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Carol barely resisted the urge to smack Daryl upside the head when he let out another miserable whimper followed by some incomprehensible mumbling - she had a very good idea what exactly he was saying, since she could make out a curse or two.
"For God’s sake, Daryl, will you stop whining? You’re acting like a baby", she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "You’re worse than Judith when she’s feeling cranky!"
Daryl gave her what she could only assume was a dirty look - he could really use a haircut, she could hardly see his eyes under those overgrown bangs - but before he could reply, she pressed a piece of cloth soaked in alcohol to another one of the multiple cuts on his plams, eliciting a loud hiss and an even louder cuss.
"You have no idea how much this shit hurts", Daryl grumbled under his nose when Carol blew gently on the wound - something she would always do what felt like a lifetime ago, before the outbreak, whenever Sophia came home with knees grazed or another typically childlish injury.
"Jesus Daryl, it’s not like you’re the only person who’s ever been scratched by a cat!"
Daryl cringed at the loud words and looked around quickly, as if to check if anyone besides them heard. Everyone in the group seemed to mind their own business though, paying no attention to the hunter perched on a trunk at the very outskirts of their current camp, and Carol huddled next to him with a makeshift first-aid kit.
"Hush, woman, don’t want this bunch of idiots to hear about it. Especially Glenn."
"What? Big, scary Daryl Dixon is embarrassed because he got beat up by a cat?" Carol teased with a playful smile, but made sure to keep her voice down. Daryl wouldn’t admit it, but she knew that he was hell-bent on preserving his tough guy image, especially in front of the new group members. Amusing as it was, Carol respected it and was actually flattered that she was the only person, excluding little Judith, who got to see his soft side on daily basis. Besides, with all the impromptu displays of affection after the hospital rescue, Glenn really didn’t need any additional reasons to tease the poor hunter.
"Shut up. It was fucking huge, ‘kay? And angry as fuck, too. Musta been some kind of a bobcat hybrid or some shit- ouch! Fuck, Carol, can’t you be more gentle!? And stop laughing!"
"I’m sorry Daryl, but seriously", she stiffled a giggle when he cringed as she moved to sterilise another particularly deep cut. The annoyance caused by his whining was fading away slowly, as she realised the hilarity of the situation. "Are you even listening to yourself? Since we’ve met you’ve been burned, cut, beaten up and shot numerous times. Hell, you’ve even been literally impaled with an arrow, and the first time I ever hear you complain is because of a few scratches from a cat? You have to admit it’s ridiculous, you big baby."
Daryl made another incoherent sound, and actually pouted, earning a loud, wholehearted laugh from Carol. She felt what remained from her earlier annoyance at him fade away and patted his bruised hand gently.
"There, all done. I can bandage your hands as well if you want."
"Nah, don’t need to do that. Won’t be able to hold the crossbow properly all wrapped and stuff" Daryl examined his cut-covered palms closely and stood up from the trunk. "Damn, this shit stings. But, uh, thanks."
"No problem, Pookie" Carol grinned at the grimace the silly nickname caused. "Hey, could be worse. That cat- large, furious bobcat hybrid" she corrected herself after gaining another dirty look "could have attacked your face or something. Now that would be embarrassing."
"Pfft" was Daryl’s only reply. He actually smiled at Carol though, that tiny smile oh his which she got to see more and more often ever since they were reunited. Then he turned around and went to resume his usual business in the camp, leaving her grinning to herself at the mental image of the hunter getting assaulted by a slightly feral alley cat.