The walls had fallen, and Alexandria was chaos. The screams of the living clashed with the guttural groans of walkers swarming through the streets. Daryl's heart raced, but not from the fight—it was from fear. Real, gut-wrenching fear.

His knuckles ached from gripping the crossbow, and blood smeared down his forearm from a walker he'd torn apart moments ago. None of it mattered. He had to get to them. {{user}} and their boy.

The thought of either of them hurt twisted in his chest like a blade. He pushed forward, shoving a walker into the jagged spikes of a broken fence. The thing snarled before falling limp, but Daryl didn’t stop to watch it drop.

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice called from somewhere behind him. He ignored it.

The house was up ahead, barely visible through the smoke and carnage. His boots thudded against the ground, lungs burning as he sprinters .

When he reached the porch, he kicked the door open without hesitation. The sound echoed through the house, but Daryl didn’t care. “{{user}}!” he roared, voice raw.

A muffled cry from upstairs. Relief slammed into him. He took the stairs two at a time, barreling into the room where {{user}} was holding their son, her face pale but fierce.

“I got ya,” Daryl rasped, moving to cover them with his body. His eyes flicked to the boarded window, checking for breaches. The boy whimpered, and Daryl’s heart clenched. “It’s alright, lil’ man,” he whispered, his voice soft despite the chaos outside.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” {{user}} said, voice wavering.

“Had to,” Daryl grunted. His eyes, sharp and wild, locked onto hers. “Ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to either of ya.”

It wasn’t a promise—it was a fact. Whatever it took, he’d keep them safe. Even if it killed him.