A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/story alerts/favorites, I really appreciate it! Hope you like the new chapter :)

xxx

Daryl's eyes fluttered open slowly, the world around him taking shape bit by bit, in fuzzy patches dancing across his vision; the pale blue cloth of his tent surrounded him, behind it the sky was beginning to lighten, the sun having just barely risen. He shivered bringing his hands up to rub his arms, hissing in pain when he was too rough over the wound on his shoulder. Fuckin' Andrea. A deep-rooted cough erupted from his lungs, rendering him helpless 'til it passed a moment later; clenching his jaw, he sat up carefully, his muscles screaming at him to just lie back down . . . but the hard ground wasn't as inviting as a warm bed anyway.

A soft moan snapped his attention to the side, and he found Carol curled up across the tent from him, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms hugging her sides; she was shaking just, her face was tense, lined with fear and worry. Daryl swallowed hard, annoyed with himself for feeling so bad for her . . . woman was damn near a stranger, they'd hardly spoken three words to each other. Why should it matter to him?

He glanced down at his arm, then felt his head, the bandages so neatly wrapped around each injury; there was a blanket draped across his legs, a bottle of water near where he rested his hand on the ground. The previous night was a fuzzy memory, but he vaguely recalled Carol's light touch, soothing voice; she had cared for him like no one ever had before, even in the midst of all she was going through.

And he remembered his promise. I'm gonna find your lil' girl.

Biting his lip so hard he nearly broke skin, Daryl forced himself to stand, growling when his legs swayed under him and he tripped over his own goddamn feet. His head felt okay when he was laying down, but now it was back to whirling all over the place, and that bastard with the sledgehammer was pounding away again. He shut his eyes, pinched his nose, tried to breathe slowly and steady himself; he could not puss out, there was only so much time left to find Sophia alive, and he was wasting it standing in his tent feeling sorry and sick.

"Daryl . . . ?"

He opened his eyes and found Carol staring at him, wide-eyed and confused; she sat up, then slowly got to her feet. "You're not going out, are you?" she asked, her sleepy voice taking on a breathless quality.

"'Course I am," he replied.

"You were shot yesterday!" Carol protested.

"It's just a flesh wound." Daryl shrugged, silently cursing himself when that hurt so much and he couldn't quite hide the flinch that involuntarily crossed his face. Ignoring it, and hoping she did too, he leaned over and grabbed his crossbow, then unzipped the tent, taking a step outside; Carol was right behind him, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her thinning frame.

"Daryl, no."

"I'll be fine." Daryl took a sip from his canteen, then staggered as another coughing fit took hold; he bent over, spat some water into the ground.

"You can barely stand!"

"I said I'm fine!" Daryl snarled, recovering and continuing on his way.

"You're just gonna get hurt worse- "

"You want your daughter back or not?" Daryl snapped, stopping and turning on her; his face was flushed red, chest heaving slightly. They stayed in place, staring each other down, neither one willing to move until finally, Carol spoke again, softer: "We don't know if we're gonna find her, Daryl . . . I don't know." His face twisted into a grimace, blue eyes squinting with confusion. "I can't lose you too," Carol murmured, her gaze dropping as tears filled her eyes.

This was just too much. Daryl gestured helplessly at the woman standing before him, licked his dry lips, tried to find something useful to say. Maybe if he could think straight something would come to him, but it was all he could do to just stay on his feet and not lay on the ground and go back to sleep.

"Yeah, well . . . " he stammered, then quickly turned and walked away. His face was aflame, whether it was from embarrassment or the fever burning inside him, he didn't know . . . didn't really care; he swiped a hand across his rough skin, flicked away the sweat, and went to the stables, picking out a dark-colored mare that watched him with wide, nervous eyes. He considered going to Herschel and asking to take a horse, but scoffed at the notion after just a second, he didn't ask for permission . . . besides, he'd bring the horse back before nightfall and make sure she was fed and groomed.

His vision blurred when he swung his leg over the horse's back, and he clutched the horn of the saddle so hard his knuckles turned white; his stomach rolled dangerously, threatening to bring up what little food and water remained inside. "Shit!" he gasped, reaching out blindly for his canteen. He took a sip, spit it all back up, then took another.

And with that, he nudged the horse with his heels, and they started off.

He didn't know long he was riding, only glancing up occasionally to look at the sun's position; the scenery didn't really change all that much, trees and more trees, dirt, rocks, some wildlife. That was all right, as far as he was concerned, he was more comfortable out in unfamiliar woods than he was playing house on someone else's farm.

Another search of the creekbed proved to be fruitless, other than allowing him the opportunity to refill his canteen and take a couple minutes to rest before climbing back into the saddle and continuing on. A feeling of hopelessness was slowly beginning to overwhelm him; his eyes were sharp, but there was simply no trail to follow. Somehow, the forest had swallowed Sophia and left no evidence behind, nothing to indicate that a little girl had ever wandered away.

Daryl grit his teeth, ground them together. She was dead. Torn apart by some filthy Walkers, probably not long after Rick had left her in the river; no body left behind for him to find, for her mother to bury. The little girl he saw yesterday was just a hallucination, something his mind made up because he wanted it so badly.

Fucking pathetic.

A branch snapped behind him. He brought the horse to a halt and twisted around to see a Walker a couple yards back, milky eyes intent on him, a leg that was badly mangled causing the creature to limp wildly toward him. Daryl took a breath and brought his crossbow up, aiming just a second before letting the bolt fly; the Walker dropped, limp, only to be replaced by another, coming out from behind a thick tree. It appeared to have once been a teenage girl, hip hugging jeans and some trendy T-shirt; she probably had pretty brunette hair that would've been shining in the sunlight, but now it was so dark it was almost black. Lifeless. Daryl slid from the saddle and pulled out his knife, gripping it firmly as he brought down on top of the Walker's head, finishing it.

Something growled, too close to his ear, and Daryl couldn't help the startled cry as he whirled around to face it. Where the hell were they all coming from? he had a moment to think as he stumbled backward, away from the 300-lb. mechanic barreling down on him. The Walker grabbed his arms, sharp fingernails scraping his skin as they both fell to the ground; Daryl switched grip on the knife and shoved it up, through the chin. The air whooshed from his lungs as the Walker's whole weight came down on his chest, and he struggled briefly to wiggle his way out from under it. Then . . .

Oh, shit.

He emptied his stomach into the leaves, the pain in his head returning full-force; too much action, moving fast, and his whole body rebelled against it. He gagged and choked, shuddered, down on his hands and knees; if another Walker was close by, then fuck 'em, he just might stay there and let them have at it. He really wasn't sure he had much of a choice, at this point.

A scream pierced the air. A long, high-pitched noise that could have only come from a young girl, and suddenly Daryl was on his feet, looking around desperately. "Sophia!" he yelled, or tried to. He coughed, cleared his throat, and attempted it again; this time his voice rang out loud and clear, but there was no answer. More visions, he thought to himself. You're going crazy.

But then she screamed again. Daryl's legs were running, carrying him over fallen tree branches and around deep holes, faster than he would've thought possible; he kept calling her name, over and over, his voice shaking and cracking pitifully. His thighs ached, his lungs burned, but he kept running, until suddenly . . .

There she was.

For one stunned moment, all he could do was stare at the shivering girl in front of him, her stringy red hair framing a thin, pale face; she was huddled in a cave, shaking like a leaf, tears running down her face. And her blue eyes stared at him with a strange mixture of adoration, fear, and relief. Daryl wanted to run to her and grab her in his arms, but hell, did the girl even know his name?

"M-Mr. Dixon?" she stammered, uncertainly.

Guess so. "It's okay, Sophia," he said, keeping his voice soft as he approached her like he would a wild animal. She'd been through hell, who knew how strong her grip on reality was at the moment. "You hurt?" he asked.

Sophia shook her head, whimpering. "No . . . "

Tough girl. She was covered in scratches (and if any of them were from Walkers . . . ) and had one hell of a nasty gash on her left kneecap; but she "wasn't hurt". Daryl smirked. "You ready to go back to your mama now?"

The tears came like a waterfall, and the sobs tore at him as Sophia buried her face in his chest, as comfortable as if he were her own father; awkwardly, he placed his hand on her back and rubbed it gently, at a loss but feeling like that was right. She cried even harder and he pulled his hand away. "It's okay," he murmured, "okay . . . "

A low growl sounded from above them, and Daryl pulled her closer as he looked up; a Walker glowered at them, standing on top of the cave, blood and saliva dribbling from its decaying chin. "Shit," Daryl muttered, and Sophia ducked back into the cave as he took the crossbow from his back. The Walker tried to take a step, slipped on the mud and rocks, and tumbled down on top of him before he had the chance to shoot; a strangled cry of pain came from Daryl's lips when his back hit a sharp rock on the ground, but he didn't have a second to dwell on that. The Walker hissed and snapped its teeth into his face, inches away, he pushed hard, his arms trembling with exertion, the Walkers fingers digging into his biceps so hard he thought they might go right through his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Sophia watching with a panic-stricken expression on her face; she seemed frozen, paralyzed, but then suddenly, she was running toward him and before he could even tell her to stay back, she was kicking the Walker off him. It turned on her when it landed on the ground, reaching with broken fingers; Daryl heaved in a deep breath and sat up, drawing his knife, then stabbed the Walker under the chin. It fell, and he followed, only just barely managing to catch himself before face-planting in the dirt.

Sophia's tiny hands were on his arm in a flash, she was kneeling next to him and he glanced up at her, chuckling in spite of it all; Carol's concern face was echoed in her daughter's, the same eyes, the same mouth hanging open just a little. "What's wrong?" Sophia asked, "are you sick?"

"Seems like it . . . " he sat back on his heels, panting. Just a few minutes to catch his breath, that was all, then he'd bring Sophia home, and go to bed.

"You feel really hot." Sophia's hand on his arm moved up and down, then dropped.

"Don't worry," Daryl said, disgusted by the sound of his own weak voice. "I'll get ya' back. Got a horse . . . " he pointed with his whole hand, in the direcion he'd come running from. "As long as she ain't run off. We'll be . . . back 'fore it's even dark." He took in another gulp of air, grimacing as his lungs strained, and coughing on the exhale. "C'mon," he wheezed, propping himself up on one knee, "better get goin'."

Sophia grabbed his arm again, doing her best to help him stand, but black spots were clouding his vision and there was only so much she could do, so he soon he found himself back on the ground. His fingers clawed at the mud beneath them, his chest fought for air as he hacked violently, trying so hard to keep his eyes open and at least some level of unconsciousness. He was vaguely aware of Sophia talking, but her voice was drowned out by the sounds of his own coughing and gagging, then the blood rushing to his ears as he fell to his belly, too weak to support himself any longer.

No, no, no, no . . . no! His thoughts were racing, trying to force his body to do something it was refusing to; finally, he managed to get his eyes open, and found himself staring into Sophia's face. She was crying, her eyes red and puffy, lips trembling around the fingers that was nervously chewing on; Daryl set his jaw, planted his hands, and forced himself back up. He hadn't come this far just to let her down now! Maybe I'll drop dead when we get back, but as long as we get there . . . I don't give a damn.

He breathed in and out a couple times, testing his lungs, then nodded to Sophia and they very slowly got him to his feet; her hands were icy cold, he reflected, and wished he had a coat or something to give her. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into him, her face nuzzling against his stomach as more tears fell. "Don't be scared," he breathed, "not gonna let nothin' hurt you."

She gripped his shirt while they made their way through the forest, pausing ever so often so Daryl could catch his breath; he would bend over slightly, gasping, and she would stand still as a statue, watching him with that sad, terrified look. He knew what she was thinking . . . he was gonna die out here, and she would be all alone again, after coming so close to being saved. Like hell! Then he would shake it off, and continue on, slowly but surely.

"So . . . " he started, "how'd you manage to do so well out here by yourself?" He looked down at the girl walking beside him, again took in her haggard appearance; muddy clothes, wet shoes.

"I just kept running . . . " Sophia replied, quietly. "I-I know Rick told me to stay. But then there was . . . and I got scared." She sniffled, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I should've just stayed."

"No use thinkin' that now." Daryl pressed his lips together and rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing pain. "Found ya'. You're gonna . . . be all right."

"Mama's okay?"

"She's fine. Been worried 'bout you."

" . . . I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Daryl insisted, stumbling over a branch but managing to catch himself on a tree. He looked around, spotted the two Walkers he'd killed earlier, the horse tracks left behind from his ride in . . . but no horse. "Goddamnit!" he snapped, fighting the urge to bury his fist in the tree.

"What's wrong?"

"Horse is gone." Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "We're gonna have to hoof it."

" . . . will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

He shot up a prayer to a God he didn't really think existed (it couldn't hurt, right?), and then Daryl pushed away from the tree and started walking again. After a few steps, Sophia's fingers found their way around his, clutching firmly, and he wasn't sure who was drawing strength from who anymore . . . but it didn't really matter.