It took him more weeks to get home than he figured it would. He spent a lot of time hunting, as he wanted to bring back some of Warren's food, but the cans were a life saver and he had to be thankful for that. He started to run into wildlife as he grew closer to the camp - apparently, they really liked Alexandria, probably for the same reason people did: safety. The Alexandrians had cleared out the area and kept it clear, so the deer and rabbits and squirrels could feast and forage in relative safety near the walls. It also meant that there were less Walkers, and Daryl didn't have to be so wary when hunting, focusing on the kill and less on his own safety.
It was dawn. He crawled out of his tree that he didn't sleep in and went straight for his bike. It was already packed, and even though the light had barely begun to filter through the trees, he started out towards home. It was empty, as he knew it would be, the last few miles into the town cleared regularly, and he didn't have to fear the darkness even as it closed in on him. The road was long and pink in the rising sun as it started to show through the tree line. Suddenly, as though pushed against by an unknown force, Daryl stopped, the bike skidding to a halt with a scream of rubber on asphalt, his head high, nose up. Smoke.
And not just a little smoke - the road ahead was clouded with it, trapped in the clearing of the road, blocking the view even as it rose into the morning sky. There was only one explanation for it, and Daryl's heart jumped, blood pounding as he roared off into the haze. There was only one thing in the area that could produce that much smoke if it was on fire, and all he could think of was Warren. His bike was warm under his hands, but soon the heat was on him and it made the metal hot, almost too hot to handle, and he quickly abandoned the bike, nearly vaulting himself off of it in his haste. It was only when he got within feet of the walls that he could really see the blaze.
Alexandria was burning. Every house seemed to be on fire, every bush and plant and tree was ablaze, even every rock seemed to be smoking with the heat. The walls popped like thunder, twisting and bending under the heat, warping and shrieking at him like they could feel the pain. The smoke was thick, rising from the buildings, hot and burning in his lungs, but he didn't heed the warning the smoke gave him, pressing forward into the compound. The gate was hot to the touch and burned his hands to open it, and he struggled with breath for a moment against the smoke. He was lucky, as the fire was recent enough that none of the buildings had yet to collapse, but the creaking and groaning around him, loud against the crackle of fire, said enough. He didn't have much time before the buildings would start to come down.
"Warren!" He called out, throat aching against the stress of working when he could only inhale smoke, and he coughed a deep chest cough, stumbling into the streets. Bodies were baking on the pavement, flesh melting, and amid the smoke he could smell the stink of burning hair and skin. "Rick!" He tried again, pressing for the infirmary, the building's porch half collapsed, the plastic melted, thick black smoke rising from its burning. It creaked at him, loudly, and he could barely jump back before it simply gave way, collapsing downward like it was worn out. The rush of heat pushed from the building's fall knocked Daryl over, and he struggled to recover as the smoke and dust refused to settle, forcing his lungs to work extra hard to find real air.
The ground had the most oxygen, and he recovered there quickly, pulling his bandana over his face again before he stumbled to his feet. The heat was starting to blister uncovered skin, even though he didn't near any real blaze - but the high metal walls kept the heat in and the area was starting to act like an oven, the air unable to escape quick enough to cool the spaces in between and leaving even the clear streets sweltering hot. Daryl moved quickly, heading for their lodging, their houses, and the front door was clear of fire or smoke and he broke it down quickly. He could feel the heat from above him, and he didn't waste time. "Carol! Maggie!" He tried other names, anyone's name, calling for Glen or Michonne or Carl, any sign of life. The bed in the center of the room was empty, covers thrown back, and things were missing. Someone left in a hurry.
The house creaked, loudly, the heaving of wood unable to survive the onslaught of the blaze. Daryl looked up, and could see the floorboards heaving downward, the fire seeping through the cracks in the floor, the glass of downstairs shattering around him as the boiling of the room caught the bed and the curtains. The house heaved again, the three floor structure too weak in the middle, and quickly Daryl dove for the closest stable surface he could duck under - the bed.
The house came down around him not a second later.
It was heavy and dusty once it settled, and Daryl was lucky he was alive. The bed's frame was hefty metal, and the mattress had not yet caught aflame - though that was still a possibility, and Daryl couldn't wait until it did - so it cushioned the falling debris. He was bruised, he could tell, pretty much all over, and he would need to free himself before he could assess the real extent of his injuries. His leg seared with pain and he didn't look down at it, because he knew already how bad it was - definitely broken, and it would take some work to make sure he got out of this mess with it fully intact - and instead he looked ahead, trying to judge the sheer amount of weight he would need to move.
The bed had been pressed against the wall in whomever's hurry to leave, and that meant there was a wall nearby. The piece against the bed had not crumbled, but Daryl could beat on it fairly easily with his crossbow. He shifted, pulling on his leg, and it resisted. It was slammed between two large pieces of wood, and he carefully shifted them aside to get it free. Definitely broken, but he didn't have the time to deal with that - the debris were still on fire, and the mattress was starting to smoke. He coughed, giving himself some room, and slammed the crossbow against the wall. Drywall was never meant to withstand much more than a few pounds of gentle force, and it gave easily around the stud it was still supported by. It took a few strikes to really clear a hole big enough for him, and he pulled himself through it, falling a few feet to the ground now that the porch had collapsed as well. He groaned, the heat still oppressive, boiling around him, and struggled to his remaining limb, picking up a large un-burnt stud to support himself with.
Clearly someone had fled, and he struggled to the road, looking for any sign. He quickly picked up on one - footprints, heading for the outer wall - and he followed them, panting a little, throat too raw to shout now. He saw it once he reached the wall - their escape, a foxhole barely big enough for a person, and he struggled through it, more falling into it than actually doing much. Outside the walls was much cooler, and the trees were far enough away that they hadn't caught fire, and he lay on the ground for a long, long moment, basking in the relief. His skin was blistered along his arms, and his leg was oozing gently into his pants, but he wasn't hot anymore and that's what mattered. His eyes slipped closed, body tired with what little food he'd been getting and the injuries draining him.
He had apparently passed out, he realized what he thought was moments later. The sun had slipped high in the sky in those moments, shining heavy through his closed eyes, and it didn't take him long to realize he had slipped away for several hours. He wasn't in the same place, either, as the heat of the fire at his feet was gone, and someone was pressing cool hands to his face. His eyes were heavy, but he managed to open them, and slowly someone came into focus. Never in Daryl's life had he been more happy to wake up, because there above him was Warren, hovering above him with the sun behind his head like a dark skinned Michelangelo painting, halo and everything.
"Thank god." Warren breathed out, sitting back on his heels, and Daryl shifted to a sitting position, tucking his good leg under him. His arms had bandages and his leg had that and a splint, and they'd moved him to a more secluded area of trees. Surprisingly enough, the pain was dull, even with the state of his leg. "I wasn't sure you'd wake up."
"What happened?" Daryl pressed a hand to his head, heat still making him dizzy, but he forced himself to focus on Warren, and the dizziness began to subside.
"There were these men. They spoke with Rick for a while, but it didn't go very well. They came back and stormed the gates with trucks and killed a lot of people before setting the buildings on fire. I didn't get to see much myself - they said to take the kids, so I grabbed as many medical supplies as I could and ran." Warren hovered as he spoke, gentle, unsure. There was a long moment after he finished where neither said a word, the silence infinite and tense, more awkward than before. There was a look in Warren's eyes that said he was afraid - afraid to touch, like Daryl wasn't even real, like he wasn't really there - and that look struck Daryl deep, because he realized suddenly why Warren was afraid - Daryl had left.
"I thought you weren't coming back." Warren finally said, soft, nearly a whisper, hands balled into fists on his thighs.
"I said I'd come back." Daryl frowned, knowing he left the note to prevent this but his leaving caused it all the same. Warren clenched his fists tightly, chuckling sadly.
"The amount of times I've been told I'll Come Back and they never did... I don't trust notes. It's just the easiest way to break ties without having to say goodbye. " Warren looked up, needing something, really needing it, his eyes so telling Daryl could understand what they meant when they said eyes were windows to the soul.
"I don't break promises." Daryl finally grumbled, and that seemed to break the spell of silence, break the tension, and that comforting quiet flooded in instead. Warren slipped closer, gently wrapping his arms around Daryl's neck in a tight hug, and it felt right and good to be there, to have Warren nearly in his lap and his arms around Daryl's neck, and the hunter hugged back just as tightly. Warren smelled like smoke and iodine and sweat and earth and it was honestly comforting to Daryl, grounding him in the there and the now and giving him new life and new energy to keep moving.
It clicked, right then, what Warren meant to him. It clicked that Warren renewed him in a way that no one else did - he was water to a dry plant, rain to a desert, and it flooded Daryl with warmth just to know he was there. And holding Warren there in his arms, he knew, above all else, that he wouldn't let anything pull him away again.