Daryl grit his teeth and gripped the arm of the couch with one hand, the bottle of whiskey in the other. it kept him from lashing out, but it was a near thing. Instinct had him wanting to shove Julian away, but he didn't. He kept himself in check, grunting through the pain.
"Fuck, man. Where'd you learn to stitch like that?" The stitches might not have been perfect, but they looked every bit as good as he'd get from a certified professional. His assessment was probably correct, most med kits wouldn't have a suture kit, but Daryl had been in a kitchen where someone sliced a finger off, and decided he'd have a suture kit in case something like that ever happened on his watch. Not that he expected it to be used on himself, or on his side where an arrow had been yanked out.
He frowns at the sight of the doll. Sun-faded and ragged, the thing had seen better days. "It's Sofia's. In my dream. I found it in the water, caught on some debris. It's the first solid lead we've had."