Some stupid, exhausted part of him struggles not to just turn his face into Daryl's neck, let himself take comfort there. Luckily, for this moment, the rest of him wins out, and he just stays close, as alert as the strange combination of tonight's close call and old memories will allow him to be.

Watching Daryl kick a fucker's face in, that helps.

He takes the knife and examines it, says, "It'll do until we're out, but something like this is too cursed for me."

And he gets a chance to use it only a moment later, as a pair of cloaked figures rush at them, and there's nothing to do for it but let the blade find its way into some stranger's guts.