ignoring your half-hearted protests. “Quit it. Ain’t lettin’ ya stumble all the way back. Might as well be still.”
It took the better part of three hours to get you to Hilltop. By the time he stumbled through the gates, you were mumbling nonsense and fighting to stay awake. The stench of vomit lingered on his shirt and vest from your bouts of sickness during the journey.
Enid rushed the two of you inside. She was young and she wasn’t an actual doctor but she was learning. He trusted her. She led him to the medical trailer, the light and questions making you wince and turn your face into Daryl’s shoulder.
“She’s got a bad concussion at the very least. We don’t have the equipment but it could be a skull fracture.” Enid said after examining you. “She needs rest, quiet, and someone watching her around the clock.”
Daryl just nodded. “She’s got me.”
He stayed by your cot for two days straight. Every time you stirred, he was there—cool rag on your forehead, calloused thumb brushing your cheek, muttering soft reassurances in that gravelly voice that only ever went gentle for you.
By the third day, you could string full sentences together again, though your head still ached. Your arm was still wrapped tightly and immobile against your chest while the bone healed. You were doing better.
After dinner, Daryl caught you watching him, a lopsided smile tugging at your lips.
“You look worse than I do.” You teased weakly.
“Yeah, well.” He grunted, squeezing your hand. “Don't make no plans to do that again, ya hear? Jumpin’ outta damn windows.”
Your eyes softened. “I think I’ll try to avoid that in the future. I’m glad you found me.”
He leaned close, pressing a rough kiss to your temple, just over a fading bruise. “Always will, girl. Don’t matter where ya fall.”
WHUMPTOBER DAY SIXTEEN :Prompt: necrosis/wound cleaning.
Summary: Tim helps you with your wounds.
Warnings: mentions of injury. Necrosis.
Word count: 666
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024
⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤
Tim frowned as he watched you hobble across the room with a noticeable limp. You had been injured a few weeks ago; a nasty hit to the thigh with a knife. The would had been deep and painful and would more than likely leave a scar. You were supposed to be on crutches, but you had abandoned those after the first week and a half and were now resorting to limping through the manor now you weren’t on bed rest.
“You shouldn’t be walking on that.” Tim chided as he glanced up at you from his computer screen. He had been staring at it for the last three hours, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to refill his coffee.
“Yeah but I’m sick of staying in bed.” You said, continuing to limp towards the kitchen. It was strange. After two or so weeks the wound should have healed up somewhat, but it seemed you were still struggling with it. And normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Tim often overthought and wanted to be safer than sorry. With a huff, Tim stood, walking over to you. He placed a gentle hand on your back and guided you to sit down.
“Sit.” He said. It was practically an order as he gave you no choice but to.
You let out a hiss as you sat, the pain in your leg twinging. Tim gave you a look.
“How many times have you been told to stay off this leg.” He tutted. “If you want to get better you need to rest.”
“I was just going to the kitchen.” You argued back.
“You could have asked one of us”
“There’s no point in asking one of you when it’s just easier to get there myself.”
“Clearly you can’t. You’re still limping…..is it still bothering you that much?”
“A little…”
“That means yes then.” Tim rephrased. He knew you had a habit of downplaying your pain. He helps you straighten out your leg gently, taking a look at the bandages. “How long ago did you change these?”
“Uh….two I think. Alfred did them for me.” He had been doing a good job of making sure your wound was clean and free from infection.
Tim pursed his lips. “You mind if I take a look? They probably need changing anyway”
“Go ahead.”
“Alright.” Tim stood before going to get the medical kit. “Don’t move.” He pointed at you. “I mean it.”
“Yes, Sir.” You mock saluted.
Tim returned a minute later, and as much as you would have liked to have left you did stay in your place for him. Gingerly he took your leg between his hands and began to unwrap the bandages. There was no sign of blood, which was a good sign. However when he revealed the wound, he let out a hiss though his teeth.
Some of the skin around the wound had began to turn a nasty grey-ish colour. Necrosis. Likely a sign of infection or lack of blood to the cells which has caused them to die.
“Well shit….. no wonder it’s been bothering you so much, sweetheart.”
“Necrosis?” You swallowed thickly.
“Looks like it. It’s infected, kid.”
“Shit.”
“Hey. Don’t think like that. We’ll get you on some antibiotics and see how that helps and go from there, yeah? I’ll let B know. You’ll be fine, we’ll sort it, kid.”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get this bandaged for you, hm?” He said, reaching into the medical kit and pulling out a fresh bandage and some sterile wipes. Gently he cleaned the area, his touch gentle so as to not cause you any more harm, before he tossed the wipe away and began to re-wrap the wound. The bandage sat snug but not suffocating around your thigh. “There you go kid.
“Thank you.”
“Now get some rest while I go and talk to B.”
“Alright.”
“No walking on that leg.” Tim warned. “I mean it. No wandering off.”
