AN #1: Whaaat? Two chapters in two days? I'm on a roll. Thank you everyone for your reviews! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: (ugh) I do not own or write for The Walking Dead or AMC.

OoO

The smoke billowed in the sky, tainting the air and burning their nostrils.

They were close. They were really close.

He walked ahead of her, looking up at the smoky pillar rising in the distance.

"How far?" she asked, a little tremor in her voice.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He turned slowly.

"Couple miles. They haven't put it out yet, so they're still there."

Beth sighed in relief, her face glistening, eyes closed.

He watched her with squinted eyes, and then unslung his gun, handing it to her.

"Let's take a break. M'gonna go get something for us to eat, an you rest. Make a fire if you feel up to it."

It scared him when she nodded, without even an eye roll.

She started climbing the right slope, and though he knew she could probably take care of herself just fine, the thought of having to put down Hershel's little girl sent cramps of fear and pain surging deep in his gut.

oOo

She was curled into a ball when he slid down the slope, raccoon in hand. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her gun tucked between her stomach and her thighs.

He dropped what he had in his hands and rushed forward, dropping into a crouch beside her. "What's wrong? You bit? Why didn't you yell?!" he whisper-screamed, eyes wide, worry etching lines on his forehead.

She shook her head, hair loose and spraying down her back in hazardous knots. Her face contorted and she let out a pitiful moan.

"M'…fine…Just…Stomach hurts…," she groaned out, shivering and taking a shuddering breath, voice catching lightly.

He shook his head, mildly pissed off. She was sick. A flu, a bug, maybe something worse. He knew she wasn't going to tell him. He just knew it.

He stomped over to the discarded coon, and started skinning and gutting it, following the procedure methodically, like he had done his whole life. He watched her closely the whole time, wincing when she shuddered and moaned as she rocked slowly, never taking her hands off her gun, finger resting on the trigger, safety off.

A tough girl. Her papa would be proud.

Maybe she was just exhausted. Dehydrated. Maybe the hunger pangs were just too much.

When he went to hand a piece of charred flesh to her, she stuck her hands out, turning her head away, so as to ward him off. She rolled over onto her side and started dry heaving into the dirt, gasping and retching but losing nothing but bile.

He knew how that felt. Her throat was probably raw.

And she was definitely dehydrated now. Sweating bullets, throwing up, was enough to put a horse down if it didn't have quite enough water.

And they didn't have any.

But what was he supposed to do? Leave her coiled around her semi-automatic like a snake around a branch, barely holding onto her consciousness, let alone her gun?

No. So she just had to eat, because that was the best they could do.

He wasn't the doctor. He wasn't Carol or Hershel. He was the hunter.

He prayed she wouldn't get any sicker. He couldn't… He couldn't let her die. He had to make sure that didn't happen. He had to do something.

He walked over and tilted her head back. Her eyes were bleary and half-closed, confused and in pain as he felt her forehead.

He sighed a little in relief. "It's not too bad yet," he murmured, digging deep to find his compassionate voice. "Think s'just a low grade."

She closed her eyes, head rolling slightly. "'S just a bug. I'll… I'll be okay. I can walk," she muttered, her voice little more than a breath as she stood shakily, the point of her gun resting on the ground, leaning on it almost like a cane.

He gaped at her. "What're you doing? Sit down before you fall down," he commanded, voice losing any attempt at tenderness.

She spared him a fleeting glare as a tremor laced through her small form. Her knees knocked together as she bent forward, leaning on her gun, making a small keening sound as her voice scrunched up in pain.

Daryl reached forward and took her rifle, helping her to the ground. He took the raccoon off the spit, kicking the dirt on the fire as he went.

He sat down next to her with the meat.

"You wanna try this again?" he challenged.

Beth looked a little green around the edges, but nodded and took a couple bites.

When she had had as much as she could possibly stomach without hurling, he finished off the rest. He stood and slung the guns on both shoulders, taking his crossbow in one hand, using the other to scoop up Beth and drape her arm around his neck.

"We got a whole day. Let's try and get to little Asskicker before night falls," he said to her, forcing a smirk, and she nodded weakly, hair falling and sticking to her face.

They let the pillar of smoke lead them.

OoO

"Oh, God," Beth yelped, hands flying to her lower stomach as she went completely limp.

Daryl dropped his crossbow and felt the guns straps drop to his elbows painfully as he tried to catch her, only partially succeeding.

"Oh God, oh God," she moaned, curling into the fetal position and clutching at her belly.

"What's happening?! What is it?!" he demanded back, crouching beside her, trying to unwind her and look for lumps or cuts or bite marks that he knew didn't exist.

She started crying, making a high pitched sound that was horribly reminiscent to quiet screaming. Tears were cracking her voice and mixing with the sweat on her cheeks.

He moved from her arms to her stomach to her legs, where he immediately stopped.

He felt the blood drain from his face, and then immediately rush to his cheeks. His whole face felt like it was on fire.

"Beth… Beth, calm down. It's okay. Try to calm down," he managed, racking his brain in panic.

She made an indignant sound through her cries.

"Beth… You're bleeding, Beth," he tried again, swallowing down his terror and confusion.

She shook her head. "No," she clipped out, voice wobbling. "It's not that. I don't-ohhhhh."

She curled back up and shuddered, tears pooling and making her eyes swell.

She whimpered once more, and then, like a drop of a hat, it was better.

She uncurled slowly, wiping her face and scooting herself away from Daryl.

Well. It wasn't like he wasn't embarrassed, too."

She stood, shaking like a leaf, but held her hand out to keep him away.

He watched her watch the ground for a couple seconds, poising to pounce forward to catch her when she fell.

She didn't though, just stood there, borderline hyperventilating, as she stared at the ground with wide, scared eyes, as a scarlet stain spread between her legs.

"…Come one. Come here."

He made a step towards her, but she took a step back.

He sighed quakingly, his heart pounding, his mind racing. What was he going to do?! Something was seriously, tremendously wrong, and he couldn't do anything. He was useless. She was going to die in the middle of nowhere, with everyone she loved scattered.

He couldn't help her. He couldn't save her.

But Sasha or Maggie might. Carol almost certainly could.

She's not there.

He held out his hand again. "Let… Let me help you. Sasha, your sister, if we can find them, they can help you."

Her eyes were feral, struck deep with the panic he had seen on animals that had become dinner. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot with tears, cerulean reflecting back at him in terrifying reminiscence.

Bloodshot eyes. Blue too blue.

He tried to maintain eye contact.

The walkers would smell the blood. They would follow. They had to keep moving if they were going to make it out of this.

He made a move towards her, and she didn't move away. He pulled his weapons from the ground, pulled her arm over his shoulder, and started walking again.

She leaned heavily on him, and despite her small frame, Daryl felt it. Under the three major weapons and her, he was beginning to feel a bit like a pack mule.

"We're almost there," he whispered into her sticky hair. "We're almost to Judy. Just hang in there."

oOo

It seemed three or four times an hour she would have another one of those horrifying attacks, and he would have to try and lower her to the ground as she went through it.

It made him sick to see someone so young and good go through something like that

And they were happening more often.

The stain had spread down to her knees. He knew that the blood loss was dangerous, knew she needed water, medicine of some sort, probably a doctor.

He knew he had to catch up to them. Catch up very, very fast.

They were so close. That smoke pillar from God was leading them like the Israelites in the wilderness, and he only prayed that it didn't go out.

Thus far, it hadn't.

The track had widened out so that there was hardly a foothill to either side of them. Every corner he turned he clenched up, preparing himself for brown skin and kinky black hair, silky brown hair and bright green eyes.

Each corner had been a disappointment.

On the third, he heard her crying.

Beth had just conquered another attack, and Daryl was more dragging her than helping her, but at that sound, her eyes flew open, tears of joy beading in her eyes. She broke away from Daryl as he reached towards her, trying to keep her from running, but nothing could keep her back.

"Judy! Judy-Ju!" she called out brokenly, voice cracking and rising and falling strangely. She laughed horribly, brokenly.

She stumbled ahead, barely able to walk, running like an arthritic cripple towards the next bend.

"Stop! Beth, wait," he bellowed, steeling himself for whomever was waiting, whomever was holding the baby.

He heard gasps and gleeful cries. "Beth! It's Beth!" he heard a young girl scream.

He rounded the corner, Maggie's name on his lips.

He stumbled, knees buckling at the sight. Dropped all three weapons. Almost dropped himself.

His eyes burned, his nose tickled. A lump formed in his throat, choking him as he gasped like a fish, the wind knocked right out of him.

"Daryl!"

OoO

AN #2: Thank you everyone for reading. The next few chapters are going to be pretty intense, and angsty, so try to bear with me! ;) Reviews are greatly appreciated. I love you all so much!

Now… Off to start drafting…