Just a Scratch
The gunfire had died down, but the tension still sat thick in the air, coiled tight in Daryl’s gut. His grip tightened around his crossbow as his boots pounded against the dirt, weaving between rusted shipping containers. His lungs burned, his heart hammered—he couldn’t stop moving. Not until he found her.
They’d split up. Just for a minute. Just long enough for him to flank one of the Governor’s men and take the bastard out. Long enough for Peach to disappear. And now he couldn’t find her.
“Peach!” he called, voice rough, desperate.
Nothing.
A flicker of movement ahead had him spinning, crossbow raised—only for Rick to come into view, pistol gripped tight in his hand.
“Where the hell is she?” Daryl snapped before Rick could say anything.
“She went after one of ‘em,” Rick’s jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp and scanning. “Think he ran toward the containers. We gotta move.”
Daryl didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, his legs aching from how long they’d been running, fighting, surviving. He’d lost sight of her once before and he wouldn’t do it again. Rick led the way, moving fast but controlled. Daryl kept close, both of them ducking behind cover as they made their way deeper into the shipping yard. The cold air bit at his skin, but the adrenaline burning through him made it easy to ignore.
Then—
A faint noise.
A sharp, pained grunt. Daryl’s stomach turned to ice. They rounded a rusted red container, weapons raised—and there she was. Peach was slumped against the metal wall, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. Blood stained her jeans, pooling beneath her where she sat. Daryl’s eyes darted downward, and that’s when he saw it: a knife buried deep in her thigh.
“Hey, my two favorite men,” Peach grunted between sharp breaths. She managed to shoot a smile up at them from where she was wincing in pain in the dirt.
Daryl was already beside her, hands hovering before finally gripping her face, tilting it up so he could see her. “The hell happened?”
She swallowed, jaw tight. “Ran into one of ‘em. He got the jump on me. I got the last hit, but—” she flicked her fingers toward her leg—“guess I wasn’t quick enough.”
Daryl gritted his teeth, his fingers twitching where they rested against her cheek. He should’ve been there; he should’ve had her back.
Rick cursed under his breath and crouched beside her, eyes flicking between her wound and the way her fingers trembled as she tried to push herself up.
“S’fine, Rick,” Peach whispered, a sharp gasp of pain leaving her lips betrayed her.
“I’d believe you’re fine,” Rick muttered, shaking his head, “but you got a goddamn knife stickin’ outta your leg, Peach so—”
“I told you,” Peach let out a breathy laugh, but even that sounded weak. “It’s just a scratch.”
The two men shared a brief look, full of unspoken understanding. They knew Peach better than most; they knew she was hurting more than she was letting on. Her facade was already failing. Rick shifted beside them, his gun still drawn, scanning their surroundings.
“We gotta move,” Rick reminded them urgently. “We’re not out of this yet.”
Daryl nodded, barely sparing him a glance before looking back at Peach. He brushed her bangs off her forehead and asked, “Can you walk?”
She clenched her jaw and pushed herself up, her fingers digging into the ground for support. She got about halfway before her leg buckled, a sharp gasp slipping from her lips as she crumpled back down. Daryl didn’t hesitate to catch her before she hit the ground.
“Ain’t got time for pride, sweetheart.”
Before she could argue, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her effortlessly. Peach tensed, fingers curling into his vest. With wide eyes, she tried to protest.
“Daryl, you don’t have to—”
“Ain’t leavin’ without you,” he muttered, his grip tightening. “So shut up and hold on.”
Rick was already moving ahead, scanning their path, leading them toward the rusted blue container where Glenn and Maggie were supposed to be. Daryl could feel Peach trembling against him, whether from pain or blood loss, he wasn’t sure. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder, her breath uneven.
“Still just a scratch?” he murmured, trying to keep his voice light, keep her grounded. She let out a real chuckle; it was still weak, but it was a real laugh.
“Still not gonna let you carry me forever,” Peach smiled, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Wanna bet?” Daryl smirked despite himself, adjusting his grip.
They reached the container a minute later. Rick pressed himself against the metal wall, signaling for Daryl to set Peach down. He did so carefully, leaning her against the side before stepping up beside Rick. Rick jerked his chin at the door and Daryl nodded back, silently agreeing on their next steps. Then Rick wrenched the door open; the two men barreled through the door, weapons drawn.
The stench hit them first—sweat, blood, fear.
Glenn and Maggie were huddled inside, eyes wild, hands bound, bruises blooming along their skin. Glenn’s lip was split, dried blood caking the side of his face. Maggie’s arms were wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller. Daryl didn’t waste a second; he stepped forward to cut Glenn’s restraints while Rick freed Maggie.
“Gotcha,” Daryl muttered, gripping Glenn’s arm, steadying him. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”
Glenn barely nodded, his body swaying from exhaustion. Maggie clung to Rick’s side, her fingers curled into his jacket. Then Maggie’s eyes landed on Peach who had managed to stagger into the entry of the container; Peach was slumped against the side of the opening, her thigh still bleeding and dripping on her shoes.
Maggie gasped, “Oh my God—”
Peach forced a weak smile. “S’fine. Just a scratch.”
“She’s full’a shit,” Daryl huffed, making his way to Peach quickly to steady her.
Maggie and Glenn introduced them to the others in the container, vouching for all of them. Rick nodded and introduced himself; Daryl grunted and studied them all closely, already calculating if any of them were a threat. Peach managed to wave at the group.
“We gotta go,” Rick cut in, eyes scanning the yard. “Now.”
They all agreed and started to file out, fighting stances ready. Rick kept a firm grip on Maggie, and Daryl crouched beside Peach again, his hand settling against her cheek.
“Can you make it?” His voice was softer now, rough with something unspoken. His hand settled against her cheek.
Peach met his gaze, something tired but stubborn in her eyes. “Will you’ll carry me again if I say no?”
Daryl smirked. “Guess you’ll have to try me.”
With Rick and Glenn leading the way, Daryl hooked an arm around Peach’s knees and scooped her up again. He was careful no to bump the knife. With that the group, took off. Gunfire crackled in the distance, but they didn’t stop running. They made it back to the prison just before dawn.
Hershel tended to Peach first as her injury was the most immediate concern. Daryl sat on the ground beside her cot, watching as Hershel worked, as the old man cleaned and stitched, his expression tight but steady. Peach didn’t make a sound, just clenched her jaw and stared at the ceiling, her fingers curled into the thin blanket beneath her.
When Hershel was done, he sighed and stood; he nodded firmly a Daryl. “She’ll be alright. Needs rest.”
“Thanks,” Daryl nodded. “I owe you, Hershel.”
Hershel patted his shoulder before stepping away, leaving the two of them alone. For a long moment, Daryl just sat there with hands curled into fists; finally, he moved to sit beside her—so close that his leg was firmly pressed again her good one. Then Peach shifted and tilted her head toward him, her eyes heavy-lidded but focused.
“Didn’t think I’d lose you today,” she murmured. “One second you were there and then all of a sudden you weren’t—”
“Ain’t ever losin’ me, Peach,” Daryl swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against her knee. He glanced at her to see if she was bothered, but all she did was grin.
“Good.” Peach smiled, small and tired. She stretched her arm and took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Because I don’t want to do this apocalypse shit without you... I mean it.”
“You’re a damn handful,” Daryl exhaled, shaking his head and squeezing her hand, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Peach chuckled but didn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut. She leaned fully into Daryl’s side. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm behind her, resting his hand on her hip to pull her into him more. Her head dropped on his shoulder and he watched as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing steadying.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight in his chest eased. Daryl stayed there long after Peach had fallen asleep, listening to the quiet, to the distant sounds of the prison coming to life.
Maybe tomorrow they'd be back out there fighting again. Maybe more people would get hurt. Maybe things wouldn’t ever get easier, but for now, she was alive. She was breathing and safe beside him—and that was enough.
