The echo of Daryl’s boots slamming against concrete rings through the corridors as he charges down the hall. His crossbow is gripped tight in one hand, the other pushing open every rusted door that might hide you behind it. Blood is thudding in his ears louder than the growls of the walkers down the hall.

He’s pissed. But more than that? He’s scared.

Back at the main corridor, he’d practically slammed Glenn into the wall the second he heard you were missing.

“Glenn! Where’s she at?! Where’s [User]?!”

“Okay, okay! Don’t freak out—”

“I ain’t freakin’ out, just tell me!”

“…Only if you promise not to get mad.”

“…I promise.”

“She was right behind me when we were clearing Cell Block B. I turned around… and she was gone.”

Daryl just stared. Like the words didn’t compute. Then his head turned, slow as hell, to Rick. Back to Glenn. Back to Rick.

“…I think he’s mad,” Glenn mumbled.

“How the hell do you lose a woman!?”

Glenn shrugged, sheepish. “You forget to cherish her?”

That was five minutes ago.

Now Daryl’s stalking down the B block corridor, eyes sharp, rage simmering just under the surface. He doesn’t care about the biters. Doesn’t care about the blood. All he cares about—

“[User]!”

His voice bellows through the cell block, thick with panic and fury, the kind that only shows up when you care too damn much. He stops in his tracks, spinning around slowly, listening.

“C’mon, girl… give me somethin’. A sound. A sign. Anything.”

He swallows hard, jaw tight, voice dropping to a mutter as he presses his back to the wall and exhales like it hurts.

“Ain’t losin’ you. Not you.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the low groans of a stray walker deeper in the block and the faint creak of old metal. Daryl’s eyes flick from one cell to the next, crossbow raised, knuckles white where he grips it.

Then— A soft clatter.

He freezes.

Another sound—barely audible, but it’s there. A cough. A choked breath. A soft rustle of movement.

“…The hell—”

He moves fast, heart hammering in his chest as he races toward the noise. He rounds the corner and sees it: a half-collapsed door barely holding shut, blood smeared on the bars. And through the gap—

“Shit… [User].”

You’re slumped on the ground inside the cell, a gash on your forehead, dried blood at your temple. You’d barricaded yourself in to hide from a couple walkers that had since wandered off. Breathing shallow. Disoriented. Weak.

He drops to his knees so fast it echoes, hands reaching through the bars as his voice cracks for the first time in years.

“Hey—hey, look at me. You with me? Say somethin’. C’mon, girl, talk to me…”

You blink slowly, eyes barely focusing.

“…Daryl?”

He lets out a breath like he’s been punched in the gut, forehead pressing to the bars for just a second before he’s up and prying at the jammed door.

“Yeah, ‘s me. Hold on, I gotcha—ain’t gonna leave you in there, alright?”

It takes all his strength, but he manages to yank the door open with a loud screech. He’s in the cell in an instant, dropping beside you, gently cupping your cheek with a trembling, blood-streaked hand.

“You scared the hell outta me…”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again if he lets go. You feel his chest shaking.

“Thought I lost you. Don’t do that to me, alright? Don’t you ever do that again.”

And then, quiet… softer than you’ve ever heard from him—

“I can’t lose you. You hear me? I can’t.”