SUMMARY : (Set in the beginning of Season 5) After the Governor attacked the prison, you were separated from the rest of your group. Now on your own, you face the true struggles of survival.

WORD COUNT : 2,716

A/N : I absolutely LOVED writing this request. Hope you guys enjoyed it as well!

Part 2 of 2!

Your breathing came out in heavy huffs as you ducked under tree branches and jumped over exposed roots. Your body fell into a steady rhythm, keeping up your pace as the sounds of war got louder and louder and louder until —

"Shit!" you cried out as you collided directly into a walker who had appeared from behind a bush.

You ran into the walker with such force, it knocked both of you to the ground with a crash. Your head slammed against a rock and you felt the skin above your eyebrow tear open, blood beginning to drip down the side of your face.

You groaned as black spots danced in your vision.

The walker suddenly grabbed your arm, trying to sink its teeth into your flesh and you screamed, yanking your arm out of its grasp.

You flipped over onto your back and grabbed the rock you hit your head on, slamming it into the walkers temple. It stilled immediately and you quickly jumped to your feet.

You winced as you put pressure on your right leg, your ankle spasming in protest.

"Perfect," you hissed, trying to roll your ankle but stopping when another burst of pain shot through you.

With a sigh, you surveyed the forrest, straining to hear the direction the gunfire was coming from, but the woods were silent now — the battle having ended. And you hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it.

You spotted your knife a couple feet away after having dropped it during the scuffle with the walker. Keeping your weight off your bad ankle, you limped over to your knife and picked it up, holding it tightly in your hand.

Deciding to continue with your plan regardless, you began slowly making your way in the direction you originally saw the smoke.

With a bum ankle, the trek was taking three times as long, but you kept your determined pace despite the pain.

Luckily, you hadn't run into any more walkers — they most likely were headed in the same direction you were, drawn in by all the noise. Still, you kept your knife up and ready to strike.

After what felt like hours, you finally saw the trees begin to thin out and a clearing appeared in front of you.

You paused just behind the tree line, scanning the area cautiously. Your body was exhausted, bruised and sore and just about ready to give out, but if you stopped now, you didn't think you'd start again.

You'd come this far — you sure as hell were not going to give up now.

Taking a breath, you hobbled your way out of the trees and up a small hill until you stood on a new road. Slightly breathless, you looked in both directions, trying to decide on which way to start walking.

This road seemed like more of a back road — not like the main one you had been walking down earlier. It was almost like a trail, rather than a road.

The trees weren't as vast on the other side, and you could just barely make out a chain linked fence in the distance. But the smell of smoke was much stronger here, so you knew you were close to wherever the fight took place.

You tilted your head towards the sky, seeing thick clouds of smoke rising from beyond the trees — you realized it was coming from behind the fence.

Something happened back there. Something big.

Just as you were about to investigate, you heard shuffling feet and low moans. A stray walker had appeared from the trees, heading in the same direction you were. It suddenly caught sight of you and changed its course, picking up its pace as it staggered hungrily towards you.

You sighed, wincing as you limped towards the biter. As soon as you reached the walker, you grabbed it around the neck and plunged your knife through its temple.

The walker dropped immediately as you wretched your knife from its skull, breathing heavily from the exertion. You stared down at the body, watching a small pool of dark liquid form beneath its head.

All of the sudden, you heard the distinct click of a pistol being cocked just behind you and then —

"Don't move."

Your entire body went stiff as a man's voice rang out from behind you.

"Drop the knife," he spoke again, his voice low, southern, and sounding none too friendly.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, a slight tremble wracking through your body. Vaguely, you could hear the sound of several more footsteps coming from the trees behind you.

The man wasn't alone.

"I won't ask you again," he snapped, agitation leaking through. You could hear him take a step towards you.

There weren't many options — you were outnumbered and pretty positive that your knife would do little damage to a group of people most certainly armed in some way or another.

Taking in a shaky breath, you reluctantly dropped your knife, watching it clatter on the ground.

"Turn around," the man ordered.

Slowly, you began to turn, keeping your head down and hands up in surrender. You cringed slightly as your ankle screamed in protest, but you bit back the pain.

Another shiver ran through you as you came to a stop, a pit forming in your stomach. You couldn't find it in you to raise your head and face the man.

Should you ask the man to show mercy? Should you attack and go out swinging? Should you face your fate head on? A million different options ran through your mind until you decided on the one that suited you best.

You were going to be brave.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up.

The man was standing a couple feet away from you, his pistol aimed at your head. You dragged your gaze away from the weapon and locked eyes with him.

You were about to speak — about to tell him and the group of people behind him that you meant no harm, that you weren't a threat. But something stopped you…something about his eyes.

Suddenly, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the man — reallylooked at him.

And you were hit with a realization like a punch to the gut — you knew him.

He was thinner than when you last saw him, he was sporting more facial hair and covered in a good amount of blood and grime but it was him.

"Rick?" you whispered, the words tangled up in your throat as you spoke them.

Rick's eyebrows furrowed, obviously not expecting that to come out of your mouth. But then he looked at you, squinting his eyes and shaking his head slowly as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

You could understand the hesitation — you weren't even sure you would recognize yourself with all the dirt, sweat and blood caking your body.

You could see the gun quiver slightly in his hand as he lowered it, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth as he glanced back at the group, then bringing his gaze back to you.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice much softer now, in complete disbelief as he took a couple more steps towards you.

You couldn't seem to make your feet move, like your body wasn't fully caught up to where your mind was. All you could do was nod brokenly as a sob rose to your throat.

"Oh, my God," you heard Rick mumble as he ran the last few steps towards you and pulled you into a crushing hug.

Your arms hung limply at your sides, your mind still not understanding how this could be possible — how you could have somehow stumbled across your group by accident.

Rick pulled away, keeping his hands on your shoulders as he stared down at you in shock. "We thought you were…we didn't know if…" his voice shook slightly as he broke off, clearly in disbelief.

You just stared up at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish — so many things you wanted to ask him, but unable to form the words. Rick was one of your closest friends in this new world — could he really be standing here right in front of you?

Rick's eyes softened in understanding as he gently placed a hand on the side of your neck and pulled you close, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. He then swiftly reached down and grabbed your knife, handing it back to you, which you feebly accepted and stuck back in its sheath.

"C'mon," he murmured, looping an arm around your back and helping you limp toward the people behind him.

You scanned the group, some faces unfamiliar, but others…others you'd seen in your dreams every night. Your heart started pounding faster and faster with each recognition — Maggie. Glenn. Carol. Michonne. Carl.

You didn't realize you had started crying until Maggie walked up to you and wiped a tear from you cheek, enveloping you in a hug. "Thank God you're alright," she whispered through a sniffle as she pulled away.

Glenn placed his hand on your shoulder, a tired smile breaking across his face. "Good to have you back, Y/N," he murmured, his voice constricting with emotion.

You looked at each and every member of your group — the family you thought you'd lost forever — and felt your heart swell with a feeling you hadn't felt since you'd lost them.

But something was missing — he was missing.

You needed to know. You needed to know if Daryl had made it. But you couldn't seem to bring yourself to ask — afraid you would find out that the archer, in fact, had not survived.

A sudden rustling in the woods sent everyone into high alert. But the suspense didn't last long when someone emerged from the woods, pushing through a thicket of trees.

Then your eyes locked with his.

Your breath caught in your throat.

And your heart stopped.

Daryl.

You wanted to believe it was true — no, you needed it to be true. But all this time on your own, maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe you'd finally cracked. Hell, a couple of minutes ago you were conversing with the voices in your head.

But still, you couldn't drag your gaze away from him.

Daryl was staring at you with such intensity, it felt as though his eyes were burning a hole into your head. His chest was heaving, strands of hair splayed across his forehead, sticking to the sweat on his brow. He took a small step back, as if he didn't know what to do with himself, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

You took a few small steps forward, heart pounding against your ribcage. "Daryl?" you whispered thickly, said so softly you weren't sure he even heard you.

But then suddenly, like a switch turned on, Daryl heaved a breath and ran towards you. He shrugged off the crossbow slung over his shoulder and grabbed you, pulling you to his chest in one swift motion.

His arms wrapped around you, hugging you so tight it was almost difficult to breathe, his breaths coming out in huffs next to your ear.

This isn't real. This is all a dream. You've finally lost your mind…too much time in the sun…not enough water. This can't be real…can it? came that haunting voice from earlier.

Tentatively, you lifted your arms, slowly wrapping them around Daryl's back.

He felt real. He felt warm and solid and familiar underneath your fingertips — a distant, inviting feeling stirring inside you.

But then Daryl was pulling away and you felt a sudden emptiness in the spaces he had filled. He crouched down slightly in front of you, placing a hand on either side of your face. You gazed at him, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

"T-this…this isn't real," you mumbled, your words slurring slightly — and you could clearly hear how delusional you sounded.

Daryl's eyes softened. He quickly sniffed and cleared his throat, wiping a tear that snaked down your cheek.

You gently placed one hand on the side of Daryl's face, ignoring the way you trembled. Gingerly, you traced his features — like you had to make sure every part of him was real flesh and blood in front of you and not just a figment.

You were vaguely aware of the rest of the group surrounding you, no doubt watching the exchange, but you just couldn't bring yourself to care.

This was real.

He was real.

Once that realization hit, a sob rose to your throat and you threw yourself at the archer, snaking your arms around his neck. He returned the hug, just as tight — just as desperate.

The floodgates were open and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop the tears from falling. You could hear sniffles from various members of the group and soft murmurs, but all you could focus on was the solidity of Daryl — how his touch grounded you, made you see ration and reason and hope.

You didn't know how long the two of you stood there, relishing in the embrace of someone you thought you lost.

But Rick suddenly approached, placing a hand on the archers shoulder. Daryl stepped back, though careful to keep you within arms length.

"We've gotta get goin'. The dead are comin'," the sheriff murmured, motioning towards a couple of walkers farther down the road.

You heard the group shuffle their belongings, getting ready for the trek ahead. Some started walking, others stopped to welcome you back with a quick hug or pat on the back.

Daryl swooped up his crossbow and slung it over his back, never taking his eyes off you — like if he looked away for a second, you'd disappear once again.

The rest of the group filtered ahead, leaving just you and the archer standing side by side.

He reached over and grabbed your shoulder, turning you to face him as he surveyed your body. "Are ya hurt?" he rumbled, face etched with concern.

The sound of his voice further proved that this was not in fact a delusion and you had to fight back the sudden onslaught of fresh tears.

You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I'm great," you whispered, a smile spreading across your face despite the circumstances.

Daryl nodded once, the corner of his mouth quirking up, before settling back to his normal stoic features — some things never change.

The archer lifted his hand from your shoulder to gently touch your face, running his thumb over your cheek. You reached up and covered his hand with your own, entwining your fingers with his.

Daryl tensed slightly, before he relaxed into your touch — old habits die hard.

"C'mon," he said gruffly, nodding in the direction the group had started walking.

You went to take a step but was stopped by a spasm of pain in your ankle — throughout all this, you'd forgotten about your injury. You hissed, cursing inwardly as you glanced up at Daryl.

The archer had that 'disapproving but silently judging you' look on his face as he untangled his hand from yours. He quickly wrapped his arm around your waist, hoisting you up slightly so most of your weight was off your bad ankle.

"Damn stubborn woman," he grumbled under his breath, in regards to your previously false statement of 'being great'.

A small laugh bubbled out of you, surprising both you and Daryl. You felt his grip on you tighten as you finally caught up to the group, hip to hip.

There was so much you wanted to say to Daryl — so much you wanted to ask. But there would be a time for that. And that thought alone could bring you to tears.

There was time.

Your group had been through a lot — losing loved ones, watching your safe haven turn into a war zone, and now being back on the road, the future unknown.

But you were all together. And that brought you more comfort than any place you'd ever been.

You may have lost the prison, but you'd finally found your home.

And surviving just didn't seem so impossible anymore.