A/N: Um. Hi. Lol. So, I know this is legitimately ONE YEAR LATE. But hopefully it's worth it. This is a super long part 2, but I wanted to give you guys a little extra something because you waited so long. I'm happy to put this story to rest now.


It took a moment for you to realize the spine-chilling screams drowning out the roar from the dead were coming from you.

You'd never heard anything so raw, so gut-wrenching, so broken spill from your lips. You'd never felt so helpless in your entire life — it was as though every single fiber of your being was begging you to move, to jump, to do something. Yet there you were, frozen in place, only able to cry out in pain as parts of your soul disappeared into the dark.

Everything felt fuzzy.

It was almost as if your mind wouldn't allow you to process what you just witnessed, instead choosing to simply shut down and ignore reality. Your body felt heavy, your brain muddled and foggy as your shrieks dwindled into pathetic whimpers. At some point, your legs must have given out because you suddenly found yourself kneeling inside the room you'd climbed into, forehead pressed against the cool tile as you fought back the wave of nausea coursing through you.

You raised your head just in time to watch the door in front of you slowly swing shut, the light spilling from the hallway narrowing until you were enveloped in nothing but blackness. Your heaving breaths echoed around you, bouncing off the dark walls of whatever room you now found yourself in. You reached out blindly, your shaking hands fumbling to find solidity as you sat back on your haunches. You began crawling forward, keeping one hand out in front of you as you felt for the door that had closed, ignoring the way your chest began to suddenly constrict the closer you got.

But the moment you felt it, the moment your hand pressed against the dented metal, that's when you heard it — an incessant thudding coming from the opposite side of the door.

It took you a second to figure out what exactly the noise was. It was distant, mimicking the thrum of a heart. But when the thudding began to increase, like the rapid pounding of a native drum, you realized that you were listening to the sound of dozens upon dozens of bodies careening into the hole outside the door and falling to the ground floor.

And all you could think about was Daryl — lying at the bottom of that pit, limbs twisted, bones shattered, his body becoming buried amongst the dead —

The contents of your stomach suddenly appeared before you. A small, desperate, part of you wished the sounds of your vomiting would drown out the sickening thuds reverberating from the opposite side of the door — but no. If only you were that lucky.

You shakily pushed up from your hands and knees, wiping your mouth with the crook of your elbow. The thuds were getting louder it seemed — endless, almost. And the more you tried to tune out the noise, the more it intensified. It suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in on you, the darkness overpowering, seeping through your flesh, finding a home amongst your bones. It felt like the air around you was thinning, each breath becoming harder and harder to take.

You grimaced, gnashing your teeth together as you squeezed your eyes shut and clamped your hands over your ears, attempting to silence the pounding in your mind. "S-Stop — please, stop," you whispered desperately, your words tangled in your throat as you began rocking back and forth, clawing at the sides of your head.

Daryl always knew how to calm you — how to keep you sane. But he wasn't with you. No, instead he was at the bottom of that hole — the only good thing left in your world now buried amongst a mass of the dead.

A gut-wrenching thought suddenly struck you — what if he survived the fall? What if he survived? If the fall didn't kill him, the crushing weight of the dead would have. All of those biters that dropped, undoubtedly landing on top of his broken body, would eventually press the air from his lungs, slowly and painfully suffocating him until nothingness came. And if that didn't kill him, then the walkers that survived the fall, their brains still very much intact, would writhe towards him, clawing their twisted fingers around him, sinking their teeth into his flesh until there was nothing left — until they erased him from existence, all that remaining being streaks of his blood on the hospital floor and pieces of his skin wedged between their teeth —

There was nothing left in your stomach for you to expel, leaving you to painfully dry heave as you forced the gruesome thoughts from your mind. A vicious tremor racked through you as you pushed up from your hands, hunched over, one arm wrapped protectively around your sore stomach before you settled with your back against the door. You drew your knees to your chest, curling inwardly, feeling your throat constrict as you attempted to tune out the chaos.

You didn't know how long you sat like that — head tucked down, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around your legs. When the fog finally cleared from your mind, you realized it was finally silent — eerily silent. You lifted your head slowly, straining your ears, hearing nothing except the sound of your own shallow breaths.

You couldn't sit there any longer — you had to do something. You had to move or scream or cry — or else you feared you'd never do anything again. Or else you'd just sit in that pitch-black room, letting the darkness suffocate you until it swallowed you altogether.

You slowly slid your legs out in front of you.

Move — you could move.

Your voice was lost, caged inside your chest, trapped beneath layers of guilt and ache and loss. Your eyes were void of moisture, hollowed and glossy, red-rimmed from the tears you refused to let fall because if they fell, that made things real — that made this real.

But move — you could move.

So inch by inch, you managed to pull yourself to your feet, your legs wobbling beneath you as you grabbed onto the door frame for support. The adrenaline from earlier was wearing off, the shock slipping away, leaving you with all sorts of aches and pains in its place.

There was a steady pounding at the base of your skull from where your head had collided with the ground — the ringing in your ears and sudden dizziness had all signs pointing towards a concussion, but you didn't have time to think about that right now. Your ribs were achy, bruised from being tackled by that one walker and the palm of your right hand was torn open from the shard of glass you'd slid it across in an attempt to save your life. You hissed softly, curling your hand into a fist and tucking it protectively against your chest.

Now wasn't the time.

Using your shoulder, you slowly pushed open the door, shielding yourself from the sudden onslaught of light. After your eyes adjusted, you lowered your shaking hand, taking a deep breath. You were immediately aware of the stench wafting up from below — like rotted flesh and blood, like meat that had been sitting out in the sun for a little too long.

But you had to look. You had to see. You just had to.

Looking down the hole, past the rebars and pipes sticking out from the sides of the floor that'd caved in, the bottom of the pit simply looked dark — as though it was too deep for even light to touch. But the more you stared, the clearer the carnage became.

Bodies on top of bodies piled below you — bones torn through skin, standing out in stark contrast against the blood smeared over flesh. Limbs twisted at the kneecaps and elbows, legs and arms bent at odd angles. The most sickening part was the fact that most of the dead below were still alive — their brains still intact, having somehow survived the three-story drop — their broken frames wriggled and writhed below, trapped beneath the masses.

You gripped onto the side of the doorway, exhaling shakily, unable to breathe through your nose without feeling the urge to gag. There were too many bodies below, not enough light — you couldn't see him.

"D-Daryl?" his name slipped through your trembling lips, voice groggy and thick from not being used, throat raw from your horrified screams. "Daryl?" you tried again, this time a little louder, a little more desperate as you scanned the bottom of the hole. You weren't sure what you were doing — or what you were trying to accomplish here. What exactly did you think was going to happen? That Daryl would pop up out of nowhere like a fucking magician? That he'd crawl out from beneath those dozens upon dozens of bodies unscathed? That you'd realize this wasn't real life and simply a gruesome figment of your imagination?

You gnashed your teeth together. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't. Because…because it was Daryl. And if he was dead, then what the fuck was the point of any of this?

"Daryl!" you screamed, the cry tearing through your chest, your voice echoing down the silent halls of the hospital as you choked back a sob.

And that was when you saw it — lying at the bottom of the pit, strewn off to the side, the image shattering your soul completely.

His crossbow.

A muffled sort of cry slipped through your lips as you propelled yourself back into the room, away from the cavernous hole. The heavy metal door slowly swung shut, encompassing you in darkness once more as you shuffled backward frantically.

But before you knew what was happening, you suddenly lost your footing, unable to catch yourself on anything as you toppled over — but not just backward…downward.

That was when you realized you weren't in a room at all — you were in a stairwell.

The world spun as you tumbled down the stairs, your already bruised body smashing against the concrete landing moments later. You sputtered for breath, curling onto your side, wrapping an arm around your middle as you fought for the breath that'd been knocked out of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered quietly, feeling the steady pounding at the base of your skull intensify, feeling every ache and pain jolt through you.

You grimaced as you pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees, another wave of pain rocking through you. "Come on, damn it," you growled, your quiet voice echoing down the stairwell.

The darkness was so vast it felt endless as you blindly reached in front of you, feeling along the floor for the next set of stairs.

Once you felt an edge, you crawled forward inch by inch, ignoring your body's demands to rest, until you found yourself at the top of the next flight of stairs. You kept your breathing steady as you maneuvered your feet in front of you, finding stability on one of the steps. You reached to the left, sure enough finding a railing a few inches above. You grabbed onto the railing as though your life depended on it because, well, it very much did.

You couldn't help but cry out as you pulled yourself to your feet, your beaten body screaming in protest. You wrapped an arm around your middle, putting pressure against your bruised ribcage as you fought to control your frantic breathing.

It took an extensive amount of time for you to make it down the next flight of stairs — the process painstakingly slow as you fumbled in the dark. But you kept yourself focused, the sharp pains and tugs in your body forcing you to be alert as you descended the stairwell inch by inch, concentrating on nothing but your shallow breathing and steady footsteps.

You knew you finally reached the ground floor when you spotted a small sliver of light at what you could only guess to be a second door — and you nearly wept with relief. Part of you noticed the way the stairwell began to smell the farther you descended — the stench of something resembling spoiled meat wafting up your nostrils — but you'd tried to ignore it.

Now, you couldn't help but force back the gag that rose as you slowly limped towards the light.

The pile of the dead was right there, just ahead. Which meant that Daryl —

"Stop," you growled to yourself, halting your train of thought with that single word. "Don't go there," you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling moisture gather at the corners of your eyelids. You swallowed any rising emotion, steeling yourself for what was ahead as you reached out and shoved open the door.

You were immediately assaulted by the decaying smell of flesh — it was so powerful, you felt your knees buckle beneath you. Your eyes began to water as you buried your nose into the crook of your arm, grabbing onto the doorway for support as you slid out of the stairwell, the door slowly closing behind you.

The image before you — of dozens upon dozens of broken and bloodied bodies piled up, some still writhing, frenzied by your presence, reaching desperately for you, but unable to move closer— would stay with you for the rest of your life. You were sure of it.

You had to turn your eyes away — you knew that if you looked at the horror for too long, there was a chance you'd see something familiar. Like a calloused hand — the one that'd stroked the hair from your face during the nights you couldn't find peace. Or a scuffed boot — worn out from the miles walked in them by your side. Or the frayed end of a leather jacket — like the one that'd wrap around your frame when you couldn't shake a chill.

And you couldn't bear to see any of that.

So you turned your eyes away, creeping alongside the ground floor's hallway walls, inching around the pile of the dead until you found what you were looking for.

His crossbow.

You couldn't leave it behind. It was all you had left of him now.

You sniffled softly, wincing as you reached down and grabbed it, your bruised ribs aching in protest. But you pushed away the pain and slung the strap over your shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort settle over where it lay.

You had to keep going. It was all you could do now.

The hospital was like a god damn maze — you turned down hallway after hallway, searching for the side door you and Daryl had initially broken down and entered through, forcing any thought that didn't involve escaping from your mind. You kept one arm wrapped securely around your midsection, attempting to relieve some pressure from your ribcage, working on keeping your breathing steady.

After what felt like hours, each path you took continuously winding into another, the hallway you'd been staggering down finally spilled out into an empty, open room.

Tightening your grip around the crossbow's strap, you surveyed the area around you, taking a quick break to catch your breath. It seemed as though you'd found the main lobby, with overturned couches and chairs littering the room, magazines and random debris shredded to pieces, and a large desk with blood splattered over the words plastered across the front — Emory Hospital.

A desperate, half-delirious sob rose to your throat as you propelled yourself forward, towards the glass entrance doors.

But your heart sunk when you pushed against the doorway, only to find it locked.

"No, come on," you growled, pounding your fist against the glass out of frustration.

You could see the parking lot, filled with abandoned vehicles and debris — you were so close. The truck you and Daryl had driven was parked just outside the lot, hidden behind some brush. You just needed to get through the glass doors and you'd be okay — you couldn't risk exploring the hospital further. What if there was another herd trapped somewhere? What if you became lost within the walls? What if you saw him? Dead or suffering or even worse — turned.

You didn't think you'd have it in you to put him down. You couldn't do it. You had to get out and now.

Pushing away from the doors, you frantically searched the room for something you could break through the glass with. When you spotted a flipped chair, you made a beeline for it, grabbing onto one of the legs and dragging it towards the entrance.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you hefted the chair up, the motion jarring your injuries. But you fought through the pain, reeling back before throwing the chair at the glass. A string of curses fell out of you as you watched the chair simply bounce off the glass without making so much as a dent. With a growl, you picked up the chair once more, taking a deep breath, stepping back.

You gathered every bit of strength you had left and hurled the chair against the doors, the forceful momentum throwing you off balance.

And as your body slammed against the ground, you heard a deafening shatter.

You shielded your face as the glass doors exploded, small shards raining down on you. Instantly, you felt a cool breeze from the outside, sharpening your senses. You winced, pulling yourself to your feet, sliding Daryl's crossbow off your shoulder and into your hands. You'd never learned how to use the weapon, but it was all you had to defend yourself — that crash was bound to bring walkers your way.

You needed to move — and fast.

Sidestepping the larger pieces of glass now littering the floor, you maneuvered your way through the doorway and out of the hospital.

The moment the sun hit you, its rays warming your features, you felt a swell of emotion. Partly because you'd truly thought you'd never make it out alive — but mostly because of, well, him.

You paused just outside the doorway — how could you leave him behind like this? What the fuck was wrong with you? If the roles were reversed, Daryl would've dug through that pile of bodies to find you — even if it was just to bring home your lifeless corpse for a proper burial. You couldn't leave him like this.

You turned on your heels, the sudden determination to bring Daryl home nearly overwhelming.

But the moment you spun around, the moment you looked away, you felt cold, gnarled hands grab onto you.

And you didn't think — you just moved.

You swung Daryl's crossbow around, slamming it against the side of the walker's head that'd latched onto you, effectively knocking it off its feet.

Then, you took off, away from the hospital and through the parking lot.

It was difficult to run — you were injured and carrying the crossbows extra weight — leaving you half jogging, half hobbling away from the sudden onslaught of walkers, dodging around long-forgotten cars and trucks. You craned your neck to look behind you — a small cluster of the dead had been drawn in from the glass shattering and now, their sights were set on you.

You weren't going to outrun them — you could practically feel your body giving out from underneath you. There were only four biters — you could handle that. You'd handled more than that before.

Chest heaving, you slowed your pace, spinning around, frantically searching for anything you could use as a weapon.

The dead closed in quickly — the first walker lunged forward, though you were able to dodge its attack, knocking the second walker away with a swing of the crossbow. Even if you did know how to use the weapon, you had no time to even load the damn thing.

The third biter launched itself at you, but you quickly fended it off with a swift kick to the gut, feeling your body scream in protest as the dead careened backward. You stumbled away, colliding into the bumper of an abandoned car behind you. You fought for balance as the next walker came at you, pressing you up against the hood of the car — but you quickly counteracted, keeping its snapping jaws at bay by shoving your forearm against its neck.

You grunted under the weight, feeling your arm begin to shake as you fought off the dead, dropping the crossbow at your feet. An idea struck as you used your free hand to reach behind you, fumbling around the hood of the car until you felt the windshield. You grabbed onto one of the windshield wipers, yanking it towards you as far as possible until you heard a loud snap.

Then, with the windshield wiper in hand, you raised it above your head and sunk it deep into the walker's decaying skull.

"Holy shit," you breathed heavily, ripping the wiper away as the dead fell at your feet.

The next walker lunged, but you didn't hesitate, thrusting the wiper forward, directly into its eye-socket with a sickening squelch. The third came at you with a hungry growl, but you quickly yanked the wiper out and embedded it into the third's skull, shoving the dead off to the side.

The fourth and final walker clawed its way towards you, but you quickly sidestepped its attack, grabbing it by the back of its head and slamming its face into the hood of the car. As the dead fell, you swiftly grabbed the crossbow you dropped and jumped on top of the dead, raising the weapon high above you before slamming the butt of the bow into its head, immediately caving in its skull.

Your breathing was ragged as you dragged yourself off the biter and fell to the ground, your back against the car tire, body limp and fatigued, crossbow lying across your legs.

The parking lot was silent — all that could be heard was your rapid breaths and the thrum of your heartbeat as you shut your eyes.

And then suddenly, you heard something else.

It almost sounded like the scuffing of a boot.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking through the sudden haziness.

That was when you noticed a fifth walker — slower than the others, but shuffling steadily in your direction.

You groaned softly, attempting to pull yourself up off the ground, but you couldn't — you had no strength left, leaving you to collapse pathetically against the car as the dead neared closer. All you could do was grab onto the crossbow, your grip weak as you hefted the weapon up into a shaky grasp, your last attempt in defending yourself.

But then, you really looked at what was approaching.

And your blood ran ice cold.

Your eyes shot open, your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach, a wave of nausea coursing through you.

"No," you whispered in horror, feeling your stomach roll. "Please, God, no."

It was him.

The closer he got, the more you recognized. His boots, shuffling along the asphalt. His hands, swaying back and forth as he limped towards you. His hair, long and stringy, covering the front of his shadowy face.

It was him.

And you couldn't do it — you couldn't put him down.

This was your fault anyways — you were the one who opened the doors that let the herd out, you were the one who couldn't fend them off, you were the one who left him behind. This is what you deserved.

You felt a sob rise to your throat, unable to hold back the emotion you suddenly felt, like a dam had been released inside of you. "I-I can't do it," you cried out, crossbow wavering in your grasp as Daryl inched forward, closer and closer, his staggering footsteps mirroring the swift hammering of your heart until he was so close you could practically reach out and touch him.

And then, he stilled.

The air was so quiet, so tense, you could cut it with a knife.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

And then —

"That damn thing ain't even loaded, ya know."

You faltered.

No. No, this wasn't possible. You saw him — you saw him fall. You saw it happen. There was no way he could be standing in front of you — he was dead. He was gone, right?

Right?

"A-Am —" you stammered, pushing past the lump in your throat, breath caught somewhere in your chest. "Am I dead?" you whispered, mostly to yourself, questioning everything you've ever known in that split second.

Daryl's eyes remained locked with yours, a flash of confusion crossing his features. "Nah," he grunted, glancing around the parking lot, seemingly surveying the area. "Pretty shit idea a' heaven, don't ya think?"

A shaky breath slipped through your lips as you struggled to sit upright, feeling like the world was turning upside down around you. "H-Hang on —" you stuttered, unable to process just what in the fuck was happening. "No — n-no, this is impossible. I-I saw — I saw it, I-I saw you —" you sounded like a crazy person, you knew that, but you could feel yourself starting to lose your grasp on reality, like you had been transported to some sort of sick, twisted dimension.

Daryl quickly caught on, his features suddenly changing as he kneeled in front of you. "Hey, hey, hey," he shushed. "Easy —"

"No, no, no, I saw — I saw you — I-I saw you fall, Daryl!" you protested wildly, feeling your chest beginning to constrict.

"Hey, hey, look a' me, alright?" the archer rumbled, worry etching his features. "I got hold a' somethin' on the way down, Y/N. Ya saw all those damn pipes an' bars stickin' out, right? I got hold a' one an' swung right down onto the floor below ya," he explained before glancing down at his hands. "Tore off some skin pretty bad," he held his palms out for you to see and sure enough, blood oozed out from the center. "An' twisted my leg ta' hell, but that's all."

You shook your head slowly, gaze locked on his. "It's — it's not possible," you murmured under your breath, eyes wide and teary, unable to stop the swell of emotion. "This isn't real. I-I think I — m-maybe I hit my head too hard," you whispered, poking the back of your head, wincing when you hit a tender spot.

Daryl's features shifted, becoming stormy all of a sudden as he reached out and grabbed either side of your face, jolting you slightly. "Listen ta' me," he growled, searching your eyes frantically. "Feel this — feel it!" he shook your head gently, his hands warm against your ashen flesh. "This is real, Y/N. This is real."

A soft sob rose before you could force it back, your bottom lip trembling as you forced your eyes downward. "N-No —"

Daryl then grabbed one of your hands, collecting it with his own before pressing your palm against his chest. "Feel that? What'd ya feel, huh? What'd ya feel, Y/N?" he demanded, a desperation in his voice you hadn't heard before.

You froze, closing your eyes, stilling your body — and then you felt it.

A heartbeat.

It was rapid, hammering from within him, but most importantly — it was strong.

And it was there.

You opened your eyes, watching as the archer's gaze softened, slowly removing your hand from his chest. He glanced down at your palm then, his brows furrowing suddenly as he reached behind himself, pulling out the red rag he kept tucked in the back pocket of his torn jeans. You noticed then that he was inspecting the cut on your palm, the one you'd received earlier when fending off the walkers inside the hospital.

Wordlessly, he wrapped the rag around your palm, his touch gentle as he tied a knot before letting your hand fall back into your lap.

A beat of silence passed between you before you exhaled shakily. "I-I thought you were dead. I mean, I — I thought that was it. I thought I lost you, Daryl," you hiccuped softly, a tear snaking down your cheek before you could stop it.

But Daryl was already reaching out, swiping away the moisture as he shrugged. "Ain't gettin' rid a' me that easy."

Your features crumpled. "I'm serious," you sniffed, leaning forward slightly, catching his gaze for a moment before he looked away.

"C'mon, we gotta go. Gonna be dark soon," he rumbled, grimacing as he grabbed his astray crossbow and rose to his feet, balancing most of his weight on his uninjured leg before reaching down to help you up after.

You muttered a curse under your breath as you straightened, feeling your ribs ache at the shift, features twisted in pain. It was almost embarrassing how winded you were after just that small movement — but Daryl remained unfazed. If anything, he seemed more worried.

You leaned your backside against the car behind you, wrapping your arm around your center, taking a moment to collect yourself. You could feel Daryl's eyes watching your every move and quickly glanced up at him.

And that's when you realized…he was there.

He was real.

He was okay.

Before you could stop yourself, you lunged forward, throwing your arms around the archer in a tight embrace, uncaring of the way your body protested. You buried your face against his chest, unbothered that he remained still, apparently caught off guard — so much so that he was no longer even breathing. But a small smile grew across your lips when you felt his arms slowly snake around you, his cheek coming to rest on the top of your head, his heart racing a fraction faster than before.

After a moment, he pulled away. You felt empty in the spaces he'd filled, but it was okay — because he was okay.

But then he reached forward, gently cupping the side of your face in a rare showing of affection, his calloused thumb brushing over your cheek. You placed your hand on top of his, sighing softly, your eyes searching his.

And there, in that brief moment of time, you finally felt whole.


A/N: Ha ha ha. Do you guys get it? "Whole" as in "Hole"? Like the "Hole" Daryl nearly died in LOLOLOLOL.

Anywho, I'm not sure about the ending but hopefully this lived up to your expectations and didn't disappoint!

Let me know your thoughts!