Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are we close?” Beth asked softly, staring down the sight of Daryl’s crossbow. Her arms were burning from holding it for so long, but she pushed through the discomfort. 

“Almost done,” he replied from behind her, just as quietly. 

“How do you know?”

“The signs’re all there. Just gotta know how to read 'em.”

A slow breeze rustled the leaves and Beth braced her body against a shiver. Her gray cardigan was doing a well enough job keeping her warm as the summer started to taper off into fall. Trees and bushes were still green and they had more hot days than not, but it was getting cooler as the days got shorter.

“What are we trackin’?” Even as she said this, she knew he wasn’t going to just tell her.

He responded, “You tell me. You're the one who wanted to learn.”

Beth lowered the crossbow, looking down at the forest floor. Her blue eyes scanned over the ground, taking in the pattern of fallen leaves and scattered sticks. “Well, somethin’ came through here. The pattern’s all zig-zaggy.” She smiled, looking back at him. “It’s a walker.”

“Maybe it’s a drunk,” Daryl said, the tips of his fingers rubbing over the scruff on his chin. 

“I’m gettin’ good at this,” she said with a proud smile, lifting the crossbow again. “Pretty soon I won’t need you at all.”

“Yeah, keep on trackin’,” Daryl grumbled.

Beth continued to lead the way through the trees, staying on alert as she followed the tracks to the edge of a clearing. She stopped, spotting a walker kneeling in the clearing, hunched over something small. 

“It's got a gun,” Beth whispered, noticing the weapon on the walker’s belt. She crept into the clearing, keeping her footfalls as quiet as possible. After another step, Daryl’s hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt. 

“It’s a long-range weapon, you don’t need to get any closer,” he reminded her. He adjusted her stance with a kick of his boot against hers. “Plant your feet.”

Beth nodded, lifting the crossbow a little higher. The walker snarled, ripping into whatever animal it held in its hands, unaware of Beth taking aim at the back of its head. She took a deep breath, sliding her pointer finger onto the trigger, and with her exhale, she squeezed. The bolt whizzed through the air and lodged in the walker’s right shoulder. Beth barely stopped herself from making a frustrated sound. 

It jerked forward at the force of the shot and turned its body toward them, blood dripping down its chin as it chewed lazily. It looked at them with white, glassy eyes, and immediately started to stand. 

Daryl took the weapon from her, loading another arrow. Beth watched the walker move at a snail’s pace, getting to its feet. She was surprised when Daryl handed the crossbow back to her.

“Try ‘gain,” Daryl encouraged. 

Beth swallowed, raising the bow. The walker was getting closer and as Beth lined up the sight with the center of its forehead, Daryl got closer to her. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck as he bent his head down a little so he could see the walker at her height. He used a hand to bend her left elbow just a little bit, and then raised the crossbow a little more.

“Shoot,” he rasped.

Beth squeezed the trigger and this bolt shot straight into the walker’s neck. 

This time Beth did voice her annoyance with a groan. Daryl unsheathed his knife and put the walker down swiftly. He retrieved both of his bolts and reloaded the crossbow. 

“When you pull the trigger, you let your left arm drop,” he explained to her.

Beth nodded, appreciating that he was giving her advice, but still feeling disheartened that she missed twice even after her target got closer to her. Daryl had been teaching her tracking and shooting the last week since they burned down the moonshine still and she thought she was getting pretty good. A moving target is different from a stagnant tree though.

Beth took the gun from the walker’s belt and searched its pants pockets for anything that would be useful. Nothing. The revolver only had one bullet in the cylinder.

Daryl kicked one of the walker’s legs and a loud snap made Beth jump. A metal trap closed over the walker's leg, its teeth sunk into rotting flesh.

Beth looked up at Daryl with wide eyes. “That could’ve been me.”

“Could’a been,” he agreed with a shrug. “C’mon, I’ll man the crossbow and y’can track us down some dinner.”

Beth nibbled on her bottom lip as she tried to find a trail to follow. She felt Daryl’s eyes on her as she took a walk around the clearing, looking for the things he told her were signs of an animal’s trail; vegetation breaks, holes in the ground, scat, and bedding spots. 

She pointed at a tree, the base of it where the bark had been scraped off. “Is that somethin’?”

“Good eye. That’s usually done by rabbits,” he said. “What else you see?”

They went back and forth like that, Beth spotting something and asking if it was part of the trail and Daryl giving her pointers. At one point, the trail was very easy for Beth to follow when she found the rabbit’s tracks printed in a spot of mud, and at another point Daryl had to take over because she’d lost the trail entirely. 

By the time the sun was setting in the west, they had a rabbit cooking over a fire in the camp they’d set up for the night with their makeshift alarm of old soup cans hung from fishing line, wrapped around the perimeter. The heat from the fire was a welcome relief from the chill that settled over them as the setting sun took its warmth away. 

Daryl pulled the rabbit off the fire and they picked the meat from it with their fingers, sharing the animal. It was the most that they both had eaten since they fled the prison. Most of what they had been eating was snakes and small squirrels. Beth wasn’t complaining about what Daryl was able to find for food, but the rabbit was a nice change of pace that she intended to enjoy. 

“Where are we goin’?” Beth asked after swallowing a bite.

Daryl didn’t respond right away. He shoved another piece of meat into his mouth. “Been keepin’ an eye out for signs of someone.”

Beth’s hand paused against the rabbit. They had been traveling in circles for days, near the prison but not so close they would run into a horde. Beth had been looking for something, anything that would point them toward someone in their family, but she was yet to find it. She didn’t know he had been doing the same thing. Not only that, but he was the tracking expert, and if he didn’t see anything, there wasn’t anything to see. 

“I guess you haven’t seen anythin’, otherwise you would’ve said somethin’.”

Daryl gave a short nod. He stopped pulling pieces off the rabbit and hooked his elbows over his bent knees, leaning back on the tree behind him. Beth finished the last few bites of meat and took a similar pose, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on her arms. 

“So we don’t know where we’re goin’,” she concluded, her voice sounding too loud in the silence.

He only shrugged in response. 

“You wanna do somethin’ crazy?” 

Daryl’s eyes darted to hers. The flames from the fire danced across his face and made his eyes look more green than blue. “Burnin’ that shack down weren’t ‘nough for you?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “No fire this time,” she promised. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “You’ve never been out of Georgia before, right? Let’s leave Georgia.”

Daryl brought a hand to his mouth and began chewing on a nail. “Where the hell would we go?”

“Anywhere we want,” she said easily. She knew that wasn’t really true. The logistics of traveling was much different now, but they could at least make it to a state bordering Georgia. “South Carolina, Florida, Tennessee, Alabama…”

Daryl took his thumb away from his mouth and rubbed his fingers along his jaw. 

“We can’t keep lookin’ for them forever.” She felt a pain in her chest, guilt and grief, as she spoke. “We have to start over. Build a life again. No offense, but who wants to live the rest of their lives sleeping on the ground and eatin’ mud snakes.”

Finally, he said, “Never been to the beach.”

A smile spread across Beth’s face. “Really?”

“Florida and South Carolina both sound good to me. Got gators. New dinner option.”

Beth giggled a little, leaning closer to him. “You just want a chance to wrestle a gator, don’t you?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Daryl shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Could be fun,” he replied, his voice low. “Reckon I could take one down.”

“Am I gonna have to be worried about you gettin’ distracted?”

“I don’t get distracted,” he scoffed. 

“Maybe you should get distracted sometimes—a safe distracted, obviously. There are other things you could be enjoyin’, you know, that isn’t huntin’.”

For a second, Beth could have sworn Daryl’s eyes had dipped down to glance at her lips, but he locked eyes with her again so quickly, she couldn’t be sure. She felt her stomach swoop anyway.

“Yeah? Like what?” He asked after clearing his throat. It didn’t help anything. His voice was still as deep and raspy as always.

She leaned back on her hands, tilting her head as if she was deep in thought. “Maybe a swim in the ocean, feelin’ the sand between your toes, the sun on your skin…”

“You think I’m gonna get distracted by all that?” 

Beth shrugged. “You’re more of a mountain man, than a beach bum, but I think you’d enjoy it.”

Daryl snorted at that. “Maybe I will.” 

He shifted on his rear, getting more comfortable, and Beth’s breath hitched. She wondered if he might lean in closer, close the distance between them. His fidgeting had brought him closer for a moment, but then his back was against the tree again. Beth forced herself to breathe, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Maybe we both will,” she whispered.

Chapter Text

The abandoned gas station had already been picked over, that much was obvious. Broken glass littered the ground near the doors, the metal racks inside were mostly empty, but they had learned a long time ago that just because a place looked empty didn’t mean there wasn’t something worth taking.

Daryl kept his crossbow aimed as they cleared the building. Beth moved ahead of him, her boots barely making a sound on the cracked tile floor. 

“I’ll check the back,” he murmured, nodding toward the storage room. Beth gave him a quick nod as he headed toward the dimly lit hallway. 

He moved slowly, scanning the dark corners of the hallway before nudging open the storage room door with the toe of his boot. It groaned on its hinges, the sound making him tense. He stepped inside, crossbow up, but the room was empty—no walkers, no movement. Just rows of empty shelves and a musty smell that clung to the air. 

He exhaled through his nose and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, turning his attention to the shelves. Most of the boxes had been torn into already, their contents long gone. A cluttered desk with a box TV was in the corner. He rummaged through the drawers—expired medicine, a bag of weed, and a folded map. 

He unfolded the map carefully, worn and creased at the folders, but it was a full map of Georgia and its surrounding states. Someone had marked a route in red pen, the lines looping and crisscrossing through towns, places labeled “Safe?” or “Don’t go.” 

Whoever had marked it up hadn’t made it far, but they’d tried. Maybe they had a family to find. Maybe they’d been looking for a place like the prison or Woodbury, a place to settle down. 

It didn’t work out for them.

He heard Beth enter the room behind him and he looked over his shoulder. She beamed at him, holding up a tube of Colgate and a yellow toothbrush, still in its packaging. 

“Can you believe it?” she asked giddily. 

Daryl snorted. “You act like you just found a five-course meal.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t dim. “What’d you find?”

He held up the map, letting her look over his shoulder at the lines and grids. 

“Nowhere’s safe,” he said, “and whoever did this didn’t make it too far out, but it’s better than nothin’.” 

Beth nodded. “We can use it to decide on our route to leave Georgia.”

Daryl folded the map, nibbling on the inside of his bottom lip. “You still wanna do that?”

Beth’s expression softened, but there was no hesitation in her nod. “Yeah, I do.”

He tucked the map into his back pocket. “We’ll look at it later, when we stop. Let’s keep movin’.”

Beth twirled the toothbrush in her fingers. “I can’t wait to use this. My teeth feel grimy .”

Daryl smirked, leading the way back to the main room of the gas station. “Ain’t like you’re kissin’ anyone. Who’re you tryna impress?”

Beth shot him a pointed look when he glanced back at her. Her cheeks were suddenly much pinker than usual. “ Myself, thank you very much.” 

Daryl glanced toward the front door, keeping an eye out for movement outside. “A’right,” he said, adjusting his grip on his weapon. “That fire station down the road’s next.”

They made their way down the cracked pavement, boots crunching over stray debris. The fire station was at the end of the block, its red doors faded and chipped, one of them hanging slightly open. A fire truck sat just outside, its windshield shattered, weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete beneath it.

Daryl heard a growl to their left and turned to see a walker on the other side of a chain link fence. He didn’t see anywhere along the fence that would allow the walker to follow them, but he didn’t want to take any chances leaving it there. He put the walker down with his hunting knife to its forehead. 

They crept their way inside, watching their step. The garage was cluttered with old gear, hoses, and a few scattered tools. A set of lockers stood against one wall, most of them open and emptied. 

Beth went to the nearest locker, prying it open with a creak. Daryl moved toward an office in the back. He knocked on the door gently, listening for movement on the other side. Nothing. He tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. Hunting knife at the ready, he pushed the door open, and nearly fell back at the smell of decay that rushed out of the room.

 He coughed, bile rising in his throat. He covered his nose with his sleeve and scanned the room. The source of the stench was the body slumped back in the desk chair. Blood splattered the whiteboard behind the body, a handgun lay on the floor. 

Daryl stepped into the room carefully. It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened here, but he nudged the shoulder of the corpse with the tip of his knife anyway, just to be sure the man was really dead. 

He picked the pistol up and checked it—no ammo. He shoved the gun into his waistband anyway, his stomach still sour from the sight and smell. A quick look through the office proved to be a waste of time. He shut the door with a grimace and went to find Beth, empty handed. 

“Find anythin’?” she asked, rummaging through the last locker on the wall. 

“Nah, you?” 

Stepping back from the locker and turning to him, she held up a roll of gauze. “This is it.”

Daryl shook his head, glancing around the room. A couple gas cans sat in a corner. Daryl lifted one, liquid sloshing inside. “Gotta find a car.” He made a mental note to come back here once they found one.

Beth shoved her find into her backpack. “Do you want to look for one around here or keep movin’?”

“Should check out some houses. Could get lucky and find one in a garage.”

Beth nodded and followed him out of the fire station. The streets were quiet, no walkers in sight, but they kept their guards up anyway. 

They walked in silence for a while, the low rustle of the wind through broken windows and abandoned cars filling the quiet. Daryl’s fingers twitched at his side when Beth’s gait veered a few inches to the left and her arm brushed against his. She corrected herself without a word, probably not even noticing what she had done. 

But Daryl noticed.

Hell, he noticed everything when it came to her. 

Daryl spotted a row of houses with garages up ahead. Looked like a decent place to check, so he tilted his chin toward them, and Beth gave a small nod in understanding. She didn’t even have to ask what he was thinking—she just knew.

He liked that too much.

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. Focus. 

They headed toward the first house, moving as a unit. The front door, garage and side door were shut, but a knock on the side door roused whatever was inside. Daryl could hear at least two walkers within the house. In one swift move, Daryl jerked the door open and raised his crossbow, taking aim in case anything came stumbling toward him. 

At the end of a short, dark hallway, a walker shambled toward them. It had been a man once, wearing a bloodstained flannel, his face sunken. Behind him, more movement—a woman, dead for a long time. Maybe a couple that had huddled together when everything went bad.

Daryl didn’t let himself dwell on it.

He aimed and fired. The bolt hit home, between the first walker’s eyes, and the body crumpled to the floor. The other one turned toward the commotion. 

Beth moved before he could stop her, her knife flashing in the dim light. She ducked under the outstretched arms of the woman walker, thrusting her blade up through its jaw. 

Daryl’s heart gave a hard thud in his chest as the walker collapsed at Beth’s feet. She looked back at him, a little breathless but steady. Her hair had slipped loose from the tie at the back of her head, a few strands clinging to the sweat on her forehead. Blood speckled her cheek—not hers, she swiped her arm across it without flinching. 

Daryl didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at her. Maybe longer than he should have. 

“I’m fine,” she said, maybe assuming he was watching her out of concern.

”Didn’t say you weren’t,” he muttered, looking past her to the room beyond. A couch, some overturned furniture, a broken picture frame on the ground. Another house that used to be something and wasn’t anymore.

The two of them split up, checking rooms for things they needed. 

Daryl made his way into the kitchen. Most of the pantries were cleared, dirty dishes and plastic bags of trash told him the walkers they put down probably holed up in this house for a long time before they ran out of food.

His eyes flicked to a wooden key hook near the door that probably led to the garage. Four hooks. Three of them were empty. 

A single key hung on the fourth hook, a familiar H etched into it. 

He plucked the key off the hook and crossed the kitchen to what he assumed was the garage door. He pushed the door open with a creak. He didn’t hear anything move within the garage. 

He pulled a flashlight out of his backpack and clicked it on. A silver Honda sat in the center of the room. Dusty, but intact. Tires still full, windows unbroken. He propped the hood up and took a look at the tangle of hoses and wires, making sure everything was in good shape.  Once he was done with that, he stepped around to the driver’s side and slid the key into the ignition. 

The engine coughed and sputtered when he turned the key, then roared to life. 

He looked up when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Beth stood in the doorway, eyes wide with cautious hope. “It runs?”

He nodded, killing the engine. “Got lucky.”

Her smile stretched and Daryl swallowed thickly, shoving the key into his pocket. He glanced around the garage—no gas cans, no siphon hose.

“Needs gas, though,” he said, handing her the flashlight. “We’ll go back to the fire station before it gets dark.”

Outside, the sky was starting to gray over with late afternoon clouds. They moved fast down the road, Daryl scanning every corner, every alleyway. They walked side by side, Beth having no trouble keeping up with him. Her boots were light, breaths steady. 

He remembered when he first met her, thought she was just another mouth to feed, just some kid who didn’t know anything about surviving. But she learned. And now she moved like someone who’d earned it. Like someone who’d made it through the fire and was still standing.

She sure showed him.

They reached the fire station just as the wind kicked up, the air sharp with the scent of rain and rot. Daryl crept in first, crossbow raised, eyes cutting through the dim interior. Nothing had moved since they left. He led the way toward the corner where the gas cans were stashed, Beth just a few steps behind him.

He bent down, lifting the heavier of the two. As he straightened, he heard it—that low, all-too-familiar gurgling moan. 

Then a crash.

“Daryl—” Beth said, keeping her voice low despite her urgency. 

He whirled just in time to see them—walkers, at least half a dozen, coming through the open garage door. He dropped the gas can and raised his crossbow in the same breath, letting loose a bolt that took the lead walker in the eye. It staggered, but the rest didn’t stop. They stumbled over each other, their moans echoing off the concrete walls of the firehouse.

Beth was at his side in an instant, knife raised. 

There was no time for hesitation.

Daryl swung his crossbow like a club, knocking one walker sideways before jamming his knife in the base of another’s skull. Beside him, Beth moved with precision, her blade flashing as she ducked and twisted out of reach, drawing a walker away from Daryl. Like they’d fought a hundred times together. Maybe they had.

One of them grabbed Daryl’s shoulder, gnashing its broken teeth. He wrenched himself free, then jammed his blade under its chin with a grunt.

Rain began to fall outside, tapping against the station’s tin roof like a warning.

Beth let out a sound—not fear, more like frustration—as a walker cornered her against a rusted locker. Daryl lunged before he had time to think, burying his knife into the walker’s temple just before it reached her. 

More were coming. 

He could hear them—those shuffling feet, wet with rain and rot, dragging across the concrete. The scent was worse now too, like meat left out in a storm. Daryl shoulder checked a nearby walker, grabbing the gas can with one hand and Beth’s wrist with the other, yanking her toward the back exit. 

They burst into the alley behind the fire station, the rain coming harder now, turning the dirt to mud beneath their boots. 

His chest heaved, lungs burning from the sprint, the fight, the sheer weight of staying alive. His fingers were still curled around her wrist. 

They kept running until they could see the house where the Honda sat in the garage. 

Daryl didn’t let go of her wrist, didn’t even think to until they were both inside, dripping wet and trembling from more than just the cold.

He slammed the door, his back pressed against it for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. The adrenaline was still pumping through him, making his hands shake as he wiped the rainwater from his face.

Beth was standing there, too, breathing hard, hair plastered to her cheeks. Her eyes met his in the dim room—wild with something he couldn’t quite place.

Daryl couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. The rainwater dripped down her face, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and for a moment, the world outside that door didn’t matter. It was just him and her, standing in the quiet aftermath of chaos, their bodies still thrumming with the adrenaline of the fight, the run, the sheer feeling of being alive.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips parting ever so slightly as if she were about to say something, but the words never came.

Daryl lurched forward without thinking.

Beth didn’t move away. Hell, he swore she leaned in to meet him halfway.

Their mouths met hard, a little clumsy at first, more heat and adrenaline than finesse.

Daryl’s mind raced, a thousand thoughts swirling in a haze of fog, but one thing was clear: he couldn’t stop. Not now, when every part of him seemed to crave her like the air he breathed.

Beth’s lips were soft, warm, and she tasted of spearmint, the tang of it strong and overwhelming as he kissed her harder, his heart thudding in his chest. Then, the kiss slowed, their lips moving more softly, more cautiously, as if they were both realizing the weight of what had just happened. 

Beth’s fingers curled into the fabric of his vest, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

She spoke first, her voice barely a whisper. “Daryl…”

Daryl’s grip of her waist tightened. He didn’t know what the hell to say, so he did the only thing that made sense.

He kissed her again.

Chapter Text

The next day, as the sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn, Beth could feel the tension still lingering in the air between her and Daryl. The night had been quiet, almost painfully so, and sleep hadn’t come easy. The kiss had been on her mind since it happened, replaying over and over in her head, like a song she couldn’t get out of her head.

She knew they had to talk about it, to figure out what it meant. But the weight of the moment had left her hesitant. After everything they’d been through, after everything they’d survived, was this going to change anything? 

Daryl was already in the garage, loading their things into the Honda, his movements brisk and focused. But Beth knew him well enough by now to spot the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he didn’t look directly at her when she stepped outside. He was thinking about it too. She could feel it.

She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, the early morning chill biting through her sleeves. “Daryl,” she said softly as she approached. “We should talk.”

He paused, one hand on the trunk of the car, his back still to her. For a second, she thought he might ignore her altogether. 

“I know,” he said, voice low, guarded.

She waited, heart in her throat, watching him carefully.

He sighed and turned, rubbing a hand over his face like he was already exhausted. He still didn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry I made things weird,” he mumbled.

Beth blinked. “I didn’t ask for an apology. I just wanted to talk about it. About what it meant.”

She could see the tips of his ears reddening from where they poked out of his shaggy hair. He scratched at the scruff on his chin, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Don’t gotta mean nothin’.”

Beth swallowed. She had been worried he didn’t think much of it. They both stood there for a moment, in silence, and Daryl must have noticed that she wasn’t going to say anything in return because he cleared his throat.

“Let’s get on the road,” he grunted, opening the driver’s door.

When Beth didn’t move, he met her eyes through his fringe. 

“Ain’t good at this kinda talk,” he admitted.

Beth hesitated, walking around to the other side of the car. When she looked back up at him, he hadn’t moved an inch, like a hunter, watching her every move. 

”I know,” she said softly. “But maybe that’s why we need to talk.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he slid into the driver’s seat, and she climbed in beside him. 

The car started up smoothly, the engine humming to life with a gentle rumble that filled the heavy silence between them. Beth stared straight ahead through the windshield as Daryl guided the car carefully out of the garage and onto the street.

Beth glanced sideways at Daryl, the side of his face lit soft by the morning light. His jaw was set, his lips in that familiar tight line. But his shoulders were still tense, and she knew he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted her to think.

The kiss had meant something. To her, at least.

They’d been driving for nearly an hour when she finally broke the silence.

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Daryl didn’t look away from the road. “What’s that?”

“You act like it didn’t happen, and I pretend it doesn’t bother me.”

He was silent for a few seconds longer than she liked.

“It ain’t like that,” he said finally. “Just…didn’t wanna make things worse.”

Beth’s brow furrowed. “How would you make things worse?”

Daryl’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “‘Cause if we talk ‘bout it, then it’s real. And if it’s real, then it can get screwed up. And we’re already dealin’ with enough.”

Beth looked down at her lap, blinking hard. That wasn’t the answer she wanted. But it was Daryl, wasn’t it? Always thinking ahead, always looking for danger around the corner—even when it comes to feelings.

Especially when it comes to feelings.

“I’m not trying to make things complicated.” She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “It meant somethin’ to me.”

The road stretched ahead, cracked and faded by time. Trees blurred past. Empty houses. Miles of uncertainty. 

“I don’t wanna pretend it didn’t happen,” she spoke again. “I don’t wanna walk on eggshells around each other. I don’t wanna ignore it or forget it because it’s easier to sweep it under the rug.”

“I ain’t forgettin’ it happened,” he said, low and rough. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Don’t think I could if I tried.”

Beth turned her head slightly, her eyes catching his profile. 

“Just dunno what the hell to do with it,” he admitted.

Beth watched him in the dim morning light, the sincerity in his voice making her chest ache. There was something raw in the way he said it, like the truth cost him something on its way out. 

“I care ‘bout you,” he added, softer now. Beth could barely hear him over the engine and the gravel beneath the tires. “Prob’ly more than I should, considerin’ everythin’ goin’ on.”

Beth’s heart thudded painfully. She looked at him full now, letting him feel the weight of her gaze. “Maybe we deserve to care about someone,” she said. “Regardless of what’s goin’ on.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Just gave that small, familiar shrug.

Beth let out a quiet breath, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it didn’t feel quite so sharp. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and watched the world pass them by. The sky was fully awake now—muted grays breaking into warmer blues—and she wondered if that was happening now. The dark giving way to something lighter. Something better.

When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the heat of his mouth on hers, the tension in his hands when he held her, the way the world had narrowed down to the space between them. She hadn’t imagined it. He felt it too. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with it, and she wasn’t entirely sure she did either, but it was real, whatever it was.

When she glanced back at him, his eyes flicked to her again for the briefest moment. Something in them softened before he returned his focus to the road.

“Ain’t exactly good at…any of this. You deserve better.”

Beth shook her head, her heart tight in her chest. “Don’t say that. You’re tryin’, aren’t you?”

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I’m tryin’.”

“That’s all I’m askin’ for,” Beth whispered, wanting to reach out and touch him, but she also didn’t want to push too hard. “I’m not expectin’ you to figure everythin’ out right now. I just wanted you to know how I felt.”

Daryl shifted in his seat a little. “You know I’m like, twice your age, right?”

Beth let out a small laugh, surprised by his bluntness, and the slight awkwardness of his voice eased the tension in her chest just a little. She turned toward him, pulling one leg up onto the seat.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Daryl.” Her voice softened, her eyes warm and earnest as she watched his profile carefully. “I know exactly who you are and what I’m doin’. It ain’t like I just woke up and decided I liked you.”

“How long?” he asked, voice barely audible.

Beth swallowed, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks despite herself. “Since before the prison fell. Since before the Governor.”

Daryl’s eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “Ain’t nothin’ special, just a grumpy asshole.”

Beth couldn’t stop herself from smiling fondly, cocking her head as she continued to study him. “You are a grumpy asshole sometimes,” she teased. “But that’s not all you are.”

He let out a quiet breath, maybe a laugh. He lifted his left hand from the steering wheel and rubbed his palm over his mouth before lightly chewing on the skin of his index finger. 

“So,” Beth murmured, suddenly feeling shy, “what about you?”

“What ‘bout me?” he mumbled.

Beth refrained from rolling her eyes. He knew exactly what she was talking about. “Was it just…the heat of the moment?”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. He shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t wanna let myself think ‘bout it. Didn’t seem right. Still ain’t sure it is.”

Beth nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. Her stomach tightened with nerves as she focused on a loose thread on her sleeve. That wasn’t a no. It wasn’t the most romantic declaration either, but it was Daryl, and she knew by now that his honesty rarely came wrapped in pretty words.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Just drove. They were still traveling along backroads, avoiding major highways where people, walkers and wreckage were more likely. If they got stuck on a road jammed with long-abandoned vehicles, they would risk having to leave the car behind and find a new one.

Eventually, Daryl cleared his throat.

“So, uh…” he began, sounding uncomfortable in that very Daryl way, “what’re we supposed to do now?”

Beth considered the question. The answer should have been simple—they had bigger worries, bigger things to focus on. Survival. Food. Finding shelter. A place to call home. And yet, this felt just as important, maybe even more so. This wasn’t about surviving, it was about wanting something better.

“I dunno,” she said softly, tracing invisible patterns with her fingertip on her thigh. “Maybe we just keep bein’ us. Whatever happens, happens.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, but she saw his hand relax a little on the wheel. He gave a small nod. Barely there, but enough.

Outside, the sky cleared. A streak of sunlight broke through the trees and spilled across the windshield in golden slivers, catching on Beth’s hair, on Daryl’s hands, on the dust clinging to the dashboard.

She caught him glancing her way again. This time, he didn’t look away so fast.

Chapter Text

Daryl had never been the type to let his guard down.

He didn’t have the luxury of softness, not when the world demanded grit and steel to make it to the next sunrise. But ever since that night—since Beth’s lips had met his, since her hand had curled into his vest like she wasn’t afraid of holding on—something had shifted in him. 

Now, they were leaving Georgia behind. 

Beth sat in the passenger seat, map spread out on the dashboard, as she read aloud towns and cities along the tentative route to the Georgia-South Carolina border that they had planned. 

“McCormick, then Troy,” she murmured, fingertip tracing along a red line. “There’s a campground near there. Might have gear.”

Daryl hummed, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He didn’t need to look at her to know the way her brow furrowed when she was focused, or how her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she was thinking. He’d memorized her without meaning to. 

They’d spent the last two days mostly in silence—comfortable sometimes, awkward others. Not quite sure how to act now. They still worked like a well-oiled machine when it came to scavenging and scouting, falling into rhythm without even trying. But now there were moments—small ones, flickers—where Daryl caught her watching him from the corner of her eye. Where he’d find his hand brushing hers when she passed him something, and he didn’t pull away right away. Where the quiet between them felt charged instead of peaceful.

They stopped outside of Troy when the sun hit its peak. Beth spotted a hardware store that hadn’t been completely stripped bare, and they cleared it in quiet sync. They found a few things they could use—a small hatchet, a working flashlight, a pair of work gloves. When they passed each other in the aisles, Beth gave him a small smile.

He didn’t say anything, but the way his heart kicked made him want to.

They reached the campground just as the sun began to drop toward the horizon, casting everything in warm gold. It was overgrown, the wooden sign barely readable. An old RV sat on flat tires, weather-worn picnic tables scattered around.

They swept the campground slowly, clearing out a few walkers—old ones, sluggish. Daryl took two down with his crossbow, Beth finished off another with a quick, clean stab just beneath the chin. 

When it was clear, Daryl opened the door to the RV. The scent of rot hit his nose and he slammed the door shut before he stumbled back, coughing into his fist. 

“No good?” Beth asked with a knowing grimace.

Daryl shook his head, swallowing thickly. 

Beth nodded without complaint. She set her pack down near a fire pit and started gathering sticks without a word. Daryl watched her for a moment, the way she moved through the tall grass with practiced ease, like she belonged out here now. 

His stomach growled—loud and unforgiving. 

“I’ll see if I can get us somethin’,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on his crossbow and heading toward the tree line without waiting for her to respond.

Beth looked up and gave him a small smile. “Be careful.”

Daryl moved quickly, disappearing into the trees. He followed a thin trail between the brush, footsteps silent, crossbow at the ready. His eyes scanned the undergrowth—looking for movement, broken stalks, droppings. He paused at a patch of trampled grass, eyeing the indentation in soft soil.

Rabbit. Fresh.

He followed the faint trail, slipping through branches and ducking beneath vines until he caught movement up ahead. Two of them. Daryl exhaled slowly, raised the crossbow, and waited. The first rabbit darted left, too fast—but the second paused just long enough.

He pulled the trigger.

The bolt sailed clean, struck true. The rabbit kicked once and then stilled.

He crouched low, retrieving the kill, fingers steady as he worked, but his mind wasn’t on the rabbit.

It was back at the camp. On the girl building a fire with dirt on her knees and blonde hair falling into her eyes. The one who looked at him like he wasn’t a man made of jagged edges.

Daryl slung the rabbit over his shoulder and made his way back to camp. The sky above was dimming into evening, steaks of orange and purple bleeding behind the trees. 

When he stepped out of the woods, she was sitting cross-legged by the fire she’d built, poking at it with a stick. Her head snapped up at the sound of his deliberate footsteps, but when she saw it was him, her whole body relaxed. Her shoulders softened. She smiled.

Daryl knelt beside the fire pit and began cleaning his kill. Beth's eyes followed his movements, not disgusted by the act. He could feel her gaze. It burned his skin hotter than the flames could. 

They hadn’t kissed again. Hadn’t even touched, not really. Not since the stormy night when everything had cracked open. 

Besides their conversation in the car, Beth hadn’t pressed him to talk about it anymore. He caught her looking at him, and he wondered more than once what she was thinking. He realized she was probably wondering the same thing about him. 

When the rabbit was cleaned and skewered over the fire, Daryl finally sat back, wiping his hands on his thighs. Beth passed him a bottle of water without a word, their fingers brushing as he took it. 

That familiar jolt shot through him again, like a live wire buzzing under his skin. He glanced at her—really looked at her—and something shifted again. 

Daryl could feel his pulse in his throat.

Slowly, Beth reached for his hand on his thigh. Her fingers slid over his knuckles, light as a whisper. Daryl let her. Didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

His hand turned under hers, calloused fingers brushing against her palm.

He didn’t know what they were.

Didn’t know what they’d become.

But he knew the soft sound of her laughter when he muttered something dry under his breath. He knew the weight of her head resting on his shoulder during a rare moment of peace. Now he knew the feel of her hand slipping into his. 

And he knew he didn’t want to go back to a life without it.

The next morning broke quiet and gray, mist curling over the road like smoke from a dying fire. Daryl was already behind the wheel, one hand resting loosely on the top, the other resting on the open window. The air was still cool, dew clinging to the underbrush, and the light hadn’t quite pushed through the fog.

Beth climbed into the passenger seat beside him, yawning as she tugged her cardigan tighter. Daryl glanced at her once, just to make sure she looked rested. She caught him looking and offered a sleepy smile as she settled in.

They drove in silence for a while, tires humming on the cracked pavement. The road ahead was lined with trees that looked the same as they always had, the yellow lines down the center long faded.

When the rusted road sign appeared— Welcome to South Carolina— Beth straightened in her seat.

They’d done it.

Daryl didn’t say anything at first, just tightened his grip on the wheel. The line between states didn’t mean much anymore, but he knew it mattered to her.

“Y’ever been here b’fore?” he asked finally, voice low, scratching the back of his throat.

Beth shook her head. “Only saw pictures. Mama and Daddy went to Charleston for their anniversary a couple times.”

“Yeah?” he murmured.

“They wanted to retire there,” she added, her voice softening. “They were gonna take all of us for a family vacation.”

She leaned her forehead against the window after that, eyes on the trees rushing by. Daryl stared ahead, chewing on the inside of his lip. He didn’t know what to say to that kind of grief. Didn’t know how to touch something that delicate without breaking it. So he just drove.

They didn’t talk again for miles.

By the time the mist burned off and the sun was high enough to throw long shadows, they’d already had to backtrack twice. Fallen trees and blocked roads forced them to reroute. The scenery didn’t change much—same green, same stillness.

Eventually they stopped at a run-down gas station nearly swallowed by ivy. Daryl parked behind the building, out of sight from the road.

Inside, the store was dim, shelves toppled, the air thick with mildew, and one walker shambling around that was easily taken care of. But there were still things worth finding—cans of peaches that hadn’t burst, a couple bottles of water, a few medical supplies behind the counter. It was the most they had found in awhile.

Their dwindling supplies grew again, filling their packs. Beth joined Daryl near the register where he was crouched behind the counter, rummaging through drawers. 

“Still no toothbrush for you,” she said lightly.

Daryl barely glanced at her from behind his fringe. He tossed a bag of jerky onto the counter and Beth swiped it, adding it to her pack.

“Could just use yours,” he mumbled before he thought better of it.

He stopped moving for a second, fingers resting on a broken drawer handle. The silence between them buzzed. 

When he looked up, she was staring at him like she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

“Could,” she finally said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He didn’t say anything—couldn’t. So he just stood and swung his pack over his shoulder. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Still got daylight.”

They left the gas station behind and got back on the road. The sun was full overhead now, the sky a bright, cloudless blue. The kind of day that used to mean summer break, beach trips, lemonade on a porch somewhere.

Now it just meant clear visibility—-and the risk of glare hiding things that could kill you.

They kept driving, weaving through back roads and small towns. They stopped once to find a car they could siphon gas from, and then they were on the move again.

”How far are we goin’?” Beth asked, tearing a granola bar open and handing half to Daryl. “When do we stop?”

Daryl shrugged a shoulder, popping his piece of granola bar into his mouth whole while Beth still nibbled at hers. “‘M surprised we’re still goin’. Thought for sure we’d get stuck somewhere and have to keep goin’ on foot.”

Beth smiled a little. “Maybe we should go to the beach before we find a place to settle.”

Daryl looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Sure, you want a piña colada while we’re at it?”

She huffed at the sarcasm, but it was gentle, not cruel. She pulled the map out of her backpack. “We could go to one nearby, just for a second, so you can experience the sand and the breeze and the sound of the waves. You deserve that.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably. “Dunno what I deserve.”

“Well, I do,” she said, and that was the end of it.

He didn’t argue.

Beth looked down at the map, trying to find a route to the closest beach. “Closest one’s near Edisto,“ she said after a couple minutes of silence. “If you’re game.”

Daryl sent her an unamused look, probably seeing right through her attempt to challenge him. He didn’t answer right away. Just grunted and turned back to the road. She must have seen something on his face, because she smiled.

They followed a winding back road that curled through thick oak trees. It wasn’t long before the trees thinned out near what used to be a strip mall—restaurants, a pharmacy, a laundromat, and a small grocery store. 

Daryl pulled around to the far side of the lot, parking close to a row of hedges that obscured the view from the road. With their backpacks slung over their shoulders, they headed toward the strip.

On their way to the first door, they clocked three walkers nearby, but kept their distance, saving energy. 

The pharmacy was completely stripped clean. Not even a bandaid could be found. The laundromat was half-flooded and crawling with mildew. They didn’t bother staying long.

The grocery store looked better—windows intact, doors jammed but open enough to squeeze through. Inside, the smell hit him first. Mold, spoiled food, flies buzzing over dark stains on the linoleum.

The shelves were still standing. That was about all they had going for them. They searched quietly, methodically, but nothing was found. 

Beth let out a huff of frustration, leaning against an empty shelf as Daryl came up beside her. 

“Place was too obvious,” he said. “Prob’ly got picked clean in the beginnin’.”

Beth nodded, fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack. “Guess it’s back on the road.”

Daryl was about to agree when Beth turned toward him, just a small shift of her weight, but it brought her closer than expected. Her hand brushed his arm, and her eyes searched his face. 

And then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed him. 

Gentle and without any of the urgency from their first kiss. 

Daryl’s breath caught, the moment swallowing him. Her lips were warm, almost familiar now, but still enough to knock the wind out of him. He’d barely had enough time to process the action before she was pulling back.

“In case you thought I changed my mind,” she said softly, her smile a little nervous around the edges.

Daryl opened his mouth—and say what, he wasn’t sure—but they were interrupted by the sudden blaring wail of a car alarm.

Both of them jerked back, heads snapping toward the front of the store. 

Daryl’s heart dropped into his stomach. He darted for the door they’d come through, peering through the window as Beth followed close behind. 

Not a herd, but not a small group either—at least thirty walkers passing through the parking lot. One, or several of them, must have bumped into the Honda. 

It didn’t matter what happened. The damage was done. 

The ones in the lot were moving toward the sound, limping, dragging, jaws slack, eyes blank with hunger. That alarm was going to bring more walkers in than just the crowd that was out there now. He could already spot some coming out of the trees.

He hissed out a curse, eyes searching for the safest escape route. He pulled the glass door shut and knocked the back of his hand against Beth’s shoulder. “Back door,” he grunted.

They bolted across the store, their boots pounding the tile. Daryl pushed past an overturned display and slammed his shoulder into the back exit. It didn’t budge. 

“Shit—shit—” he stepped back, raised his boot and kicked hard just below the handle. 

The wood cracked. Another kick splintered it. Beth was behind him, knife ready in case any walkers came around the corner.

One more kick and the door flew open with a screech, crashing into a rusty dumpster outside. They stumbled out into an alley overgrown with weeds and garbage. 

Again, they ran.

Chapter Text

The sun was high and hot overhead, a harsh reminder that the seasons were still shifting—even when the rest of the world had stopped.

Beth adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder and glanced sideways at Daryl. He was a step or two ahead, crossbow slung across his back, his eyes sharp as ever as they followed the narrow trail that cut through the trees. 

She still didn’t know what was between them. Not really. But she found herself watching him anyway. Watching the way his shoulders moved beneath his shirt. The way his hair curled behind his ears, damp with sweat. The way he’d glance at her sometimes, quick and quiet like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

Their new dynamic—whatever it was—unfolded like the changing seasons.

Not sudden, not loud.

Just a slow, natural shift.

A look held a second too long. A brush of fingers when they passed supplies between them. The way he sometimes walked just close enough that their arms touched.

Beth didn’t push it. He’d kissed her once. She’d kissed him once. They were even. That was bold enough for now.

The trail led them to a small neighborhood half-swallowed by the woods. Nature had crept in like it was reclaiming what people had left behind—grass growing through cracked driveways, vines scaling brick walls. 

They crept up to the first house on their right. Inside, the house was still. Stuffy from the heat outside, but no pungent smell of the rot—thankfully. Beth let her eyes adjust to the dimness. A small foyer led into a modest living room with floral wallpaper peeling at the corners. A few family photos still hung on the walls, crooked and fading.

They split up instinctively—Daryl checking on the first bedroom while Beth headed toward the kitchen. 

A faded calendar hung on the wall of the kitchen, stuck on July 2010. Beth opened a few drawers, finding nothing but silverware. In the cabinet under the sink, she found an unopened box of matches. The pantry was mostly picked over but she found a can of soup on the floor, having rolled to the back of the pantry. 

She turned it over in her hand. Edges dented, but still sealed.

She finished in the kitchen and stepped into the living room. She skimmed the titles on the bookshelf even though she couldn’t take any with her.

A sharp crash outside made her freeze, one hand in mid-air, reaching for a book. For a second, she couldn’t tell if it had been real or in her head.

But then came the unmistakable sound of shouting—and the snarls of walkers. 

Beth rushed to the front window, peering through a crack in the curtain. 

Across the street, just beyond the hedges of the house opposite theirs, a man was stumbling away from a trio of walkers. 

Daryl was suddenly at her side, silent and alert.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, voice low and firm.

Beth looked at him, a protest on the tip of her tongue.

“We don’t know who he is,” Daryl said, eyes still locked on the scene outside. “Could be bait. Could be trouble.”

“But he’s fightin’ alone,” Beth said urgently, her voice coming out in a desperate whisper that surprised herself. She grappled for Daryl’s arm, looking back at the man. He’d fallen and was kicking at the walkers closing in on him. “He needs help.”

“That ain’t our problem.”

Her grip tightened on his arm. “If it were you out there, I’d want someone to help.” 

His jaw worked. Tension rolled off him in waves. But after a moment, he exhaled a sharp breath and muttered, “Stay behind me.”

Beth nodded once, quick and sure.

Daryl moved fast and quiet, slipping out the front door. He raised his crossbow and loosed a bolt straight into the skull of the walker closest to the man. The body dropped. Daryl didn’t wait—he charged forward, yanking his knife free to dispatch the second one before it could even turn its head. Beth took care of the third walker.

The man lay panting on the ground, wide-eyed and bloodied, staring up at the two of them like they were ghosts. His lips moved, trying to form words, but nothing came.

Beth crouched beside him, already reaching for her pack to pull out a bottle of water. Daryl lurched closer to her but didn’t stop her movements, just stayed close in case of danger. 

“Hey,” she said gently, as if she was talking to a spooked horse. “You’re alright now. You’re safe.”

The man winced as he propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand clutched tightly to his side. Beth’s breath hitched when she saw the blood. It soaked through his shirt. Daryl did jump into action this time, hand gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet.

The man followed their gazes. He let out a sob. 

For a moment, no one said anything.

“You’re good people,” the man rasped, struggling to push himself up. “You didn’t have to put yourselves in danger, but you did. Please, you have to help me—”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do now that you’re bit,” Daryl said flatly, his voice rough with something Beth couldn’t name—anger, maybe. Or sorrow. Or just exhaustion. 

“No—not me.” The man coughed hard, a wet, rattling sound that made Beth flinch. “My girls. Please. I lost my wife at the beginning. My girls—they’re only five and ten. They won’t make it. Please.”

Beth’s heart slammed into her ribs. 

“We were on our way to Virginia. I had family there.”

She stared at him, then looked at Daryl, whose jaw had gone tight again.

“Where are they?” she asked the man.

“No,” Daryl muttered. “Beth, no.”

But she was already trying to wrench her arm out of his grip. His grip tightened just enough to keep her next to him but not enough to hurt.

“Red brick house,” the man choked out. “I locked them inside. Told them to stay there until I came back for them.”

Beth finally managed to rip her arm out of Daryl’s hand and stooped down to help the man to his feet. “What’s your name?”

He blinked. “Mark.”

Beth struggled under his weight, even though he was just as thin as her.

Daryl stepped in front of them, hard eyes catching Beth’s. “We can’t—we don’t know what we’re walkin’ into.”

Beth lifted her chin. “I do. ”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t.”

“They’re kids, Daryl.”

His hand twitched at his side. He lifted it to scrub at his jaw. “I can barely keep you fed. We can’t take on more than we can carry. It’s how people get killed.”

Beth didn’t flinch. She’d seen that edge in him before—the one born from too many losses. “You carried Judith.” 

Daryl’s whole body went rigid. His hands curled into fists, eyes going sharp as broken glass. “Don’t—”

“You did,” Beth insisted, voice quiet but steady now. “You carried her—fed her, kept her safe. You didn’t even blink.”

“That was different.”

“How?” she demanded. 

“She was family ,” he barked.

The silence that followed was thick and loaded. Beth just stood there, her chest rising and falling, her eyes fixed on him. Daryl’s breath was ragged too, the muscle in his jaw twitching. 

Beth held his gaze, unyielding. She knew Daryl—knew his heart, knew the kindness buried beneath all those rough edges. She wasn’t backing down.

Daryl broke her stare, looking away, and released a tight breath through clenched teeth.

“Shit,” he muttered. Not agreement exactly, but close enough.

Mark wheezed next to Beth, more of his weight falling on her shoulder and she faltered. Daryl came around to his other side and slung his arm over his own shoulders, taking the weight off Beth. 

“Show us,” Daryl ordered.

They moved carefully toward the red brick house Mark had mentioned. They were slow with Mark in tow as he started to sweat profusely, his eyes starting to go glassy. Every rustle, every snapped twig beneath their feet made Beth’s nerves jump, her heartbeat quickening as they approached the porch.

Inside the front door, Mark pointed to a linen closet at the end of the hallway. Before they went any further, Mark pulled his jacket from his shoulders with great effort and held it against his side, covering the blood coming from his abdomen.

Then, he knocked on the closet door. “Sara, sweetheart, it’s daddy. Open the door.”

The doorknob turned slowly, uncertainly. 

A soft voice came through the crack. “Daddy?”

Beth’s heart cracked right down the middle at the sound. Small. Scared. Hopeful.

The door opened further, revealing two girls huddled close together. Neither one of them looked much like Mark, and Beth guessed they must resemble their mother—naturally tan skin, big brown eyes, and curly hair that was dirty and matted. 

Tears welled in Beth’s eyes at the sight of them. It had been such a long time since she had seen children, and even longer since she had seen children in this state. 

Sara launched forward, arms outstretched. She buried her face in Mark’s side, unaware of the blood still seeping from beneath his jacket. The little one followed, hugging her father’s leg.

Mark staggered. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, gasping as if the breath had been punched out of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he wrapped his arms around them. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Beth couldn’t look away. Her throat burned.

“Sara, Willow, you’re gonna stay with these nice people now. They’re gonna take care of you.”

Willow, the younger girl, tightened her grip on her father. 

Sara pulled back, eyeing Beth and Daryl warily. “But…where are you going?”

Mark kissed both girls on the forehead. “I love you both,” he said hoarsely. 

Daryl shifted beside Beth and she looked at him. His hand was at his hip, unhooking the revolver they had found days before. It had just one bullet—the only mercy left to offer. Daryl silently passed the gun to Mark, who took it with trembling fingers.

“Go,” Mark murmured to his daughters. “Go with them. Take care of each other.”

Sara looked torn—eyes wide with confusion, lips trembling. 

Beth knelt in front of the girls, her voice shaking as she reached out. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Come with us. We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Sara looked back to her father and bit her bottom lip to still it. After a long, terrible moment, she took her little sister’s hand and stepped toward Beth. Willow tugged against Sara’s hand, reaching for their father with her other hand, tears streaming down her face. 

“Go with Sara, baby,” Mark said, forcing himself to stand. 

Beth reached for Willow carefully, taking her into her arms as the little girl sobbed into her shoulder, too confused to avoid Beth as the stranger she was. Sara followed, taking Beth’s offered hand hesitantly. Daryl walked with them to the front door as Mark stepped into the closet and shut the door behind him.

Beth hoped Mark would give them enough time to put some distance between them and the house before he pulled the trigger. 

Without a word, Daryl led Beth and the two girls back to the house they had been scavenging from when they saw Mark. Daryl closed the door behind them and Beth took a seat on the living room rug, letting the girls get comfortable with her. Daryl paced a few feet away, eyes scanning the windows.

Willow wouldn’t let go of her. She clung to Beth’s shoulders with tiny, desperate fingers. Sara stood rigid, still holding Beth’s hand, her other arm wrapped around herself. 

Across the room, Beth and Daryl locked eyes. Almost immediately, he broke their eye contact and turned away, his jaw tight. Beth tried to ignore the hurt she felt at the silent dismissal.

Turning her attention back to the girls, she began to hum softly. It had always calmed Judith when she hummed or sang. After a few hummed notes, she began to sing softly,

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

She faltered when saw Daryl’s head snap up, looking in the direction of the red brick house. He met her eyes briefly again and gave her a nod. Beth didn’t hear it, and thankfully it seemed the girls hadn’t either. 

Beth kept singing.

Chapter Text

Daryl’s boots crunched over the gravel-strewn road, every step a quiet reminder of just how far they’d come—and far they still had to go. The sun was dipping past highnoon and the air was thick with the late-summer heat that stuck to his skin like sweat-soaked glue. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, scanning for threats, but couldn’t ignore the weight of the small feet dragging behind him. 

Sara stumbled over a loose rock, nearly tripping, and Willow let out a sharp, high-pitched whine, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Daryl’s shoulders tensed just a little more, tightening his grip on his crossbow. 

He caught the sound of Beth murmuring to them—soft words meant to soothe, like she’d done a hundred times since they’d become burdened with the girls. It worked, at least for a minute. Willow’s whimper quieted, and Sara straightened her little shoulders, trying to be brave.

They were trying. Hell, they were doing better than some grown folks he’d known. But it didn’t change the fact that every slow step and every pitstop felt like sand draining from a broken hourglass. Every minute spent waiting for little legs to catch up was a minute they weren’t putting distance between themselves and whatever might come crawling out of the woods around them.

He clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension there. Frustration simmered in his chest. 

Beth and the girls caught up with him. With the addition of the children, their rhythm of survival had been disrupted. They were no longer in sync like they once had been. 

Daryl tried not to mourn the loss of that easy partnership they had developed.

He shifted his weight and adjusted the strap of his crossbow, trying to ignore the twinge of something bitter at the back of his throat. They were just kids—he knew that. They were scared, hungry, and tired. It wasn’t their fault. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway.

But no matter how many times he reminded himself, that frustrated edge still crawled up his spine. Every time one of the girls fell behind or made a noise that was a little too loud, it felt like a chisel against the fragile hold he had on his patience.

He tried to hide it, tried to bury it under the same grit and silence that had gotten him through every other damn day since the world went to hell. But every time he looked at Beth, he felt guilt weighing him down with all the other things he had to carry. 

He didn’t want to disappoint her. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just be better.

Maybe it was a good thing they had the girls with them. No doubt it showed Beth that regardless of what she wanted with him, it sure as hell wasn’t what she needed.

They found a small clearing just off the road as the sunbeams began to brush the treetops. 

Daryl set the perimeter with their makeshift alarm system while Beth encouraged the girls to help her find wood for a small fire. Once the fishing line was secured around their small camp, he ducked under it, looking back at Beth.

”Goin’ huntin’,” he told her, and she nodded in response. 

He found a game trail a few hundred yards from camp and set off to follow it. He tried to breathe and get lost in the hunt, in the silence. 

When he got back to the camp with a pair of skinny squirrels dangling from his belt, the sun had all but dipped below the treeline. The sky was bruised purple and orange, and shadows were already settling into the corners of their small clearing. 

Beth had a fire going—small to avoid any attention from the living—and the girls were huddled close by, their cheeks smudged with grime. Sara looked up when she saw him, but Daryl kept his gaze fixed on the fire, deliberately avoiding hers. 

He sat down near a large oak tree and started cleaning his kill. His knife worked fast and efficient, the motions a familiar comfort that let him forget—just for a minute—how tight his chest felt.

Beth’s eyes were on him, though. He could feel it. 

He kept his head down, keeping his hands busy, and Beth’s voice drifted over to him—gentle the way it always was with the girls. With any child he’s ever seen her with.

He listened to the soft lilt of her voice. She asked them simple questions—what their favorite color was, their favorite animal—anything to keep them talking, to keep them present and feeling safe.

Sara answered with a shy smile. Willow, though, just watched the fire. Beth reached out to brush a strand of hair from Willow’s forehead, her fingers gentle. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she said softly, but Willow didn’t respond.

Daryl’s hands slowed. With his head down, he looked up.

Beth sat back on her feet, lips pressed together. 

Sara shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her sister before dropping her gaze to the dirt. “She…she doesn’t talk much. Not since Mama…” She plucked nervously at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Sometimes she talked to Daddy a little.”

Daryl saw Beth’s throat work as she swallowed, and she nodded a little. She reached out and squeezed Sara’s hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “She can talk when she’s ready.” 

Daryl felt a familiar ache spread through his body. He remembered being Willow’s age. He remembered when he’d stopped talking too. For weeks at a time, after his old man had one of his moods. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared.

Memories clawed their way up from somewhere he’d buried them long ago. He stared at Willow’s tiny frame curled into herself beside the fire. 

His fingers stilled completely, blade hovering uselessly over the second squirrel. The sound of Beth’s gentle voice still echoed softly between the trees, filled with patience he wished he could understand. She wasn’t pushing Willow. Wasn’t forcing her to speak or smile or act okay. Beth was just waiting, as if she had all the time in the world.

Daryl’s chest felt tight, the same kind of tight that used to hit him back home when Merle would stomp around the trailer looking for a fight or their old man would come back from the bar, pissed off about God knows what. Daryl would crawl under the trailer where the vinyl skirting was broken or slip into the woods and stay there, silent as the dirt, until the storm passed. 

He didn’t think about that anymore—no point—but looking at Willow, her small hands knotted in her lap, weariness pulling on her shoulders, guilt gnawed at him. Guilt for being angry, for feeling like the girls were a burden, for every time he’d looked at Beth and wished it was just the two of them again. For wanting to be enough and knowing he wasn’t.

He couldn’t look at her now, but he felt the warmth of her presence like a steady flame in the dark. 

Sara giggled at something Beth said. It wasn’t loud and for once it didn’t piss Daryl off to hear her make a noise in the quiet. In the firelight, Daryl could see a small smile pulling at Willow’s mouth even though she didn’t make a sound.

Daryl swallowed. 

Beth had a way of dragging hope into places it didn’t belong. And sometimes, it stayed.

Daryl hated that. He loved it too.

He forced himself to his feet, his legs feeling like lead as he walked to the fire and grabbed two sticks to put the cleaned squirrels on. He handed them both to Beth and when she took them from him, he went back to his spot against the tree.

“Are you gonna eat?” she asked, a disapproving look in her eyes, like she already knew he was going to refuse.

He shook his head.

“Daryl, you didn’t eat much yesterday,” she said, almost scolding. 

He shrugged a shoulder, eyes darting up to meet hers. He didn’t mean to look at her, but he couldn’t help it. “Gone longer without food,” he mumbled.

Beth pursed her lips, letting out a long breath through her nose. She split her focus between the girls and holding the squirrels over the fire. She didn’t look too happy, but Daryl didn’t really care. He was going to make sure she and the girls were fed before him every day. She’d just have to get over it.

He sighed, long and low, the sound getting lost in the woods around him. 

These girls weren’t his. But they would be dead if it weren’t for him and Beth watching over them. He wasn’t heartless, he didn’t want anything terrible to happen to them. He wanted to protect them. He wanted to protect Beth most of all. But every time he looked at those two girls, every time he saw how small they were, how vulnerable, it felt like the world had just gotten a little heavier on his shoulders. 

He felt his breath hitch and he coughed into his fist. Because he knew— he knew —he was going to let her down. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.

Chapter Text

Beth could feel it happening, like the slow cooling of a campfire after the last log had burned to ash. Daryl was pulling away from her again, bit by bit, like smoke drifting on the wind. Every time she reached for him—offering him a smile, a small touch, a quiet word—he seemed to shrink further inside himself.

He still scouted the perimeter every morning like clockwork, still hunted and brought back what he could. But there was a stiffness to him now, like every step was another reminder of how heavy the world had gotten. His silences had grown longer, his eyes sharper but somehow more distant.

And Beth couldn’t stop herself from worrying.

She couldn’t stop caring.

It was after three days of near silence between her and Daryl when the dam broke.

Before dusk, it started to rain, and they found a house to take shelter in. It was one of several homes spread out in a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town.

“Gonna go check out the other houses,” Daryl muttered, and before Beth could protest—it was raining, he could catch a cold, it was dangerous, low visibility—he was out the door.

Beth faced Sara and Willow and gave them a small smile. “Let’s see if we can find anything useful around here, shall we?”

Outside, the rain fell in steady sheets, the sound drumming on the roof like a low lullaby. The girls followed Beth around silently as she went from room to room, looking for anything that could be useful. In the kitchen, she found a couple bowls and a pot. She opened the back door just enough to push them outside, hoping to catch enough rainwater to make do. She didn’t know when they’d find clean water again, and the girls were sticky with sweat and dirt, their hair tangled and matted.

It felt like the least she could do—give them a small comfort. A reminder that they were still people, still children .

While she waited for the rain to fill the containers, she scoured the kitchen and both bathroom cabinets for any scrap of soap or shampoo. She found a nearly empty bottle of dish soap and decided it was better than nothing.

She didn’t find any food, and she hoped Daryl was having better luck, but she did find some children’s books and a couple candles.

“Oh, sissy, look!” Sara exclaimed quietly, turning to Willow.

Beth turned away from the dresser she was rifling through to see Sara pull a bag of hair accessories out of a vanity drawer. Inside were scrunchies, bobby pins, barrets, and hair ties with charms on them.

When Sara noticed Beth looking at her, her excitement dimmed.

Beth just smiled. “Let’s see,” she held her hand out for the bag and Sara handed it to her obediently. After opening it, Beth poured the contents out on the floor, spreading them out to see better. 

Her heart ached at the innocence of it all. “These are so cute,” she said. “We’ll wash your hair and maybe we can style it? Would you girls like that?”

Sara nodded quickly, and Willow’s eyes brightened, inching closer to look at the pieces on the floor.

“Which ones do you like the best, Willow?” Beth asked gently.

Almost instantly, the little girl reached for a hair tie with a plastic strawberry attached to it. She held it out to Beth with a shy smile.

“This is perfect,” Beth said. “Are strawberries your favorite fruit?”

Willow ducked her head a little, her eyes shifting over to her sister.

Sara nodded and answered for her, “Yeah, they are.”

“I love strawberries, too,” Beth told Willow.

Sara chose two elastics with little purple butterfly charms and handed them to Beth. “What about you?” she asked.

Beth hesitated, the corners of her mouth lifting in a soft, fond smile as she looked at the girls. “Hmm,” she murmured, pretending to think. “They’re all so pretty. I don’t think I can choose. Can you help me?”

Sara and Willow both bent over the hair accessories and passed several pieces back and forth between each other in silence before they decided on a black hair tie with a yellow sunflower charm. 

“I love it,” Beth told them, unable to stop her smile from growing.

The steady rainfall filled the containers in no time. Beth carried them to the bathroom on the first floor, which had a small bathtub. The bathtub was clean enough, except for the dust that was common to find on anything now. Sara helped her move a small table into the bathroom, lining it up perpendicular to the bathtub. 

Beth decided her makeshift wash station was ready to go and turned to the girls. “Alright, ladies,” she said brightly. “Let’s get all that dirt and tangles out, huh?”

Sara hopped up eagerly, and Beth guided her onto the table, helping her lie down with her hair hanging into the tub. Beth used a cup she found to pour water over Sara’s hair, wetting it first, before carefully working a couple drops of the dish soap through. 

Willow watched with big eyes, clutching their chosen hair ties to her chest.

Beth hummed a tune while she worked with practiced patience. She rinsed Sara’s hair with the rainwater, repeating the process until it was as clean as she could get it. Then she moved onto Willow, whose hair was just as tangled but who smiled like it was Christmas morning.

When she was done, she gently towel-dried both girls’ hair and began to detangle it with a comb she had in her pack. Sara wanted two braids, one on each side, and Willow wanted just one, down the middle. Beth obliged them both.

“You’re next!” Sara reminded her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Beth giggled, kneeling beside the tub. She wet her hair, scrubbed at her scalp with the remaining dish soap, and rinsed her hair out. While she dried it, she looked at Sara. “Do you know how to braid?”

Sara shrugged and then nodded. “I’m not very good.”

“Well, you won’t get any better if you don’t practice, right?” 

They moved into the living room and Beth lit the candles she found. Willow took a seat in her lap and Beth let her pick out a book for her to read aloud while Sara combed and braided her hair.

“In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines,” Beth read, wincing a little when Sara tugged a little too hard on a knot. Beth didn’t complain—she’d suffered worse than a few tugs and tangles. “Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.”

Halfway through the book and halfway down Beth’s lopsided braid, Beth heard quiet footsteps at the backdoor. She hushed both girls, even though they were both quiet already, and reached for her knife. Then, a short, sharp whistle came, and Beth relaxed, knowing it was Daryl behind the door.

The door swung open and he stepped into the house, mostly shadowed in the low light from the candles. Drenched, mud-splattered, crossbow slung over his shoulder, bag clutched in one hand. 

Even in the dark, Beth saw the tick in his jaw when his eyes fell on them.

“Daryl—” Beth started, but he cut her off.

“You think nothing or no one’s gonna be comin’ in here just ‘cause y’all are havin’ a fuckin’ tea party?” he demanded, his voice tight, like a pulled bowstring.

Beth felt her jaw drop. Sara’s hands fell from her hair.

Anger lit up Beth’s chest and she carefully stood up, helping Willow off her lap. She handed the book to Sara. “Girls, stay here for a second. Daryl and I need to have a talk outside.”

“But—” Sara protested, reaching for Beth’s hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Beth promised her.

Beth grabbed Daryl’s arm and all but dragged him outside, shutting the door firmly behind them. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, cold and relentless. They stood under a small awning, forced to stand close together, and even then, Beth could feel rain on her back.

Daryl stood stiffly, his jaw set so tight Beth was worried he might shatter his jaw. 

Beth crossed her arms, her voice trembling with both anger and the weight of everything that had built up between them. “Don’t you dare talk to me or them like that, Daryl.”

Daryl’s eyes burned with a wild kind of frustration, his nostrils flaring as he pushed some of his wet hair out of his eyes. “You’re in there havin’ a sleepover and I’m out there makin’ sure we got somethin’ to eat, makin’ sure we ain’t gonna get jumped.”

Beth felt her own voice rise. “Daryl, they’re kids! They’ve lost everythin’ . Their home, family—we both know what that’s like!” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “It’s your job to keep us safe on the outside, but it’s my job to keep them from fallin’ apart on the inside .”

“I ain’t their daddy,” Daryl snapped. “Goddamn, one kiss and next thing, you’re fuckin’ baby trappin’ me.”

Beth felt like his words had knocked the wind clean out of her chest. The sting of them—like a slap—rendered her silent. She stared at him. In the blur of rain and hurt and anger, she tried to remind herself that Daryl lashed out when he was afraid. 

“That’s not fair,” she managed. “You know that’s not what I’m doin’. You think I wanted this? You think I’m not scared of this responsibility?” 

Daryl’s jaw worked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

Beth took a deep breath, her arms wrapping tight around her middle as she fought to keep her voice steady. “I’m not havin’ this argument with you,” she said, her tone low but resolute. “Because I know—” she paused, her voice catching for a split second, “—I know you’re gonna take care of us no matter what.”

She saw the way his eyes darted to the ground, like the words hurt. His shoulders hunched, raindrops clutching to his hair. 

Beth’s heart clenched, wishing they could go back to the easy relationship they had built after they burned down the moonshine still together. They both stood in silence for a long time, unable to look each other in the eye. Then, Beth spoke, her voice a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Daryl’s head jerked, looking at her like a spooked animal. His eyebrows drew together. 

“I’m sorry for bringin’ up Judith,” she explained. “That wasn’t fair. I just—just wanted you to see that you can do this. That you already did, once.”

His lips parted like he wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start. His hands, those rough, calloused hands that were so gentle with her, trembled slightly at his sides.

Finally, he spoke. His voice came out rough, nearly swallowed by the rain. “Don’t wanna let you down.”

Beth reached out, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Daryl.” She stepped closer, closing the last inches between them until they were chest to chest. She tilted her head to catch his eyes, even though he tried to look away. “Daryl, listen to me,” she said. “You won’t let me down. Not by carin’ about them. Not by carin’ about me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Rain ran down his jaw, dripping from the ends of his hair like tears. “Sorry for what I said.”

Beth felt tears prick at her eyes. 

“Didn’t mean it,” he continued, and his arm twitched in her hand. For a moment she thought he was trying to pull away from her, but then his hand stilled. “I can’t—“ he stopped and swallowed again, huffing a short breath from his nose. “I can’t be what you and those girls need.”

“You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon,” Beth told him, heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “Whether you believe it or not.”

He didn’t look like he believed her, but at the same time he didn’t argue. Beth’s thumb brushed over his pulsepoint.

“I need you with me,” she said. “I can’t do this alone.”

Daryl's chest shuddered as he sucked in a breath, the rain still falling around them. He nodded once. “I’m with you.”

Beth felt relief wash over her, flooding through the cracks that had formed in her chest. She squeezed his hand one last time, then let go and headed back into the house. Daryl fell into step behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, contrasting the cool rain. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

As they slipped inside, she caught the girls’ eyes. Beth smiled at them, her heart full. “Everythin’s okay,” she said gently.

Daryl paused in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. “Sorry for yellin’,” he grunted.

Neither girl replied but they visibly relaxed. Beth returned to her spot on the floor so Sara could restart her braid. “Come on, Willow. Let’s finish our story.”

Chapter Text

Daryl crouched low, his crossbow drawn tight against his shoulder, the scent of rotting leaves thick in the humid air. A walker stumbled through the brush ahead of him, its head lolling at an unnatural angle. Daryl’s finger tightened on the trigger, the bolt flying true and burying itself in the back of the walker’s head with a wet thunk. The body dropped, and he exhaled, letting his shoulders relax. 

He scanned the treeline, listening for more. Nothing but the low moan of the wind through the branches.

Daryl wiped a sweat from his forehead, the sticky heat mingling with the smell of rain-soaked earth. The ground was slick beneath his boots, every step sinking just a little too deep for his liking. He scanned the trees again, his ears straining for the shuffle of walkers, the sound that never failed to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, but it was just a bird hopping through the underbrush. He sighed, shifting his grip on the crossbow. He’d been jumpy all day—hell, all week. Ever since they’d taken the girls in.

For days, he’d blamed the girls for upending the easy rhythm he’d carved out with Beth. The quiet understanding, the way they’d moved in sync without needing words. He’d told himself it was their presence that had disrupted whatever it was he and Beth had—and were starting to build.  

But last night, lying awake, listening to the girls breathing deep while Beth kept watch, the truth settled in his chest like a stone. The routine he’d missed hadn’t been stolen by them; it had been broken by him. His own bitterness, his fear of letting Beth—and now these kids—down. That’s what changed everything.

Beth hadn’t changed. She’d been the same. Calm and patient while he drew the line between them. Waiting until he pulled his head out of his ass. 

He wondered how many times she was going to have to do that.

The air was beginning to cool as the sun dipped behind the trees. He didn’t want to venture too far off from the house they were taking shelter in for the night, so he gave up his hunt for game and traced his steps back. 

At least they had the food he’d found in the last neighborhood they passed through. 

When he came back to the house and knocked on the door, Beth opened it almost immediately. The girls were already asleep, huddled together on the sofa in the living room.

“Clear?” Beth asked him quietly.

He nodded, following her into the kitchen where she had a couple candles lit. A South Carolina atlas they had found was spread out on the table. “Just one. Took care of it.”

Beth sat down at the table and passed him a jar of peanut butter. “The girls were exhausted. I barely got them to eat anything before they passed out.”

Daryl unscrewed the peanut butter lid and dipped a spoon in. The sweet, oily taste of the peanut butter coated his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth as he stared at the map. The candlelight made the pages glow yellow-orange, the edges curled and worn from years of disuse.

Beth’s finger traced a route north, following a faded line from the last town they’d passed through. Her lips moving silently, working out distances and landmarks.

“Still wanna go to the beach?” he rasped, putting down the peanut butter jar to take a swig from their water bottle.

Beth was silent for a moment. “The beach was an easier destination when it was just the two of us.”

Daryl could hear the disappointment in her voice. He shifted in his seat, the wood creaking beneath his weight. The candlelight danced across her face, making her eyes shine in a way that did weird things to his gut.

“We can’t keep goin’ forever,” she said, worry-lines shadowing her forehead. “We all deserve a place we can stop and stay. Settle down somewhere.”

Daryl scratched at his jawbone. His scruff was growing into more of a beard now and getting itchy. It was annoying the shit out of him. 

Beth watched his movements for a second and then smiled a little. “You need a shave.”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “How far d’you wanna go? Nothin’s gonna be perfect.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I think we need to pick a place that we can defend and live off the earth.”

Daryl leaned forward to look at the map again. “What ‘bout the mountains?” He tapped a finger on the map, close to where Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina all met. “Appalachians are here. Could stay in South Carolina or keep headin’ north.”

Beth leaned in too, propping her chin on her palm. “Aren’t the Appalachians really hard to hike?”

“Don’t gotta hike the whole thing,” he scoffed, and Beth rolled her eyes at his response. “Don’t even gotta go too high. Weren’t too many people up there to begin with and it’s harder for walkers to group up in the hills.”

“Plenty of game,” she added.

Daryl grunted in agreement. He felt that familiar tug in his chest whenever she echoed his thoughts, that quiet reminder of how damn well she seemed to know him. How she always seemed to find the same logic he did, even if they came at it from different angles.

“Be lucky if we could find a car,” he said, turning his thoughts away from how much he wanted to reach for her. “Make it easier on the girls.”

Beth hummed in response, her eyelids heavy. 

Daryl nudged her foot with the toe of his boot. “Go get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

She leveled him with a look despite her weariness, eyebrow raised. 

“I’ll wake you up for second watch, I promise,” he said, relenting to her stubbornness before she even had to say anything.

Her lips curved up and she stood, squeezing his shoulder as she passed him. 

The morning was already warm, the kind that promised another sweltering day ahead. The asphalt steamed faintly under the sun, and the damp smell of the woods lingered in the air.

Sara and Willow followed close behind him with Beth, their heads turning at every sound, every flicker of movement in the trees. Daryl kept a few steps ahead, but every now and then he’d look back, making sure they were keeping up. Making sure they were okay.

Beth caught his eye and gave him a small smile. 

Up ahead was a car parked on the edge of the road. Daryl approached it cautiously, finding it completely abandoned. The doors were unlocked, but there were no keys inside. He popped the trunk so Beth could check for supplies while he stooped down and attempted to hotwire the vehicle. 

The engine clicked once, twice, but didn’t catch. He swore under his breath and gave up, straightening with a frustrated sigh. He peaked over the car at Beth, who finished shuffling through the trunk's contents—a torn backpack, some old blankets, nothing worth taking. 

He looked at the girls next. They were already looking tired. It was a hard trip they were making and he had to hand it to them, they didn’t complain. At least not to him.

Willow rubbed at one of her eyes with the back of her hand, feet dragging as she started walking with Beth and her sister again. 

Daryl sighed, lifting his crossbow from his body and handing it over to Beth. In front of Willow, he crouched, his back to her. “Hop up.”

He expected the silence that followed and he glanced over his shoulder. The little girl blinked at him, her wide brown eyes full of surprise. She looked to Sara for a second, like she needed her permission to do what he said. Sara nodded encouragingly, and so Willow stepped forward and climbed onto his back, her small hands gripping his shoulders.

Daryl felt her weight settle in, lighter than he liked. She clung tight, adjusting her arms to wrap around his neck. He held his hand out to Beth and she handed his crossbow back over to him.

“Hold on,” he instructed Willow, and they started walking again. 

Sara trotted ahead, arms swinging as if the weight of the world had lifted just a little. Beth stayed close to his side, and he felt her lay a hand on his bicep. His eyes slid over to look at her and she had this soft look on her face. She didn’t say anything, but she gave him a smile and his arm a squeeze. 

A few minutes later, they found a small park—overgrown with weeds and tangled grass, a rusted fence surrounding the area. An old swing set was in the corner, two seats still hung steady despite the rust on their chains. 

Sara stopped walking when she saw the park, turning her head toward him. At first Daryl thought she was waiting for him to say something, but he realized she was looking at Willow. 

“She’s never played on a playground before,” Sara said to Beth softly. 

Daryl’s keen eyes did a sweep around them, looking for any signs of danger. All was quiet. His eyes met Beth’s and she watched him with those big blue eyes of hers. He crouched low so Willow could slide off his back. “Go on. Ain’t no harm in it.”

Sara’s face lit up and she scooped up her little sister’s hand, tugging her toward the swing set. Beth stayed close to them while Daryl did a second sweep of the area, confirming that they were alone. 

Sara got on a swing and began to pump her legs. A giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it, but she quieted down almost immediately. Willow was hesitant to get on the swing but when she saw her sister do it, she got on the other seat with Beth’s help. Beth gave her a gentle push, easing her into the activity. 

When Daryl was satisfied with the safety of the perimeter, he stood near the park gate and watched Beth and the girls play. Willow’s smile was spread across her face and Daryl realized he had barely seen her smile since they took them in. 

Beth was smiling too, hair glowing in the sunlight, and when she looked up at him, he could see the pride in her eyes. 

He dipped his chin, feeling his face heat up, and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. Damn woman had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he was more than what he thought of himself.

It didn’t feel like weakness, caring, like he always thought it might. It felt like strength. Like something worth protecting. 

He’d cared about people before, but not like this. He wasn’t used to this feeling. Even back at the prison, surrounded by people he would consider friends and even family, he still kept them at arm's length, kept his walls up. Caring for people always meant pain. It meant loss. It meant failing the people who counted on him. So he pushed it down. Shoved it deep under layers of survival instinct and anger and guilt, where no one could touch it. Where he couldn’t touch it.

But Beth didn’t tear through his walls. She waited. Sat outside them with her stupid stubborn patience and warm eyes, until one day he opened the gate without even realizing he’d done it.

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to invite her inside.

Chapter Text

Beth’s worry had started small that morning, just a faint unease she couldn’t quite shake. Willow was always quiet. She still never said a word to anyone. She’d picked at the peaches they had for breakfast, head resting on Sara’s shoulder, her eyelids drooping like she couldn’t keep them open.

“Are you okay, honey?” Beth had asked, brushing a gentle hand over Willow’s hair.

The little girl had nodded, but her skin had felt too warm, and when Beth pressed the back of her hand to Willow’s forehead, the heat had been unmistakable.

By late morning, Willow’s feet were dragging and she whined, rubbing at her eyes.

Every mile felt like a hundred, and Beth could feel Daryl’s tension. Maybe he seemed a little frustrated, but his brows were knit together in concern more than anything else.

They had to stop before they made much progress for the day. They found a farmhouse where Willow practically melted into the couch, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. She dozed fitfully, whimpering in her sleep but not once verbally expressing any discomfort. 

Beth bathed her forehead with a damp rag, whispering comfort she hoped would reach through the fever fog. She’d seen enough fevers to know this one was high and dangerous—and that they had to get it down before it got worse.

Sara hovered close by, her eyes wide and anxious as she watched her sister. “Is she gonna be okay?” she asked, voice trembling.

Beth dabbed the wet rag against Willow’s clammy forehead and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “We’re gonna do everythin’ we can to make sure she is,” she said gently.

But even as she said it, doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve.

She heard Daryl moving around the farmhouse, every creak of the old wooden floorboards telling her he was searching every drawer and cabinet for something that might help. When he passed through the living room, he paused, eyes landing on her and Willow.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the worry etched deep in the lines of his face.

Beth nodded, though she wasn’t sure how true it was. “We need somethin’ for her fever,” she said. 

Daryl’s jaw worked as he chewed on the inside of his cheek and he gave a sharp nod. “I’ll find somethin’.”

“I wanna come,” Sara declared, pulling her shoulders back and looking Daryl straight in the eyes.

Daryl was already shaking his head and Beth turned to Sara, reaching for her hand. 

“I need your help here, Sara,” Beth told her. “And when Willow wakes up, she’ll want her sister here.”

Sara’s shoulders slumped a little and she nodded, her small hand gripping Beth’s like a lifeline. “Okay,” she whispered.

Beth gave her hand a squeeze. “Good girl.”

When the door shut behind Daryl, Sara locked it, and suddenly the farmhouse felt too quiet. Beth turned back to Willow, whose breath was shallow and quick. The damp cloth she’d laid on Willow’s forehead felt too warm already, so she dipped it back into the bowl of tepid water and gently laid it back across the little girl’s flushed skin.

“Come on, sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Come on, fight this.”

Sara was shifting restlessly beside her, her chin trembling, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

Beth felt her own tears burning, but she blinked them back fiercely. 

A soft whimper escaped Willow’s lips, and she squirmed, her little hands bunching her shirt. 

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m here,” Beth soothed, wiping the sweat from Willow’s temple. 

Then, in a voice so soft Beth almost didn’t hear it, Willow murmured, “Mommy…”

The word ripped through Beth like a blade. She bit her lip hard, her vision swimming as she tried to steady her voice. “I know, baby,” she whispered, squeezing one of her clenched fists. “I know you miss her. But I’m here, okay? I’m here.” 

Behind her, Sara sniffled, and Beth turned to see tears streaming down her face. She pulled Sara closer with one arm, the girl’s sobs muffled against her side. 

Please, please let her pull through this, Beth prayed silently, pressing a kiss to the top of Sara’s head. 

She held Sara tight, feeling the girl’s shoulders quake with each silent sob. Willow's whimpers echoed her sister’s. Beth forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. It wouldn’t do the girls any good to work herself up as well. 

Her eyes drifted to the window, where the afternoon sun was beginning to slip behind a line of trees. Daryl had been gone longer than she’d hoped. She trusted him to come back, and she knew he was capable of finding what Willow needed, but every second stretched her nerves thinner.

She turned back to Willow, rewetting the rag. “Daryl’s gonna bring somethin’ back,” she murmured. “He always does.”

Sara’s tears slowed, her breath evening out as she pressed close against Beth’s side. 

“You’re a good sister,” Beth whispered. “Willow’s lucky to have you.”

Sara sniffled, but she didn’t answer. Her hand curled into Beth’s shirt and stayed there.

Eventually, Sara’s head slumped against Beth’s ribs, her eyes fluttering shut. Sleep claimed her like a heavy blanket, and Beth guided her gently to lie down beside the sofa Willow was on. She pulled a quilt over her and returned her attention to Willow.

A floorboard on the front porch creaked and she shot up from the floor. She rushed to it, waiting for a whistle or a knock to signal that it was Daryl. Hearing nothing, she went to a window near the door and tried to peer through the grime on the glass. 

She could barely make out a figure, swaying on their feet. It pivoted away from the door in a slow shuffle and Beth knew it was a walker. She watched it, waiting for it to leave the porch, but it stayed, making a slow groaning sound.

Casting a look back at the girls, she made her way back to the door. She drew her knife and took a deep breath before she whipped the door open. The door creaked loudly on its hinges and the walker turned toward the sound, jaw opening wide. It stumbled toward her and she thrust her hand into its chest to keep it at arm’s length, plunging the blade of her knife into its forehead. The walker stilled and fell at her feet. 

Beth’s heart pounded in her chest, breath coming in harsh little gasps as she kicked the walker’s body off the porch. She peered around the yard, searching for any other threats nearby. Leaves rustled to the right and Beth swung the door closed, leaving a sliver open so she could see what came out of the trees. 

Daryl.

He spotted her immediately, noticing the walker on the ground in front of the porch. He moved quickly, crossing the yard in a few long strides. “You a’right?” he rasped.

Beth nodded, struggling to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Are you?”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it since he’d left. He dropped his backpack from his shoulder, pulling out a bottle, still sealed. “Found some children’s tylenol.”

Relief crashed through her, so sharp it made her knees weak. “Thank God,” she whispered. She stepped forward and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, slick with sweat, and she half-hugged him, pressing her cheek to his. “Thank you.”

Beth squeezed the back of his neck, then let him go, taking the bottle from his hand and moving quickly back inside. She found Willow still restless on the couch, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t want to wake her, but she also didn’t want the fever to get any higher. Gently, she shook her shoulder. “Willow, honey, can you sit up for me?”

Willow’s eyelids fluttered, her little head drooping like she couldn’t keep it up on her own. Daryl kneeled beside her, holding the girl up while Beth poured a small dose of the medicine into the cap and pressed it to Willow’s lips.

“Just a little bit,” she coaxed, her voice soft. “It’s gonna help you feel better.”

It took a few tries, but Willow swallowed it down. Her head lolled against Daryl’s chest, and he kept one steady hand on her back, his thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles—something Beth didn’t think he even realized he was doing. 

Beth’s heart ached at the sight of him like that—rough, battle-worn, yet so tender with a child who wasn’t even his. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was. She wanted to tell him that she saw every ounce of goodness in him, even if he couldn’t see it himself.

But now wasn’t the time.

She guided Willow back down to sleep and she was out like a light, still exhausted despite all the sleeping she’d done. Beth replaced the rag on her forehead again and sat back on her heels. 

Daryl shifted on his knees beside the couch, his eyes never leaving Willow’s flushed face. The worry lines that had dug themselves deep into his brow hadn’t smoothed out one bit, even with the medicine in her now.

The last glow of sunlight began to slip from the room and that seemed to break Daryl out of his head. He got to his feet and pulled one of their candles out of a backpack. He lit it so they had some light, but didn’t get any more.

Daryl spoke then, his voice sounding too loud in the silent house even though he was barely speaking over a whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

Beth blinked. Looking away from Willow and up to him, she replied, her voice breaking a little, “You’re doin’ everythin’ you can to find what we need, Daryl.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening, and Beth wondered how he still didn’t know how good of a man he was.

He crouched down, shadows from the candlelight carving lines in his face, his eyes dark but open. “No,” he rasped, his voice rough with something that wasn’t anger. “What do you need?”

Beth's breath caught. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he’d dig the whole earth up if she asked him to. Her heart pounded, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

She wanted to tell him exactly how she felt about him. She wanted to tell him she needed him so badly she could choke on it. But she was worried he would pull away from her. She was afraid that would be too much to ask for, that he wasn’t ready for that.

She pressed her lips together, her hands trembling in her lap. “I just—I just need…” her voice hitched, and she shook her head, forcing herself to breathe.

“Beth,” Daryl murmured, his voice rough but so gentle it made her eyes burn. “Just tell me.”

She lifted her eyes to his. He looked so tired, shadows etched under his eyes, but he was steady, waiting for her.

And she needed that—she needed him —more than she’d ever needed anything.

“Just—” she felt tears well up before she could stop them. “Just hold me.”

The words were small, but they were everything she had left.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He moved closer, his crossbow set aside, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. He smelled like sweat and dirt and the woods and she found herself inhaling it like it was the safest thing she’d ever known. 

Beth let out a shuddering breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She buried her face against his shoulder, her tears dropping onto the leather of his vest. She felt the weight of his cheek resting lightly on top of her head, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as he held her close.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The candlelight flickered, shadows dancing around them, but in his arms, the world didn’t feel quite so sharp.

“I gotcha,” he said, so low she almost didn’t catch it. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Chapter Text

Daryl kept his vigil at the edge of the cough, elbows resting on his knees. The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of sleeping breaths of Beth, Sara and Willow, and the occasional creak of the old farmhouse settling in the wind. Beth had finally managed to get a few hours of sleep, curled up next to Sara on the floor. 

He let his eyes drift to the little girl on the couch. Yesterday, they were able to get Willow to eat a little bit. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a sleeve of stale, crushed saltines. The Tylenol they’d given her had expired, but it seemed to be working. Her fever wasn’t as high and she was sleeping more soundly. Or maybe it had been Beth—her gentle hands and patient care. 

He looked back down at the stuffed animal he was twirling between his hands. He’d found this as well, and at the time, he’d nearly left the bear behind. Another piece of clutter, another thing that they didn’t really need . But he knew Beth would’ve picked it up. 

Willow’s eyes fluttered open then, a little glassy at first. She blinked several times and her gaze landed on him first, immediately looking uncertain, but not scared.

He wouldn’t have blamed her if she was scared. He hadn’t made much of an effort with the girls even after accepting that they were just children, unable to make it in this new, brutal world alone. 

He shifted his weight, the couch creaking under his weight. He cleared his throat. “Hey,” he rasped.

Her eyes shifted to the bear in his hands, curiosity flickering across her face.

“Found this,” he muttered, holding it out awkwardly in his big, calloused hand. He tried to sound casual, like it was no big deal, but it felt like everything. Like the most important thing he’d done all week. “Figured you might like it.”

Willow’s eyes widened a little, a soft sound—a half breath, half giggle—escaped her lips. Her small fingers reached for the bear, like it was made of gold, holding it to her chest so tightly Daryl thought the stuffing might pop out. 

“Feelin’ better?” he asked, trying to shrug off the gratitude he saw in her eyes.

She gave the tiniest nod, her little chin dipping just enough for him to catch it. He briefly wondered if it even mattered that the bear’s left eye was missing, that it smelled stale. It didn’t seem to. To Willow, it was a treasure. And he could relate—if he’d been given something like that at her age, he would have never let it go.

“Good,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s good.”

Beth stirred then, her hand resting protectively over Sara’s back, her blonde hair a tangled halo around her head. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking away sleep. She lifted her head, her lips curling into a smile. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hey,” Daryl grunted, feeling more awkward than he wanted to admit. “Willow’s awake. Gonna head out. Check a couple more places.”

 Beth got to her feet as he grabbed his crossbow and backpack. 

“Be careful,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it for just a moment. He held her gaze longer than he probably should have. The way her eyes softened, all worry and warmth, made his chest tighten in a way that felt both good and dangerous.

He cleared his throat, breaking the contact first. “I’ll be back.”

Outside, the air was cooler than yesterday, but still humid. The wind rattled through the tall grass. He scanned the yard and did a quick walk around the perimeter of the farmhouse before he headed out toward a small town that he’d only barely touched. He’d been in such a hurry the day before to find medicine for Willow he didn’t grab everything he could have. 

He kept to the treeline, moving quietly, his boots pressing into the soil. Every sound seemed to echo in the hush—crows cawing, branches creaking, the steady beat of his own heart.

He ducked into the shell of an old convenience store, its windows broken and shelves picked nearly clean. Someone had tried to barricade the place, but it hadn’t worked; the glass doors were shattered, letting the smell of rot and stale air seep through. His boots crunched over broken glass as he scanned the corners for movement.

A low growl rumbled from behind the counter. The walker—a clerk, probably—dragged itself around the corner, half its face missing, a gaping hole in its chest. The bolt in the flight groove flew and thudded home in its forehead. 

He pulled the bolt from its head and reloaded his weapon. 

His eyes swept the store. Empty shelves. A few crushed cereal boxes. He pushed aside a spilled can of oatmeal with his boot. Useless. 

He moved toward the back of the store, where a small storeroom door hung half-open. A sour smell hit him—like spoiled meat—and he grimaced. He nudged the door wider with the end of his crossbow, ready for anything. Inside, a couple of cardboard boxes sat on a shelf, and behind them a couple bottles of water. He grabbed those and checked the labels on the boxes: dry soup mix, some cans of beams. That was the best he’d found in a long time.

Soup would help Willow. Hell, it’d be good for all of them.

Something clattered from deeper inside, near the back wall. He tensed, shoulders tightening as he raised the crossbow again. He edged forward, the darkness swallowing the light from the shattered front windows. The smell grew stronger—death—and a shape shifted near a stack of broken down boxes.

A walker lunged from the shadows, its hands clawing at the air. It moved faster than he’d expected—desperate—and he barely had time to sidestep before its teeth snapped inches from his arm. He jammed the crossbow up beneath its chin and fired. The bolt went clean through its skull, the walker crumbling to the floor like a sack of rocks. 

He let out a breath, his heart pounding hard. He looked up at the bolt, lodged in the ceiling above him. He grabbed a nearby step stool and climbed up to retrieve the arrow. 

He checked the rest of the storeroom, but it was empty now—just old cans and broken pallets. He gathered what he could, packing it into his bag. The weight felt good on his shoulders. He moved back into the main store, checking every corner twice before stepping back into the hazy daylight. 

He’d nearly cleared the block when he spotted a small barber shop at the end of the street. The sign above the door hung by a single chain, swinging in the wind. He hesitated, but as he looked at the shop, the skin at his jaw began to itch. 

He walked through the door slowly, crossbow raised, checking behind everything he could see a shadow. Nothing moved—no walkers, no bodies, no desperate survivors. Just silence.

He began to rummage through everything and he finally found what he was looking for: a straight razor. Old school, but serviceable. He flipped it open, the metal glinting dully in the light that filtered through cracked windows. His scruff had been getting long. Longer than he liked.

He’d been so focused on Beth and the girls, he was ignoring his own needs. 

He stowed the razor in his pack, along with the meager haul he’d scavenged, and headed back to the farmhouse.

It was early afternoon when he got there. He checked the perimeter again, out of habit, before knocking gently on the front door. A moment later, he heard the lock click and Sara was pulling the door open.

Willow was sitting up on the couch, more color in her face, but she still seemed weak. Beth was next to her, speaking softly as she told her a story about her family’s farm. Beth looked up when he came inside, a smile already brightening her face. 

“Hey,” she greeted. “Find anythin’ good?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting the weight of the pack on his shoulder. He moved closer, pulling out the packets of soup mix and cans of beans. “Figured this’d be a good dinner.”

She took them from him, brushing her palm over the back of his hand. “Thank you, Daryl, this is perfect.” 

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Ain’t perfect ‘less I can bag us a rabbit.”

“You could ,” she said, that teasing sparkle in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. “But you don’t have to.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he grunted, rubbing at his jaw with a thumb. His scruff itched like hell, enough to make him want to claw it off. “Got one more thing,” he muttered, pulling the straight razor from his pack. “Found this. Thinkin’ ‘bout cleanin’ up a little. Figure I might need some hot water for it. If you got any left over after the soup.”

“‘Course,” Beth said, her smile lingering. “Do you think there’s a water source somewhere nearby? I don’t want to use our drinking water if we don’t have to.”

Daryl nodded. “There’s a stream north of here. I’ll go get you some.”

“And I’ll get a fire started,” she said, standing from the couch. She stooped and dropped a kiss to Willow’s forehead. 

With a couple empty water bottles in tow, he left the house again, listening for the lock before he left the porch. The stream was close by. It was slow-moving, water trickling over rocks in a quiet hush. He crouched down and dipped the bottles into the water, one by one, watching the ripples dance across the surface. 

He could barely see his reflection in the water, and the man staring back at him was rough—beard too long, lines carved deep by worry and too many sleepless nights. A shave wouldn’t fix that, but at least it’d make him feel more like a human being. 

He capped the bottles and stood slowly, feeling the stiffness in his back from the hours of walking and carrying. As he trudged back toward the farmhouse, the late afternoon sun slanted through the trees. 

He couldn’t help but think about Beth as he walked. Couldn’t help how she got under his skin. The way she’d looked at him earlier, all warm and soft, made something in his chest ache in a way that felt too dangerous to name. He’d gotten used to being needed for his skills, for his weapons, for his willingness to do the dirty work. But Beth—she needed him differently. Not just for protection or muscle or even to find them a place to stay. She needed him for comfort. For care. For the softness he didn’t let people see very often.

A small fire was crackling in the fireplace when he got back to the house. Over the flames was a grill rack Beth had jury-rigged from scavenged kitchen parts. She got on her knees beside the hearth with a pot she must have found somewhere, wiping the inside out with a rag.

When she was ready for them, Daryl handed the water bottles over and she poured them into the pot. 

With the pot over the fire, Daryl sat on the couch, looking around the room. “Where’re the girls?”

Beth was looking at the soup packets he’d found, squinting at the faded print of flavors. “They’re in the dining room. Sara found Chutes and Ladders . She’s teaching Willow how to play.“

Daryl rested his forearms on his thighs, listening. Sure enough, faint laughter filtered in from across the hall. Sara’s voice was clear, enthusiastic. If Willow was talking to her sister, Daryl couldn’t hear her. 

”It’s kinda peaceful, isn’t it?” Beth murmured, not looking at him. She must have chosen a soup mix to use because the others were stashed away while she had one pinched between her thumb and forefinger, gently swinging it to force the powder to the bottom of the paper bag. “I don’t know if this is the place, but I’d like somethin’ like this.”

Daryl didn’t know if this was the place for them either. He didn’t know if they’d ever find a place that would be right. “Didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

Beth turned to him, a surprised look on her face, and Daryl was surprised, too. He didn’t know why he said that.

”You mean, since the prison?” she asked, her gaze searching.

He gave a small nod. “After that…figured we’d last maybe a week. Two tops. Just kept movin’. Figured I’d lose you, like I lost everyone else.” He nearly kicked himself for that—what selfish thought. She’d lost her father and sister the day they lost the prison, and all he thought about was who else he could’ve lost.

If Beth thought that, she didn’t show it.

The water began to boil and Beth carefully ladled some of the hot water into a bowl. She handed it over to Daryl without a word and poured the packet of soup mix into the pot. It wasn’t much, basically just a broth, but it was something that would warm their bellies.

Daryl stood, transferring the bowl to his left hand as the ceramic got too hot. “Be right back,” he mumbled.

He made his way to the bathroom, nudging the door open with his foot. The mirror above the sink was cracked, a web of silver fractures, but it was good enough. He set the bowl down on the counter, steam curling lazily into the air.

He splashed some of the hot water on his face, then reached for the straight razor. He wished he had the luxury of soap, but this would have to do. 

When he unfolded the razor, it felt foreign in his grip. He’d used one before—Merle used to shave with a straight razor, all showy and smug—but Daryl never liked them. Too sharp. Too close. One bad angle and you’d open yourself up like a deer.

He tilted his head and started with the easy parts—the cheeks, the upper lip, the lines of his jaw. He moved slowly, steady, wiping the blade clean with a rag between strokes. It was quiet, just the scrape of metal on skin and occasional drip of water hitting porcelain. 

But when he got to his neck, he paused.

He squinted, trying to see the angle in the busted mirror. The cracks made it damn near impossible. Every time he leaned closer, his reflection scattered. And he was losing daylight.

He tried once, real careful, but the razor slipped. Not enough to cut, just enough to remind him this wasn’t worth being stubborn over. He exhaled through his nose, wiped the blade off, and turned toward the door.

Beth looked up as he stepped out, her hand pausing as she was spooning broth into separate bowls. “Hey, you okay?”

He hesitated in the doorway. Felt like an idiot. “Think I need help.”

”With what?”

He scratched behind his ear, avoiding her eyes. “My neck. I can’t see it right. Don’t wanna slit my own throat.”

Beth blinked at him. “Okay.”

”You don’t gotta—“

”No, it’s fine,” she said in a rush. She got to her feet and picked up two of the bowls. “Let me give these to the girls and I’ll be right back.”

Daryl nodded, feeling awkward as hell. He heard her light footsteps pad across the floor, the murmur of her voice as she passed the bowls off to the girls in the next room, and then the soft shuffle of her returning. 

Beth followed him into the bathroom with one of their flashlights. “Okay,” she said, her brows drawn slightly. “I’ve never used one of these before. How do I do this?”

He sat on the closed toilet lid and angled the blade against his cheek. “Hold it like this.” Then he passed it over, handle first.  “Don’t gotta press down, let the blade do the work. Short strokes. With the grain.”

She stared down at the razor as if it was a snake. “You sure about this?”

“Nope.”

But he tilted his head to the side anyway, baring his throat to her like some kind of trust exercise. 

In the quiet of the room, he could hear when she swallowed. Her fingers brushed his jaw, featherlight. Her left hand steadied his chin, and her right held the blade. She seemed to freeze. She didn’t move for several moments. 

“What if I slit your throat?”

“You won’t,” he said quietly. “I trust you.”

Her eyes darted up to his. He kept his firmly locked on the corner of the bathroom. 

Then she pressed the blade to his skin, angled just right. The first stroke was tentative, shallow, but clean.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Alright, I can do this.”

Daryl didn’t move, didn’t breathe too deep. Just let her work. Her knuckles bumped his jawbone. He could smell the dish soap she’d washed her hair with days earlier, faint, but still there.

Against his thigh, he squeezed his right hand into a tight fist. His heart rate picked up. 

He didn’t expect it—how intimate this would feel. 

Daryl could feel tension pulling through him like a wire—coiled tight between restraint and something he didn’t know how to name. The air in the bathroom felt thicker now, heavy with the closeness of her. Every brush of her fingers made him hyper aware of just how much he craved her.

“I’ve never seen you clean shaven before,” she said thoughtfully.

He huffed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Ain’t much to see.”

Beth didn’t say anything right away. He felt the razor lift from his neck, felt her fingers on his neck. She was more confident now, her movements smoother, sure-footed. “Looks good,” she replied.

Daryl had to swallow around the lump in his throat. Beth paused her movements until after his Adam’s apple bobbed back into place. 

The silence that stretched between them wasn’t awkward—it was full. Full of things unsaid, things both of them had maybe been holding back for too long. Her fingers lingered beneath his jaw. 

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

He furrowed his brows, confused by her question.

“Your pulse is racing,” she explained. 

He didn’t answer right away.

Couldn’t. Not when her thumb was resting over the very pulse she was calling out, like she could feel the truth beating beneath his skin.

“Just a blade at my throat,” he muttered, trying to make it a joke. But his voice was rougher than he meant it to be. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at her—his eyes drawn to her the way the rest of him was. 

Her eyes searched his like she was looking for something. 

She set the blade down on the counter, the metal clinking against the tile. It sounded like a bomb in the silence. She dipped the rag into the water and used it to wipe his neck down, her eyes never leaving his.

Daryl couldn’t remember ever holding eye contact with another person the way he did with Beth.

Her thumb drifted in slow, reassuring circles against his throat—like she was turning some invisible key—and something inside him unlocked with a quiet click.

She finally set the rag aside. “All done,” she whispered, her hand falling from his neck.

He couldn’t thank her. The word felt too small in his mouth. 

He stood slowly, his legs a little stiff from sitting, his neck still warm from where her hands had been. 

He should’ve stepped back. Should’ve moved away—but he couldn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that. 

Not when he was looking at her like this.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep pushing this feeling away. It might burn him alive, but he reckoned he’d love every second of it.

He leaned in slow, giving her every chance to pull away, to change her mind. Her breath caught, her lips parted, and that was all the answer he needed.

He kissed her like he meant it, because he did.

And when she pulled him in by the front of his vest, when she tilted her head just enough to deepen it, when her hands slipped up to grip his biceps and didn’t flinch at the grime—he knew.

She wasn’t just surviving beside him.

She was choosing him.

And God help him, he was choosing her right back.

Chapter Text

Beth watched quietly as Daryl secured their bags into the back of the old truck he’d found. It barely had a half a tank of gas, but it would give them a good start.

They’d talked last night—voices low so they wouldn’t wake the girls—and he’d outlined his idea. Head north, into the Appalachians. Somewhere remote, away from crowded towns and roads, away from walkers and the possibility of running into people that could be dangerous. 

They’d spoken briefly about this before Willow had gotten sick, and then the plan was forgotten while she rested. Now, there was no sign of a fever and she was up and moving around, following her older sister like a puppy. 

Beth glanced over her shoulder where she could just make out Sara and Willow through the cracked door. They sat on the floor, still playing with Chutes and Ladders . Beth promised them they’d bring it along. It could fit in her backpack just fine.

She stepped down from the porch as Daryl dropped the tailgate shut with a metallic thud.

Beth smiled at him softly, one hand pushing a strand of hair out of her face as the wind picked up. “You sure it’ll make it?” she asked, nodding toward the truck.

Daryl’s lips twitched up to a barely-there smirk with a shake of his head. “Nah,” he said, honest as ever. “But we’ll find another car or more gas.” His boots crunched over gravel and dead grass as they stopped within a foot of each other. “We ain’t gotta rush it.”

Beth squinted up at him. 

“If you think the girls need more time—” he went on, and Beth quickly shook her head, resting a hand on his arm.

“They’re okay,” she assured him. “Willow’s stronger every day, and Sara’s ready to go.”

Daryl nodded.

“Besides, I don’t think this is our place.” Beth shrugged. “Do you?”

He copied her shrug. “Dunno. But I think if we don’t stop movin’ we got a better chance of findin’ it than sittin’ around waitin’ for trouble to come find us.”

He was right. The world didn’t give anything freely anymore—not safety, not comfort, not even a breath you didn’t have to fight for. But it did offer moments. Like this one. And if they could string enough of those moments together, maybe they’d find a life worth living. 

She leaned in, rested a hand on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m glad it’s with you,” she said softly.

Daryl’s eyes locked with hers as easy as anything, like puzzle pieces. 

“This next part,” she added. “Whatever it is.”

His hand covered hers then, rough fingers brushing her knuckles. He didn’t say anything in return, but she didn’t need him to. 

Her thumb drifted along the edge of his collar, eyes tracing the worry lines on his face. The sun had just begun to crest over the trees, casting gold across the yard, and it hit him in a way that made her breath catch. He looked tired, sure—but less haunted. Like something had eased inside him. Like maybe he’d started to believe this could be more than surviving too.

“C’mon,” he rasped, giving her hand a squeeze before he dropped his own back to his side. “Let’s get movin’ b’fore we lose daylight.”

Beth went back up the porch and poked her head through the front door. “Girls?”

Sara immediately began packing up their board game, shoving it into Beth’s backpack. She took her younger sister by the hand and met Beth at the door. Willow clutched her ratty teddy bear under her arm.

“Y’all ready?” Beth asked, opening the door wider for them to step outside.

“Ready,” Sara replied, lifting her chin as if someone was going to challenge her.

Willow nodded solemnly, then held up the bear as if to say he’s ready too .

Beth’s chest swelled with quiet affection. The girls stepped out into the morning light and met Daryl at the passenger door. Beth waited for Sara to climb in first, then helped Willow up, before sliding in beside them. Daryl took his place in the driver’s seat. The cab of the truck was a tight squeeze for all four of them, but no one complained. 

Daryl turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed once, twice. He huffed out a curse. Beth stretched her arm over the back of the seat and rested her hand on his shoulder. With one more turn of the key, it sputtered to life. 

They drove through the silence of the countryside, past old fences swallowed by overgrowth, broken signs, and rusted-out mailboxes. Willow had quickly fallen asleep against Beth’s side but Sara sat up straight, eyes alert and curious. Beth kept her hand resting on the back of Daryl’s seat, fingers grazing his shoulder now and then.

The gas gauge dipped slowly, a constant ticking clock they both watched out of the corner of their eyes. 

They made it further than Beth expected—through two small towns, a dozen back roads, and into the hills where pine trees grew tall and quiet. The truck finally gave up on a gentle incline, the engine sputtering and wheezing to a stop like it had just run its last mile.

Daryl put the truck into park, glancing at Beth over the girls’ heads. “That’s it.”

He glanced toward the horizon and then looked behind them. “That trailer park we passed is prob’ly our best bet. Hole up there for the night. See what we can find.”

Beth followed his gaze, nodding. The trailer park was maybe half a mile back—nothing fancy, just a handful of motor homes tucked under a canopy of trees, half-swallowed by Spanish moss. They hadn’t wanted to stop and scavenge and lose daylight, but obviously their truck had had other plans for them.

After gathering their things, they made the short walk to the edge of the lot. Beth kept the girls close, keeping an eye out for anything around them that could pose a threat—living or dead.

Daryl checked the first trailer. The door was locked, but with quick work of his knife, he managed to jimmy it open. Nothing inside moved but he shut the door with a grimace, and Beth copied his expression more out of sympathy than having smelled anything herself. She swallowed against the sour taste in the back of her throat.

The next home was better. It was covered in dust, but nothing was inside and the mattress in the back bedroom wasn’t soaked or moldy. Daryl herded Beth and the children inside before shutting the door behind them, making sure all the windows were locked tight.

Despite her nap in the truck, Willow was still recovering from her cold, so Beth quickly got to work covering the mattress with a blanket so she could go back to sleep. Willow curled up right away, her teddy bear still clutched in her arms. Sara, on the other hand, looked restless.

Beth sat beside her in the small lounge area that was attached to the kitchenette. “You okay, sweet girl?” she murmured, brushing a bit of hair back from her forehead.

Sara nodded, but her fingers tugged at the strap of her backpack. “I wanna help,” she said quietly. “More than I do now. I don’t wanna just…sit around.”

Beth blinked, a little taken aback. 

Before she could answer, Daryl stepped into the living space, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He met Beth’s eyes, then looked at Sara. “I’m headin’ out. Gonna see if I can get us some meat for supper.”

Sara stood up quickly. “I’ll go with you.” 

Daryl’s eyebrows pinched together.

“I’m not scared,” she said, her chin rising. “And I can be quiet. I watched how you walk in the woods. I’ve been practicing.”

Beth could see the war play out behind Daryl’s eyes. He didn’t want to say no. But he also didn’t want to be the one to say yes.

He glanced at Beth like he expected her to put a stop to it.

Beth didn’t.

She stood slowly and crossed the space between them. “I think it’s a good idea,” she said softly. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right. “You do?”

“If she wants to learn, we should listen.” Beth wrapped a hand around his wrist, brushing over his pulse point. “I trust you with her.”

He looked down, jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. “Ain’t never taken a kid huntin’ b’fore.”

“Well,” Beth smiled, “there’s a first time for everythin’.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, like the tension was leaving him one breath at a time. Then he looked at Sara, and something in his posture shifted. Not softer exactly—just more open.

“A’right,” he said. “You listen to everythin’ I say. No wanderin’. No talkin’. You do exactly what I do. Got it?”

Sara nodded, eyes bright. “Got it.”

He knelt to check the straps on her shoes, tugging at the laces to make sure they were snug. He adjusted the way her knife hung on the waist of her jeans like he’d done it a hundred times. 

Beth leaned against the counter, watching them, heart full.

It would’ve been easier to keep Sara close, to say no and wrap her in safety. But this wasn’t the old world, and children grew up fast now. Sara wanted to learn how to protect her sister, how to help their little family survive. And Beth couldn’t think of anyone better to teach her than Daryl.

They were gone for nearly two hours.

Beth didn’t let herself worry. She meant it when she told Daryl she trusted him. Trusting Daryl was as easy as breathing. 

Beth didn’t want to leave Willow alone in the trailer, even though she wanted to search the other homes for supplies they could use. So she stayed inside, laying out their supplies and rearranging them in their backpacks to get more space out of them. 

She was nearly finished when there was a sharp knock at the door. Even though she recognized the beat, she still peered out the dirty window to make sure it was Daryl and Sara. 

Sara beamed at Beth when the door swung open. “We got one!” she whispered, as if they were returning from a top-secret mission.

Daryl held up a long, lean rabbit by its legs as proof and Beth smiled, picking a leaf out of Sara’s curly hair. “Great job!”

“Daryl said I can shoot his crossbow the next time we go.”

Daryl huffed softly behind her. “Didn’t say that.” 

“You meant it,” she shot back, and Beth laughed.

“Why don’t you go wake your sister up while I help Daryl get a fire started,” Beth said gently.

Sara looked at Daryl and then back at Beth. “But I have to help skin it.”

Daryl knocked the back of his hand against her shoulder, giving her a gentle push toward the rear of the trailer. “You can help next time.”

Beth stepped out into the fading light with Daryl, the air turning cooler as the sun dipped below the treetops. The trailer park was still, cloaked in quiet except for the rustling of branches and the distant call of a bird settling in for the night.

Daryl had already picked a spot—a small patch of gravel between trailers, surrounded on three sides by overgrown hedges. He crouched low and began cleaning the rabbit while Beth gathered what dry branches and kindling she could find. It didn’t take long for them to have a fire going and the rabbit on a spit, cooking over the flames. 

When it was ready, they carved the meat and split it between the four of them. Willow was still sleepy and picked at hers, eating slowly, but Sara devoured her portion with pride. 

“I helped get this,” she said, mouth full.

“You sure did,” Beth said, unable to hold back a wide smile.

After they ate, Beth helped both girls into bed with a kiss to both of their foreheads with a wish of sweet dreams. 

Daryl sat in the living area with a lantern dim enough that they could see but wouldn’t bring attention to them from the outside. Beth joined him quietly on the worn cushion, tucking one leg beneath herself as she settled. 

She leaned into him, listening to the sound of his steady breathing as she rested her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he stopped picking at the skin around his finger nails and moved his left hand to her knee. His touch light, waiting for her to tell him if the contact was welcome. She put her hand on top of his to hold it against her leg.

“I think you’ve got a little huntin’ partner now,” she murmured, smiling softly as she thought of Sara’s proud face, how bright her eyes had been when she came back. 

Daryl huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Miss havin’ you out there with me.”

Beth hadn’t expected that. 

She lifted her head slowly, studying his face in the dim lantern light. He was mostly shrouded in shadows, but the light caught the angles of his jaw and the blue of his eyes. “You do?” she whispered.

His eyes shifted, briefly shy, before they met hers again. “You were my huntin’ partner first.”

She reached up, fingertips lightly tracing the edge of his jaw, feeling the prickles of facial hair that was already growing after his shave. She was glad it was growing back in. He was handsome with or without facial hair, but there was something about his goatee that made her insides a mess. 

“I can be your partner in everythin’ else,” she suggested softly.

His eyes darkened at her words, deepening in a way that sent warmth pooling in Beth’s stomach. Her pulse quickened beneath her skin, loud enough she wondered if he could hear it. 

For a moment, they stayed suspended in that heavy silence. 

She shifted closer, watching him carefully, and Daryl met her halfway, leaning in slowly, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

“Beth—” he began, voice husky, but she closed the distance before he could finish.

This kiss was different from the others they’d shared—deeper, hungrier, igniting something fierce between them that made her breath catch in her throat. Daryl’s lips moved against hers, confident now, letting go of that carefully held control as he tangled his hand into her hair, anchoring her gently in place.

Beth parted her lips beneath his. Heat surged through her body, her hand tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

Daryl responded in kind, sliding his hand from her knee and around her waist, tugging her forward until she was practically in his lap. Her breath shuddered against his mouth as she sank against him, knees straddling his thighs.

She lost herself in the feel of him—thick arms around her waist, strong hands spread out across her back, the steady thump of his heartbeat against her palm. 

The way he kissed her told her how much he had been holding back. 

It was all there—in the press of his mouth and the slow slide of his hands. 

Beth had never been kissed like this before. Never been wanted like this before. 

Daryl kissed her like he was making up for lost time. Like he didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance. And she felt the same. She clung to him with a need that had lived under her skin for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer.

Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against her lips, low and ragged. His hands flexed against her back, his fingertips pressing into her skin. She could feel the calluses of his palms through the threadbare fabric of her shirt, rough and real and his, grounding her in a world that had taken almost everything but somehow gave her this. 

Gave her him.

Chapter Text

They were still heading toward the mountains. That was the plan—northwest through South Carolina toward the Appalachians. Somewhere higher up, harder to reach. 

But plans didn’t mean shit anymore.

The gas they’d siphoned two days ago had gotten them just past the North Carolina border. Daryl had kept the truck at a crawl, running on fumes, until it died on the side of a gravel backroad. They’d been on foot since.

They were nowhere near the mountains at this point, though. Before the truck had run out of gas, they’d had to backtrack due to miles of cars blocking the highway. It had cost them hours and put them off course, further east than they should’ve been.

Daryl tried to steer them west, but a horde cut them off outside a hospital—hundreds of walkers milling about the street and into the trees. Luckily, they’d spotted the herd before they were sensed by the walking dead—but by the time they got clear, they were miles in the wrong direction. 

And now the mountains were behind them again.

They needed a place to rest, just for the night. Somewhere they could hole up until Daryl could scavenge for a new vehicle and maybe hunt something down for a meal. The girls put on brave faces, but the traveling was hard on Daryl and Beth too, and they were used to it.

Sara spotted it first. Just off a side road, an old RV was tucked into a grove of pines, half-hidden behind overgrowth. Weeds curled around the rusted frame, but the tires were full. 

Daryl approached it cautiously, crossbow raised, checking every shadow and every sound. The door creaked when he pushed it open, the air stale and thick with dust, but it was empty. No walkers. No bodies.

In his sweep, his eyes landed on a faded dancing hula girl on the dashboard. 

Memories came rushing back to him so fast he could hear his blood pounding in his ears. He knew this wasn’t Dale’s RV—that had been lost at the Greene Farm—but that didn’t stop the sudden emotion clawing at his chest.

Beth saying his name rocked him out of his rumination and he turned to see her watching him from the doorway, concern etched into her face.

“All clear,” he grunted.

She nodded and stepped back to let the girls know it was safe, but Daryl stayed put a second longer, eyes lingering on that cheap plastic gula girl bobbing in place like it was still behind driven down a sunny road. 

He swallowed hard and avoided looking at the dashboard ornament, searching the front for the keys. When he pulled the driver’s side sun visor down, a single key fell from it and landed on the seat. He could’ve hotwired it if he needed to, but he was glad he had the key and it wasn’t in a walker’s pocket somewhere.

The engine looked like hell when he popped the hood open. Dusty, rusty, cobwebs in the corners, but he’d seen worse. He checked the belts. Fluid levels. Battery cables. It wasn’t pristine, but it wasn’t dead either. The battery had a little corrosion on the terminals, so he grabbed a rag and scraped it clean with his knife. 

A few minutes later, he turned the key. 

The engine roared to life. 

He let it idle. Checked the gauges. Not only did it run, but the fuel gauge wasn’t sitting on E. And when he poked around the storage compartments outside, he found a red plastic canister of gas tucked behind a coiled hose.

It was more luck than he was used to, and that made his skin itch.

He shut the hood and wiped his hands on his thighs as Beth stepped down the stairs. She paused just off the last step, watching him with that soft, thoughtful look she always gave him when she was trying to figure out what was going on in his head.

“It looks like Dale’s,” she said.

Daryl should’ve known she’d get it in one. 

“Do you wanna look for somethin’ else?” 

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Should pitch that hula girl though. Clicks when it moves. Drives me up the wall.”

Beth let out a breathy laugh.

He reached for his crossbow, tightening the strap over his shoulder. “I’m gonna head out. Hunt somethin’ down for dinner b’fore it gets dark.”

Beth pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Can you try and get some of these weeds off?” he asked, tugging at one that was nearly as tall as him. “Don’t want ‘em holdin’ us here.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” she murmured.

He paused and looked at her. He wasn’t the best at reading people, but he knew Beth. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I wish I could go with you,” she admitted as she stepped closer. “I know you can handle yourself and that you’re careful. I just…wish someone was with you, watchin’ your back.”

Daryl knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t like the idea of him going out alone anymore than he liked leaving her and the girls behind. 

“I’ll be quick,” he told her. He glanced up, checking the sun’s position in the sky. When he turned back to Beth, her arms were crossed, her hands gripping her elbows like a vice. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he let instinct take over because all he wanted was to take her into his arms. So that’s what he did. 

If Beth was surprised by the hug, she didn’t show it. She relaxed into his chest, untangling her arms to come around his waist. He rubbed his palms along her upper back, resting his chin on the top of her head. He tried not to think about how perfectly she fit against him. If he did, it would be harder to leave, even if it was only for a couple hours.

“Maybe when we find our place, we can go out again,” he rasped. “Just the two of us.”

Beth tightened her arms around him. “I’d like that,” she whispered. 

He forced himself to loosen his arms around her shoulders and she looked up at him with those pretty blue eyes of hers. Easy as anything, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead like he’d been doing it for years. He wondered when he learned how to be like this with Beth. 

He figured maybe he’d always known how, just never had a reason to use it until now. 

Beth gave him a small smile, one that tugged at something deep in his chest. Then she nodded toward the trees. “Go on,” she said gently. “Before the light’s gone.”

He moved fast and low, scanning the forest floor for prints, scat—any signs of game. The trees were dense this far off the road, heavy with hanging moss and shadows, the kind that soaked up sound.

He spotted a rabbit trail after a mile or so and began heading in its direction. His eyes swept the underbrush, trained to catch even the smallest flicker of life. 

It wasn’t long before he had a rabbit hanging from his belt. He caught sight of more tracks, smaller than the others, and with a quick look up, he decided he had enough daylight to track down a second one. 

But something stopped him.

A scent. 

Smoke.

Woodsmoke, faint but present, drifting on a breeze too gentle to carry it far.

He straightened slowly, scanning the tree line until he saw it. Thin tendrils of smoke, curling into the air, just visible between the trees. His grip on his crossbow tightened.

He moved closer, taking long arcs to approach from downwind. He weaved between trees until the source came into view: a small camp set in a shallow clearing, tucked between two rocky outcrops.

There were five of them. Four men, one woman. A fire burned low in the center of their camp, and a couple of crude tents were pitched on either side. One guy was sharpening a blade, another pacing the perimeter, and the others were sitting and eating. 

Daryl crouched low behind a fallen log, studying them. He didn’t like what he saw. The way they moved. The way they looked at each other. The way the woman sat separate, not speaking. One of the men—bigger than the rest—tossed a bone over his shoulder and stood, swaggering toward her. He said something Daryl couldn’t hear, but the tension in the woman’s posture was answer enough.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. He ducked lower and backed away, branches brushing his shoulders as he moved. There were too many of them. And they were too close to the RV.

They needed to put distance between them and this camp immediately.

He was retracing his steps, looking over his shoulder, halfway back to the RV when he heard a twig snap. 

Daryl froze.

His instincts flared sharp and hot.

“Drop the bow.”

Daryl carefully looked over his shoulder at a wiry man with a tattered baseball cap coming out of the trees with a rifle raised. 

Daryl’s fingers flexed along the grip of his crossbow.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Finally, he lowered it to the forest floor. 

“Nice lookin’ rabbit you got there,” the man commented. “Toss it over here.”

Daryl turned slowly. He stared the man down, eyes narrowed, reading every twitch of his shoulders and every shift of his feet.

“Toss. The rabbit,” the guy barked again, stepping forward like he thought Daryl would break with pressure. Like Daryl hadn’t been dancing on the edge of life and death since long before this man ever picked up a gun.

He reached for the rabbit with his opposite hand. His body coiled tight. He dropped the rabbit two feet in front of him. 

The guy took one more step.

That was all he needed.

Daryl grabbed the barrel and shoved it aside just as the man fired, the shot going wide. The crack of the rifle shattered the quiet. Before the guy could chamber another round, Daryl surged forward, driving his shoulder into the man’s gun and sending them both crashing into the underbrush. 

They hit the ground hard, fists flying. The rifle was knocked free, clattering into the ferns. Daryl got a solid elbow into the man’s ribs before the guy slashed wildly with a knife—where the hell had he pulled that from?

A hot sting tore across Daryl’s upper arm, a clean slice through fabric and flesh. 

He grunted, teeth clenched against the burn, and slammed the man’s wrist into the ground until he dropped the blade. They struggled, thrashing through leaves and dirt, but Daryl was stronger, and had more to lose.

He got the guy on his back and landed a final punch that made the man’s head snap to the side, stunned. Before he could recover, Daryl snatched his own knife from his belt and drove it into the man’s chest. 

The man went still.

Daryl stayed there a second, breathing hard. His arm throbbed, warm blood soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. 

He shoved himself off the body, grabbed his crossbow and stumbled to his feet. He didn’t check for others—there was no time. If they heard the shot, they’d be coming soon.

He ran.

Branches tore at him, dirt kicked up behind his boots, but he didn’t stop until the RV came into view between the trees. Beth was just inside the door of the RV, pistol in her hand, eyeing the treeline. She must’ve heard the gunshot, which means the men at that camp definitely heard it. When he came stumbling out of the trees, she had her sights on him instantly.

He would be proud if he had the time. 

She lowered the weapon immediately. “Daryl?”

“We gotta go.”

His voice was rough, urgent, no room for argument. Beth’s eyes flew to the blood on his arm and he gripped her arm in his hand, rushing her back into the RV. 

Sara and Willow looked up from where they were playing Chutes and Ladders in the dinette. Beth shut and locked the door behind them as Daryl hauled himself to the driver’s seat. Distantly, he could hear Sara asking what happened, but all Daryl could hear was his ragged breaths and the roar of the RV’s engine.

The RV lurched forward, tires crunching over roots and gravel as he slammed it into gear and gunned it down the dirt path. The RV wasn’t made for speed, but he pushed it hard. 

They drove for miles before he let himself exhale. He watched the side mirrors obsessively, scanning for movement, headlights, dust clouds, anything that would signal pursuit. All he saw were shadows lengthening as dusk crept across the sky. 

Beth didn’t say a word at first. She pulled out their first aid supplies and sat sideways in the passenger seat, facing toward him. “You’re not bit, are you?”

Daryl shook his head, eyes still locked on the road. “Ain’t bit. Just a knife.”

Beth let out a shaky breath. “Good,” she murmured, already unscrewing the cap on a bottle of antiseptic.

He dragged his eyes away from the road long enough to see how shaken she was and he swallowed thickly. “M’sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, peeling the torn fabric of his shirt away from his skin so she could see the wound. She repeated the assurance again, softly, and reached for his collar. She began to unbutton his flannel. “I need to see better.” 

Daryl shrugged his right arm out of the sleeve with her help when she got the buttons undone, keeping his left firmly planted on the steering wheel. She didn’t waste any time with small talk or warnings after that. She poured the antiseptic over the cut. He hissed through his teeth, his knuckles white on the wheel. 

Beth pressed clean gauze to his arm, applying firm pressure. She held it there for a few moments, waiting for the bleeding to stop. “What happened?” 

He summed up the events for her quietly, mindful of the girls still sitting in the back. The plastic hula girl sat on the dashboard, clicking rhythmically as she danced without a care in the world. Daryl wanted to rip it off the dash and chuck it out the window.

“You think they’ll follow us?” she asked, pulling the gauze away from his arm. “You’re gonna need stitches.”

“Dunno,” he said, voice low. “Maybe. Didn’t see any cars at their camp, though.”

She nodded, preparing a needle and thread. She squinted down at his arm. The sun had dropped behind the trees and the dome light bulb proved to be burnt out when Beth tried switching it on. 

“Sara, can you bring me the small flashlight from my bag, please?”

The girl was quick to riffle through the backpack until she found the flashlight. When she handed it over to Beth, her eyes landed on Daryl’s arm and widened a fraction.

“He’s okay, sweetie,” Beth assured her. “Go sit with your sister.” 

Even though the words weren’t directed at him, they cut through the adrenaline still buzzing in Daryl’s system. 

“You should pull over,” she said, clicking the flashlight on. 

“I’ll be fine,” he replied.

Beth sighed like she knew he was going to say that. She put the end of the flashlight between her teeth and wiped the needle with antiseptic. She didn’t give him a verbal warning before she began to stitch him up, she just placed her hands on his bicep, waited a moment and then started. He gritted his teeth through every pull of the thread. He’d had worse. He’d stitched himself up a couple of times. He just hated that she had to see him like this, after he brought blood and danger to their door. 

But she didn’t flinch. Not once. She just stitched and breathed and braced herself on his thigh when the road got a little bumpy. 

When she finished tying off the thread, she wiped the blood clean and wrapped his arm in gauze. She helped his arm back into his sleeve and put their first aid supplies away.

The flashlight clicked off.

There was a pause where everything was still except for the hula girl.

Then, Beth stood slowly, her palms sliding over one of his shoulders before she leaned over the back of his seat and began to button up his shirt. At the last few buttons, she stopped and flattened her palms against his bare chest. Her fingers spread wide, her thumbs brushing softly over the space just above his heart like she could feel the way it was beating for her. 

Soft and slow, she brushed her lips just under his jaw. Her nose bumped against his skin. 

He forced himself to keep his eyes open. His hands loosened on the wheel, his knuckles no longer white from the deathgrip he had on it.

She kissed him again, this time a little higher, just beneath his ear. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, pressing their cheeks together. 

Daryl exhaled, low and shaky, the sound barely audible over the hum of the tires and gentle creak of the RV as it rolled over uneven ground. He lifted his right hand, his bicep tight from the injury, and found one of her hands, hanging onto it like a lifeline.

Her lips pressed one more kiss against the curve of his neck, her breath ghosting across his skin. It wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t meant to stir anything. It was comfort. Something soft in a world that had hardened around them. Something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until she gave it to him without question, without hesitation.

Chapter Text

Running had cost them.

The truck breaking down, the horde near the hospital, the backed up highways, and the trouble Daryl had found—it all pushed them further off course. Daryl hadn’t said it out loud, but Beth could see it in the way his jaw tensed when he looked at the map. They were supposed to be heading northwest into the mountains. Instead the road had curved east and north, pushing them into southern Virginia. 

Still, the RV ran. And for now, that was enough.

They stopped at a small general store just outside of a town. Daryl went into the building while Beth stayed in the RV with the girls. She had tried to convince him to let her go instead, but she knew it was a lost cause before she even brought it up. 

He had the whole building clear within fifteen minutes, and he came back to the door of the RV, rapped his knuckles against the vinyl, and hauled in the supplies he’d found when she unlocked the door. 

A lantern, a dusty jar of strawberry jelly, two sleeves of graham crackers that were more than just crumbs, a notebook and a box of crayons labeled to contain sixty-four colors. 

“For the girls,” he said as he dropped the last two items on the dining table, before he mumbled something about moving the RV behind the general store so they weren’t on the main road.

“Wow, sissy, look!” Sara exclaimed, pulling the crayons closer to her. “There’s a million colors!” She began pulling them out of the box, most were broken and quite a few were missing. “Inchworm,” she read on one before putting it back and picking another color. “Fuzzy Wuzzy.”

Beth smiled as Sara rattled off the names of the crayons, helping her with a couple colors like Cerulean and Fuchsia. 

“The name isn’t on this one,” Sara said disappointedly, holding an orange shade up.

Beth turned the crayon in her fingers. The end of the crayon where the name would be printed on the wrapper was broken off. “Well,” she said, glancing at Sara with a small smile, “why don’t we make up a name for it?”

Sara’s eyes lit up. “Pumpkin Moon!” 

“Perfect,” Beth agreed, unable to hold back a laugh.

Sara got to work with the Pumpkin Moon crayon, narrating her drawing—something about a castle and an army of racoons—while Willow took her time, picking the colors she wanted to use. 

Beth watched quietly, her chin resting in her hand as Willow sorted through the crayons one by one. 

“Are you gonna draw something?” Sara asked, looking up at her.

“Can I?” 

“We can share,” Sara said, brown eyes darting to her sister. “Right, sissy?”

Willow nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

Beth returned her smile and tore a piece of paper from the notebook, laying it out on the table. She chose a pink crayon and started to draw a flower on her page.

Willow plucked a dark green crayon and carefully began to draw a line near the bottom of her page—grass, Beth realized. The strokes were tentative and uneven, but focused. Beth kept drawing but couldn’t help but watch the girls’ imaginations work. 

Willow was so quiet, so deliberate, her little fingers clutching the crayon in a tight grip as she drew stick figures. A small one with a pink triangle dress. Another followed with a dress made with the Pumpkin Moon crayon. She swapped crayons often, checking each one before she added another color to the page. Dandelion yellow for hair, Outer Space blue for boots because the black crayon was missing. A sun appeared in a corner. A square and a triangle that formed a house. A dog—a simple brown blob with four legs and a bushy tail. 

Daryl’s boots clomped up the steps and he shut and locked the door behind him. He grabbed the jelly and graham crackers off the kitchenette counter and motioned to the seat beside Sara. 

“Can I sit?”

“Sure,” Sara said brightly. “Are you gonna draw too?”

Daryl unscrewed the jelly jar with a shake of his head. The jar’s seal broke with a pop. “Ain’t much of an artist.”

Sara shrugged like it didn’t bother her that he didn’t want to join in on their fun. While grabbing another crayon, she leaned across the table to peek at Willow’s drawing. She pointed to one of the stick figures. “That’s me!” 

Willow nodded and pointed to the two stick figures that she’d drawn in the clouds, smaller than the ones on the grass at the bottom of the page. “That’s mommy and daddy.”

Beth’s breath caught at the sound of Willow’s voice.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t perfectly clear. But it was her voice, gentle, a little raspy from disuse.

She didn’t say anything else right away, just ducked her head and added a tree to the empty left side of the page. 

“Willow,” Sara whispered, eyes wide, “you talked!”

Beth’s eyes prickled. She glanced at Daryl, who had paused mid-scoop of jelly with one of the crackers. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes were locked on Willow, and Beth could tell it hit him just as hard. 

“It’s a beautiful picture, Willow,” Beth said, keeping her voice careful and light. She didn’t want to overwhelm Willow with praise and risk her retreat into herself again.

Willow pointed to the rest of the drawing, explaining each part of it. “That’s me and Strawberry.” 

Beth was confused for a moment and then she realized that must be the name of her teddy bear. 

Willow continued, “And Sara. And you.”

Beth lifted a hand to her chest. “Me?”

Willow nodded again and looked up, meeting her eyes. “You’re like my new mommy.”

Beth couldn’t speak. Her throat tightened too fast, her heart thudding in her chest. She didn’t know what to do with the sudden weight of love and grief wrapped in one tiny sentence. All she could do was nod.

Willow turned the page slightly toward Daryl. “That’s you.”

Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek, peering down at the drawing. 

“You gave me my bear,” Willow said, as if that was reason enough to include him.

Sara pointed to the dog drawing. “Who’s that?”

“That’s our dog,” she said simply. She eyed Daryl and Beth shyly. “Can we get one when we get to the safe place?”

Beth looked over at Daryl. It wasn’t that easy anymore. Beth couldn’t remember the last time she saw a dog, and they definitely couldn’t run down to their nearest pet store and pick one out. She was about to explain that it might be hard to find a dog, but Daryl surprised her and spoke first.

“Yeah,” he said, popping a jelly topped graham cracker into his mouth. “If we find one, and it needs us, we’ll bring it home.”

Willow’s face lit up in a way Beth hadn’t seen before. Pure, unguarded joy. 

Beth’s heart clenched.

There were so many things she wanted to say—so many ways she wanted to thank him for saying that. For giving Willow hope. He didn’t make promises lightly. He said we’ll bring it home like they had a home to bring anything back to. And that strengthened the hope she had that they would find a place for them somewhere. She wanted to kiss him senseless. 

She settled for hooking her ankle around his to get his attention and mouthing a thank you, to which he nodded. She could see the tips of his ears turning red.

They didn’t have anything to hang the drawings up with so Beth carefully tucked them into the notebook and put them in her backpack so they wouldn’t get lost or be left behind. 

After their dinner of jelly and graham crackers, Beth decided it was time to fix the girls’ hair. She sat on the floor with Sara in front of her and Willow in front of Sara, forming a little chain. As Beth gently brushed through Sara’s curls, she passed the brush forward so Sara could do the same for Willow, and then began weaving Sara’s hair into a braid. 

Daryl was at the front of the RV, his eyes watching the parking lot even though they hadn’t seen a single walker all day. 

“You want the usual braid?” Beth asked. 

Sara hummed thoughtfully. “Can you do the twisty one? The one that goes over the top?”

“A crown braid?” Beth smiled. “Sure.”

It didn’t take long. Beth’s fingers worked with steady rhythm, and Sara tilted her head just enough to help. When she was finished, Beth kissed the top of her head.

Sara started on Willow’s hair then, insisting she wanted to do a fishtail braid, and Willow didn’t put up a fight. Beth watched Sara concentrate, tongue poking out slightly as she tried to remember each step. Her fingers fumbled a bit, and Beth carefully instructed her how to fix the mistake. 

While Sara finished Willow’s braid, Beth took down her own hair and used the brush to untangle the strands. She wasn’t even halfway through brushing before Sara turned around with a determined look. 

“Your turn,” she said, patting the space in front of her like she was running a full salon. 

Beth chuckled and obediently scooted around. “Yes, ma’am,” she teased. “But be gentle.”

“I’m always gentle,” Sara replied, even as she tugged a little too hard getting a knot out.

Beth winced with a smile and caught Daryl’s eyes, who had shifted in his seat to watch them from the front of the RV. He lazily hooked his elbow over the back of the driver’s seat, one boot resting on the edge of the passenger seat. His eyes watched them with something suspiciously close to amusement.

“Daryl,” Sara addressed him, sectioning Beth’s hair into three parts. “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna learn how?” 

Daryl made a noise that sounded like a scoff that he tried to cover with a cough. “Nah. Ain’t much need.”

Sara turned her big brown eyes on Daryl, looking deadly serious. “What if you’re the only one around and Beth needs her hair braided?”

Beth’s mouth opened slightly, but Daryl beat her to it.

“Beth can braid her hair herself,” he said dryly.

Sara didn’t miss a beat.

“What if her arms fall off?”

Beth snorted, pressing a hand to her mouth to muffle it. Daryl just stared at the girl, blinking slowly. 

“Then she’d be in a right pickle, I reckon,” he muttered, and Beth swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. 

“Exactly,” Sara said, triumphant. “Come here.”

Daryl didn’t move at first. He glanced at Beth like he was checking for backup—or an escape. Beth just raised her eyebrows, the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. She shrugged. “You’ve touched my hair before.”

With a theatrical sigh that Beth didn’t know he was capable of, Daryl stood from the front seat and made his way toward them. “Prob’ly gonna be the most important skill I learn in my life.”

Sara hummed in agreement, either not catching his sarcasm—or the more likely option—she didn’t care. 

“Okay,” Sara said, all business, once Daryl was seated behind Beth. “You gotta make three pieces. Like this.” She pointed to Beth’s already parted hair. “Then put that piece over this one. Then this piece.”

Daryl followed her instructions carefully and then paused.

“That one,” Sara told him, pointing again. “It goes over the middle one. Then the other one.”

Beth felt a tug. Willow sat across from her, hugging her teddy bear to her chest, watching the three of them quietly.

“Like this?” Daryl asked, his voice lower than usual. He sounded like he was talking to himself more than anyone else.

“Sort of,” Sara said diplomatically. “But you twisted it weird. Try again. Here, I’ll show you.”

Beth bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

Daryl grunted. “How the hell do y’all make this look so easy?”

“Language,” Beth murmured, teasing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, then under his breath: “...how the heck.”

Sara giggled again and settled back on her heels to watch him try again.

Beth stayed perfectly still as Daryl’s fingers fumbled through her hair, his calloused hands gentle as they tried to mimic the motion Sara had shown him. He moved slowly—overthinking every section, every crisscross, every pull.

Sara studied the finished braid, hands on her hips, head titled like a critic examining art. “It’s not bad,” she declared. “Kinda squiggly. But not bad.”

Beth lifted her hand to touch the braid lightly. It wasn’t perfect. It was crooked and definitely looser than Beth would’ve done it herself. She wanted it to stay like this forever.

“Now you give her a kiss.”

Daryl must have shot Sara a look Beth couldn’t see because she shrugged innocently and said, “That’s what Beth does when she braids our hair.” 

Daryl huffed, but he seemed to know he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this either, and he started to get up off the floor, pausing in his squat to press his lips to the top of Beth’s head. 

He returned to his post at the front of the RV and Beth clapped her hands together. “Time for bed, sweet girls. We have a long day of driving ahead of us tomorrow.”

Sara groaned. Willow rubbed her eyes. 

Beth tucked the girls in slowly, savoring the calm. She smoothed their shared blanket over them and gave them each a kiss before turning off the lantern next to the bed. With them settled, Beth headed to the front of the RV where Daryl had taken up his place again, his back against the driver side door, watching the dark around them.

The night was still, save for the hum of insects outside. The moon was half-full, casting enough light for Beth to see so she could turn off their other lantern. 

She stopped next to Daryl and smiled softly, giving his legs a nudge, urging him to let her have the spot on the passenger seat where he was resting his feet. Instead, he leaned forward and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into him until she was falling sideways across his thighs. 

Beth let out a soft laugh as she caught herself against his chest. She adjusted herself to be more comfortable and pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. “You’re good with them,” she whispered.

Daryl didn’t respond. 

“Whether you believe it or not,” she added.

Daryl exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes fixed on somewhere in the darkness outside. Beth waited, giving him the space to decide whether or not to answer. 

“Never thought I’d have kids,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, as if he was embarrassed to admit it. “Didn’t grow up ‘round the kinda people who should’ve been raisin’ kids. Didn’t figure I’d be any different.”

Beth didn’t speak right away. She didn’t rush to contradict him or drown his honesty in reassurances. She chose a lock of his hair at the nape of his neck and began to braid it. 

“I always wanted a big family,” she said at last, her eyes fixed on the braid—thin and neat, something to do with her hands while her heart ached softly in her chest. “A bunch of kids, an old farmhouse, a husband who didn’t mind if the kids were a little loud or the house was a mess sometimes.” 

Beth smiled faintly at the image she used to dream about. She finished the braid. The three sections unraveled at the end without being tied in place, but the braid stayed mostly intact. 

Daryl’s throat bobbed. His fingers flexed against her thigh. “You think about that now?”

“Not the same,” she murmured, “but somethin’ similar.”

Daryl tensed, and Beth heard it too. The bush on the passenger side of the RV rustled. Before either of them could move, a deer stepped out from the bush, and she and Daryl both relaxed. She turned her attention back to him, but Daryl kept his eyes on the deer.

Beth watched him quietly, the moonlight spilling across his face in a soft wash of silver. She used to imagine a life so different from this. White picket fences. Church on Sundays. Little feet pounding up and down a farmhouse hallway. Maybe a dog or a cat warming itself in the sun.

And yet here she was—in an RV in the middle of nowhere, moonlight catching in the lashes of a man she probably would have never met if it wasn’t for the end of the world.

No farmhouse. No wedding ring. No photos on the mantle.

But this? 

This was love.

“It’s funny,” she said, almost to herself, “how things work out.”

Daryl’s eyes flicked to her, wary and soft.

“I pictured somethin’ real different.” She giggled, cupping his face in her hands. “You pictured nothin’ at all.” She leaned in close, her thumbs brushing over the scruff on his cheeks, fingers curling along his jaw, memorizing the way every angle felt under her palms. “I love you, Daryl.”

His breath hitched. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but she felt it in his chest against hers.

“I love you,” she said again. “You don’t need to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

For a heartbeat, maybe two, Daryl was still.

And then he did something that startled her—not because it was sudden, but because of how deliberate it was. He reached up, cupped the back of her neck, and pulled her down into a kiss. Passionate and deep without an edge of desperation or haste. 

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. Their noses brushed and Beth smiled, the gesture bringing more butterflies to her stomach than the kiss had.

“I ain’t good with words.” His throat bobbed. “Ain’t never said that to no one.”

Beth pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you don’t need to.”

“You deserve someone that can say it back.”

“You know, words aren’t the only way you can tell someone how you feel about them.” She pulled his arms tighter around her and tucked her head beneath his chin. “I don’t need to hear it. I see it. I feel it.”

Beth melted against his chest, her eyes fluttering closed as she soaked in the solid comfort of him. His heartbeat was strong, his breath was warm in her hair. His head turned down and he pressed his lips to her hair.

Chapter Text

The road to the mountains wasn’t straight. It wasn't easy either.

They were still further east than they ever meant to be, but Daryl kept the RV crawling west as much as he could even though they came upon obstacle after obstacle. Washed-out bridges, roads packed with rusted cars, and the occasional walker herd too big to risk cutting through. 

If Daryl believed in God, he’d think He was trying to keep them from the mountains. 

Still, they moved. One mile at a time.

He tried not to let it show, but every wrong turn, every backtrack gnawed at him. If it wasn’t getting colder by the day, Daryl would say they should head toward the beach like Beth wanted to at the beginning of their journey.

Daryl’s eyes slid to the left, making sure Sara was keeping up with his pace.

The day had been quiet—too quiet, maybe. They hadn’t seen more than two walkers in the last twenty-four hours. There was a bite in the air this morning, their breaths coming out in white puffs. The trees were too thick to let much of the rising sunlight in, so the only things keeping them warm were their scavenged jackets and their steady pace.

Daryl adjusted the strap of his crossbow and stepped over a fallen tree, pausing just long enough for Sara to catch up. Her boots crunched through the underbrush behind him, not loud, but not silent either. She was trying—he could tell. Watching where he stepped, copying the way he moved. She was doing well, even if she still had a little bounce in her stride that made too much noise. 

They weren’t even a mile away from where they parked the RV before they came across a stream. He spotted a set of tracks near the edge and crouched, glancing up to see if Sara was paying attention. She was. Kneeling beside him, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“See that?” he muttered.

She nodded, whispering, “Possum.”

“Which way’s it headed?”

She pointed to their right. “That way?”

The corner of his lips twitched. “Which way’s ‘that way’?”

Sara’s brown eyes hurriedly darted around the area in search of a shadow in the dense woods. Finally, her gaze landed on a rock upstream. Her lips moved as she silently recited the phrase he’d told her to help remember the directions. Never eat soggy waffles. When he’d told her that, she’d burst into a fit of giggles that he didn’t have the heart to hush, even though they’d lost a rabbit during that hunt.

“West?”

“Is that a question?” he asked.

“West,” she repeated with more confidence. 

He nodded once. “Good job. Keep low. Step where I step. We spook it, we lose it.”

Sara nodded again, her expression focused.

Daryl led the way, every step careful and quiet. Sara stayed right on his heels, matching his pace as best she could. Her small boots sank into his tracks, her movements getting better with every outing. 

He came to a halt and held his hand out to stop Sara. He pointed ahead of them, where a possum was scrabbling at a tree stump. Sara bounced on her toes excitedly but didn’t make a sound.

As Daryl raised his weapon, taking aim, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Something was wrong.

He immediately took his sights off their potential meal and scanned the trees. Sara noticed his change in demeanor and pressed closer to him like she and Willow had both been told to, turning with him as he surveyed their surroundings.

“Cute crossbow.”

The voice came from their left, deep and flat. Daryl’s grip tightened. He turned and Sara clung to his side but didn’t stumble at the sudden change in direction. 

A man appeared between the trees—tall with a scruffy beard. A rifle in his hands, pistol on his hip. He smirked. “Not gonna do you much good against four guns, though.”

As if that was their cue, two more men flanked him. Another appeared to the right, circling wide like he was used to cutting off exits.

Daryl shifted his stance, putting himself squarely in front of Sara. His finger itched to pull the trigger of his crossbow, but there were too many of them. Four, maybe more he couldn’t see. He’d take one, maybe two before the others fired. Not a good bet with Sara standing behind him.

“Don’t want trouble,” Daryl said, realizing he didn’t have any other way out of this except to talk. Unless Beth came charging through the trees and took half out while he took the others—but she had no reason to think anything was wrong. They’d barely been gone an hour.

The man to the right of the bearded one had a nasty scar on his jaw. He grinned. The kind of grin that set Daryl’s teeth on edge. “We all say that, don’t we? Question is…what you got that we want?”

“That crossbow’s pretty sweet,” said one of the others.

“What you got in that backpack?” Scar Jaw asked. “You got a camp?”

Daryl clenched his jaw.

The bearded man cocked his head. “She yours?”

Daryl didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Because if he so much as breathed the wrong way, Sara might die right here in these woods. And if they touched her, he wouldn’t stop until they were walker feed, even if it killed him.

His silence seemed to amuse the man. The barrel of his rifle lowered slightly as he grinned, smug. “C’mon, man. I’m sure there’s enough of her to go ‘round.”

Daryl’s muscles were coiled, ready to fire, to lunge, to take a bullet if it gave her a chance to run. He was about to pull the trigger, give her a headstart—

Crack!

A gunshot rang out—clean, sharp, close—the man to the far left went down like a stone, blood spraying across the forest floor.

Chaos erupted instantly. The bearded man whipped around with a curse, raising his rifle—another shot punched through his chest, and he folded forward, falling into the brush with a grunt. 

“Get down!” someone shouted from the trees. 

Daryl didn’t have time to place the familiar voice. He grabbed Sara’s arm and yanked her behind a tree.

The two remaining men found cover and returned fire in a panic, bullets ripping through leaves and bark, but they didn’t have a target. Whoever was shooting at them was trained. Clean. Precise.

Another shot rang out. The man with the scar spun and dropped like a ragdoll, his rifle tumbling from his grip. The last man standing bolted, disappearing behind the trees—but not fast enough. One final shot echoed through the forest. The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl stayed low, ears ringing from the barrage. His finger remained on the trigger of his crossbow. He glanced down at Sara. She was trembling, eyes wide and white in her face, but alive.

“We’re okay,” he said even though his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. 

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. She just nodded.

“Stay down,” he said. “I gotta—”

“Daryl?”

He spun at the sound of his name, the voice so damn familiar it nearly unstrung him. Rick Grimes stepped through the trees, revolver in hand, eyes sweeping the clearing.

Daryl stared at him. He almost thought he was seeing a ghost. It had been so long since he’d seen Rick—long enough that he thought he never would again.

“We saw you from the ridge,” he said, holstering his weapon. “Came as fast as we could.”

The word “we” made Daryl’s eyes swing away from Rick to a man beside him with short brown hair and kind eyes. “What the hell’re you doin’ here?” he managed, focusing back on Rick.

“Aaron and I were scouting. We found a place. It’s called Alexandria.” Rick said, as if that explained anything.

Daryl’s eyebrows pinched together, and Aaron stepped forward. 

“You’ve got a kid with you?” he asked, trying to peek around the tree.

“She’s…” Daryl trailed off and turned.

Sara hadn’t moved. She was still standing with her back against the tree, arms wrapped around her middle. Her face was still pale. Daryl’s gut twisted and he dropped to his knees beside her. 

“Hey, I told you, we’re okay.”

Her eyes blinked slowly, barely showing any sign of having heard him.

Dread iced down his spine. His eyes dropped her to her side and he saw it—blood.

“No,” he breathed, peeling her jacket away from her side. A dark stain spread across her side, just beneath her arm. His hands trembled, lifting her shirt to reveal the wound.

Beth. He needed Beth.

“Rick,” Daryl rasped. His throat felt raw. “She’s been shot.”

Rick was already moving, crouching beside him to see her abdomen better. “It went clean through. We need to get her to Alexandria. We’ve got medical supplies, an infirmary.” He straightened. “Our car’s not far. Let’s go—”

Daryl grabbed Rick’s arm before he could move. He pointed south. “One mile. There’s an RV. Beth, and Sara’s sister, are in it.”

Rick nodded once in understanding and took off. 

Daryl hoisted Sara into his arms and followed Aaron to their car nearby. Aaron threw the passenger door open, and Daryl climbed in with Sara still cradled to his chest. She was limp now, her breath coming in shallow, fragile gasps. The wound wasn’t gushing, but that didn’t mean anything good. It meant the bleeding was internal. Meant they were already racing against the clock.

The tires kicked up gravel and dirt as Aaron floored it, weaving the car back onto the main road. Daryl barely registered the speed they were going, the trees blurring past. His whole world had shrunk down to the weight of Sara in his arms and the slow, fluttering pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Hang on, kid,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Panic clawed at his throat, rising hot and fast, but he swallowed it down. He couldn’t let her see fear on his face, even if she wasn’t fully aware. He needed her to believe she was safe.

He needed to believe he could save her.

The car hit a bump and Sara stirred faintly, a small noise slipping past her lips. Daryl held her closer. “I got you. I’m right here.”

He didn’t even know if she could hear him or if she was understanding anything that was going on right now. But he said it again, softer. Again. Again.

It took less than thirty minutes to get to the gates of Alexandria, but to Daryl it felt like a lifetime. Guards shouted as they approached the tall steel walls. Aaron was waving his arm out the window, calling out that they needed help, that there was a child with a gunshot wound.

The gates opened and the car surged forward. 

The shouts of the community brought a blonde woman with glasses out of one of the houses on the street. She held the door open as Daryl was ushered to the house that had been converted into an infirmary. 

“My name’s Denise,” the woman said, reaching trembling hands toward Sara. “Let me take her.”

At first, Daryl couldn’t get his muscles to loosen enough to let her go. To hand her over to the person who could help her far better than he would be able to. 

Denise’s voice softened, but her urgency didn’t waiver. “Please, I need to get her on the table.”

His jaw clenched and his legs unlocked. He lowered her onto the table

Another woman brushed past him, jumping in to help Denise. Gloves snapped on, lights flickered overhead, clean gauze was pressed to Sara’s wound. Denise said something that he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

The women began to wheel her away from him. Denise barely spared him a glance. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Daryl stood there long after she was gone from sight and the door shut behind them. The ghost of her weight was still in his arms. Her blood on his clothes. 

She was just a kid. Just a damn kid. 

His forearms were streaked with blood, drying on his skin, dark and tacky. The smell of it clung to him.

If anything happened to her—

He didn’t know how he’d look Beth in the eye again. He didn’t know how he’d tell her. Because Beth had trusted him with Sara. Had given her over with open hands and open heart and faith, and he’d brought her back bloody.

Footsteps echoed somewhere behind him.

“Daryl?” 

He turned Glenn in shock. The adrenaline that got him here suddenly rushed from his body and he began to shake. He looked back at the door. Rick and Glenn. Two friends he never thought he’d see again. And he would give up this reunion in a heartbeat if it meant Sara had never gotten hurt.

He was right there and she still got hurt.

Glenn’s hand came up and gripped his shoulder, pulling his attention back to him. “You brought her back alive.”

He blinked, realizing he was saying his thoughts out loud. He shook his head. “She got shot.”

“But she’s here now. You got her here in time.”

“You don’t know that.”

Glenn didn’t argue. Didn’t offer empty promises or hollow reassurances. He just gave Daryl’s shoulder a squeeze and stayed put. 

They stood in silence for several long minutes, the kind that wrapped around your ribs and pressed down until breathing hurt. The cracked clock on the wall ticked, each second as loud as a gunshot in Daryl’s ears. He stood stiff as a board, unable to sit or pace, eyes fixed on the door that separated him from Sara. He couldn’t hear anything from inside. No voices. No crying. No heartbeat monitor to reassure him. 

Just quiet.

That scared him more than anything. 

Glenn’s hand dropped from his shoulder and he rushed to a window at the sound of a commotion outside. 

Daryl’s head was swimming. What was he going to say to Beth?

Glenn said something, but it was muffled under Daryl’s spiraling thoughts. 

“What?” 

“An RV just pulled through the gates.”

Daryl was racing out the door before Glenn finished.

Chapter Text

Beth sat cross-legged on the floor of the RV, her elbows resting on her knees as she leaned over the colorful board of Chutes and Ladders. Willow sat across from her, laying on her belly, her teddy bear propped beside her like a silent teammate. The little girl grinned as she spun the arrow on the plastic spinner. 

“Four,” Willow whispered, sliding her red piece up a ladder. “I got to skip the bad one.”

Beth smiled softly. “Good job, baby.”

The sun filtered through the narrow RV windows, warming the cramped space despite the colder temperatures outside. Beth took her turn, feigning disappointment when her piece had to go down a chute, sending her piece further away from the ending square. 

Willow spun again, counting carefully with her finger.

Knock knock knock.

A hard, heavy rhythm against the RV’s door.

Beth froze.

That wasn’t Daryl’s knock.

Her entire body tensed in an instant. Her eyes darted to Willow who had also gone still. “Hide, like we practiced.” 

Willow quietly got up and tucked herself into a cabinet in the kitchenette, clutching her bear to her chest. Beth drew the curtain over the cabinet and took her pistol from its holster. 

Another knock came, loud and urgent.

She flipped the safety off, finger hovering near the trigger as she crept toward the door and the window beside it. Her heart pounded in her throat as she pressed her shoulder to the wall and leaned just enough to peer through the slit in the curtain.

What she saw made her breath catch in her chest.

Rick Grimes.

She blinked, thinking maybe she was seeing things—maybe exhaustion or fear playing tricks on her—but no. It was him. Same sharp eyes, same posture. There was no mistaking that face. What were the odds that Rick would find them in Virginia, so far from what used to be their home?

Beth took a breath, still cautious when she lowered her pistol just a little, and unlocked the door. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled it open, still half-expecting the illusion to shatter. 

But it didn’t. 

“Rick?” Her voice cracked. “How—how did you find us?”

“This thing run?” he asked, climbing up the steps without preamble. His expression was tight, jaw clenched.

Beth’s stomach dropped as she stumbled back to give him space. Suddenly, she realized that if he knew exactly where she was, he had seen Daryl. “Where’s Daryl?”

“The girl he was with got shot,” he said, already heading up to the front seat of the RV. “She’s alive and Daryl took her to our community. We’ve got an infirmary.”

Beth felt the world tilt beneath her. Her knees went weak and the pistol nearly slipped from her fingers. 

Rick’s features softened just a little when he turned. “Beth, keys?”

Beth handed them over with a shaking hand and a second later the RV rumbled to life beneath them, shaking Beth out of her stupor. She rushed to where Willow was hiding and beckoned her out. Tears were already streaming down the girl’s cheeks and Beth gathered her into her arms. She brought Willow up to the front seat with her as Rick maneuvered the RV onto the main road.

“How far?” Beth asked hoarsely, trying to swallow around the emotion in her throat. Beth tightened her grip on Willow, feeling her shake with sobs, trying not to fall apart herself. She’d trusted Daryl to keep Sara safe—and he had. He’d gotten her help. 

But Beth had spent too many nights whispering promises to Sara and Willow that she’d never let anything happen to them. And now, she hadn’t even been there when something did.

Rick didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the road, hands steady on the wheel as the RV groaned and rattled down the cracked asphalt. Finally, he said, “Not far. Maybe ten minutes.”

For ten minutes, Beth kept trying to remind herself Sara’s alive. She’s alive. She’s with Daryl. She’s getting help. But the fear was louder than the logic. 

When the RV finally rolled to a stop, the passenger door was ripped open before Beth could even reach for the handle. 

“Bethy?” Maggie said in disbelief, tears gathering in her eyes.

Beth stepped down from the RV on unsteady legs. “Maggie?” Her voice cracked and caught in her throat, too many emotions crashing into each other to make room for anything else.

In the blur of her panic, she barely noticed how clean and normal the unfamiliar streets looked. There were people gathered nearby. Faces she didn’t recognize. But some she did. Carol, Carl, Michonne. People she would be so happy to see if she wasn’t frantically searching for a sign of Daryl. Where was he? Where was Sara?

Maggie reached out, pulling Beth into a hug with Willow squished between them. “Oh, my God,” Maggie whispered. “I thought—thank God—”

Beth hugged her sister back subconsciously, her eyes still scanning the street. “Where’s Daryl and Sara?”

“He took her to the infirmary,” Maggie said quickly, pulling back and gripping Beth’s shoulders in her hands. “Who—?”

Carol came around to Beth’s side, trying to catch Willow’s eye. “Hi, sweetheart. My name’s Carol. You want to come with me? Let Beth rest for a minute?”

Beth turned slightly, her body instinctively shielding Willow. “No, it’s okay—”

“Beth,” Maggie said, “we can help—”

But as soon as Carol tried to pull Willow away from Beth, Willow screamed, clutching tighter around Beth’s neck. Carol stepped back, raising her hands in surrender, and Beth tried to soothe Willow. 

“It’s okay,” Beth whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beth, give her to me.”

Beth whipped around at the sound of Daryl’s voice. The sight of him—covered in Sara’s drying blood—ripped the breath from her lungs. She stumbled forward into him, all but collapsing into his chest. Daryl lifted Willow from her arms and the girl wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, weeping into his shoulder. 

“Tell me she’s okay,” she begged, her tears finally starting to fall. She clutched his shirt, clinging to him despite the blood. “Tell me—” 

Despite the blood, Daryl's free hand came up to the back of her neck. “Listen to me,” he rasped, his breath warm against her ear. “Sara’s tough as nails. You know that.”

Beth nodded, resting her forehead against his chest. 

“Let’s go sit down, c’mon.” He ushered her into the infirmary and they sat on a bench across from a pair of double doors.

Beth sat down hard, legs giving out beneath her more than anything else, and Daryl followed, still holding Willow to his chest. The little girl was finally quieting, small hiccups shaking her body now and then. 

The room had slowly filled up as their surviving family gathered in silent support. Maggie, Glenn, Rick, Michonne, Carol, Sasha, and Carl. Beth couldn’t even be happy that they’d been reunited. No one said anything. They just…waited.

Beth’s hands were clenched tight in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. Every second stretched. She looked at Daryl.

He hadn’t said anything since they sat down. His jaw locked, eyes on the double doors. Willow had fallen asleep now, her weight sagging against him. Beth studied the lines on his face. She reached over and put her hand over his where it rested on Willow’s back. 

Daryl finally looked at her. His eyes were glassy, full of unspoken things. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something—but one of the double doors swung open.

A blonde woman stepped into view. There was blood on her clothes and her hands. Beth stood so fast her legs almost buckled.

“Do you know Sara’s blood type?” the medic asked quickly. 

Beth’s heart dropped. Sara needed blood. “Oh, my gosh—”

“No,” Daryl answered.

The medic took a breath and swallowed. “She’s bleeding more than we thought. We need to transfuse. Is anyone O negative?”

There was a flicker of stunned silence in the room. Everyone looked at each other, eyes wide, unsure, shaking their heads slowly. 

“I don’t know mine,” Beth said, breath short. “I don’t—I don’t remember—”

“I am,” Daryl said. 

Beth turned to him instantly. “You are?”

The medic didn’t hesitate. “Come with me.”

Daryl passed Willow over to Beth so he could go into the next room. Beth followed without asking. The woman didn’t argue, just waved them both through a door to the left of the double doors she’d come out of. 

The room reminded Beth of her high school’s nurse’s office. Cabinets on the right with medical supplies stashed away. Two chairs and a cot. 

Daryl sat in the one closest to the blonde as she prepped equipment, laying out a blood bag and tubing. He shrugged out of his blood covered flannel, bearing his right arm. The inside of his elbow was washed, an alcohol swab was brushed over it for good measure, and his skin was punctured with a needle.

Beth carefully laid Willow on the cot. When she didn’t stir or wake, Beth came to Daryl’s side, grabbing his left hand. 

Daryl was handed a granola bar and a glass of orange juice. Beth was so exhausted, she couldn’t even comprehend that these people had orange juice. 

“Thanks, Denise,” he muttered.

Denise nodded and lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Might as well replace his bandage while I’m here.” She peeled the gauze off his knife wound. She squinted at the ragged edges of the skin where the stitches were holding steady. “Who did this?”

“I did,” Beth answered quietly.

Denise looked up, eyebrows raised over her glasses in genuine surprise. “It’s not bad.” She reached for a roll of gauze and started wrapping Daryl’s arm again. “Did you ever consider nursing?”

Beth shrugged. A little put off by the conversation even though it was a distraction from her worried mind. “The world ended before I figured that out.”

Denise didn’t reply to that, just finished securing the gauze and taped it down. “Looks clean. No sign of infection.” And then, she picked up the nearly full blood bag, replaced it with a new one, and disappeared into the adjoining room. 

The door clicked shut behind her, and the quiet in the room felt heavy—thick enough that Beth couldn’t breathe for a second.

Daryl sat still in the chair, his arm tethered to the slow drip of the transfusion, his jaw locked tight. 

“You better not be doin’ what I think you’re doin’,” Beth said softly. A few stray tears dropped from her eyes and she brushed them away.

Daryl didn’t look at her. “What?”

“Blamin’ yourself.”

He still wouldn’t look at her, but his jaw tightened further.

“Daryl,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Don’t.”

“She got shot.”

“She’s alive.”

“She got shot while I was standin’ next to her.”

Beth didn’t argue that. Didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault—he’d already decided it was. That kind of guilt didn’t go away with words. But she wasn’t going to let him drown in it either. 

“She had you,” she said instead, her voice steadier now. “She still has you. That’s what matters.”

Daryl’s chin dipped to his chest. His breath hitched—just barely audible—but Beth heard it. She felt it too, in the way his fingers clenched tight around hers. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, but no sound came out. 

A shudder rippled through his frame. His eyes brimmed over. He blinked once, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. And another. His shoulder trembled as he hunched them inward, like he was trying to take up less space. 

Beth wrapped her arms around him and held him as he cried. Quiet, broken tears. The kind that came from a place so deep it had no words.

She held on, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other on his back. Her own tears fell freely now, sliding down her cheeks and onto his shoulder. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t let go. Because she knew exactly what this was.

Daryl Dixon wasn’t crying for himself.

He was crying for Sara.

He was crying for Willow.

He was crying because he loved them.

Chapter Text

Daryl sat stiff on the bench outside the operating room, the lingering ache in his arm barely noticeable compared to the weight that had been pressing on his chest for hours. Willow was snuggled between him and Beth, awake now, nervously fiddling with her teddy bear. The waiting room had emptied after a couple hours—everyone had a job to do in this place and they had stayed as long as they could. 

Somewhere between the blood transfusion and the waiting, they’d had to turn over their weapons. Rick had apologized and promised to return them as soon as possible. It was just a precaution. And it wasn’t coming from him, it was coming from the leader of the community. Rick and the others had gone through the same thing. That didn’t mean Daryl liked it. But he wasn’t going to risk Sara not getting the treatment she needed just because he was pissed about being unarmed. He’d seen the walls and the gate, the people patrolling the streets outside. He trusted Rick.

One of the double doors creaked open and Denise stepped out. She looked tired but not worried. “She made it,” she said quietly. “The surgery went well. We got the bleeding under control, and there’s no sign of organ damage. She’s resting now.”

Daryl felt like the floor dropped out from under him—but this time, it wasn’t fear dragging him down. It was relief. Bone-deep, body-sagging relief.

“She’s asleep?” Beth asked.

Denise nodded. “She’s sedated and on fluids. She probably won’t wake for a few hours, but when she does, she’ll be groggy and sore. But she’s young and strong. I’m confident she’ll recover.”

Beth let out a shaky breath and Willow looked between Beth and Daryl with wide eyes. Beth kissed her forehead, hugging her close to her side. “Sara’s gonna be okay.”

Willow’s bottom lip quivered. She clutched her bear tighter, eyes filling with tears. At just five years old, she had experienced and witnessed so much more than she should have. She sniffled hard and looked up at Beth, then at Daryl. “She’s not gonna die?” she whispered.

Daryl’s throat tightened at the question, small and trembling and far too heavy for such a little voice. “No, sweetheart, she’s not gonna die.”

Willow burst into quiet tears and crawled into his lap, burying her face against his chest. 

Beth slid over and rubbed her palm up and down Willow’s back. “You were so brave,” she whispered. “Sara’s gonna be so proud of you.”

Denise smiled softly, giving them space. “While she’s sleeping, I suggest you all get cleaned up and eat something. She’ll need you at your best when she wakes up. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Beth looked like she wanted to protest, but she stopped herself, nodding instead. “Thank you.”

Denise opened the door she came through. “Tara, can you show them where they can get cleaned up?”

The woman that had assisted Denise with Sara’s surgery came out and took Denise’s place in front of the double doors. She smiled and waved awkwardly. “You’re Maggie’s little sister, right? I’ll take you to her house.”

Beth and Daryl, with Willow in his arms, followed Tara out into the streets of Alexandria. The sun had already set and now that they were under the stars and the rising moon, Daryl realized how exhausted he was, and he could see Beth felt the same way. 

Tara led them a few quiet blocks down Alexandria’s well-kept streets. The houses were spaced with small yards, clean windows, and potted plants. It felt like the street was frozen in time, before the world became what it was now. Daryl could see how out of place he and Beth must’ve looked—bloodstained and worn down to the bone. He saw curtains draw back in windows and felt eyes on his back.

He didn’t care. 

Let them look. 

He had a feeling they had no idea what it was like to live outside these walls. 

Tara walked up the steps of a white house with faded green shutters. She opened the front door without knocking. “Honey, I’m home!”

Inside was clean and they could smell something cooking in the kitchen. The living room was to their left and their family, plus a couple extra people Daryl didn’t recognize, were spread out around the room. 

Glenn stood. “How is she?”

“Outta surgery,” Daryl replied. “Doc said she’s gonna be okay.”

There was a quiet sigh of relief from the group even though none of them knew Sara personally yet. Rick rose next and adjusted a toddler on his hip. 

“Thought y’all might like to see someone else that’s missed you,” he said.

Daryl’s chest squeezed. Judith was bigger than he remembered, all round cheeks and soft hair, her tiny hand clinging to the collar of Rick’s shirt. When she saw Beth, her face lit up in a gummy grin, and she reached out with both arms.

Beth laughed—a wet, broken sound—and took the baby into her arms when Rick passed her over. Judith all but melted into Beth’s arms, nestling her face into Beth’s shoulder like it was the most familiar place in the world. Beth pressed her cheek to the top of Judith’s head and rocked back and forth. “Hi, baby girl,” she whispered. “You’ve gotten so big.”

Daryl lifted a hand from Willow’s back and brushed his knuckle against Judith’s cheek. “Hey, Lil’ Asskicker, you prob’ly don’t remember me.”

“Of course she remembers her Uncle Daryl,” Beth said with a shake of her head.

Willow shyly peeked from Daryl’s shoulder at the sudden shift in energy. She blinked at Judith, her little brows furrowed. 

“You three look like hell,” Carol stepped in. “While you clean up, I’ll dish you guys some dinner.”

Daryl didn’t argue.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he was too wrung out, too hollowed by fear and grief and the slow burn of relief that was just now settling into his bones. The hard shell he wore on the outside had cracked back in the infirmary, and he hadn’t quite pieced himself together again yet.

But for once, he wasn’t ashamed of that. Because Beth had held him, and the way she looked at him hadn’t changed.

“We got some clean clothes for you guys, too,” Maggie told them, moving to stand at the bottom of a set of stairs that led to the second floor. 

“You go first,” Beth said to Daryl.

Daryl carefully put Willow down on the floor and watched her hug Beth’s side, still wary of all the new faces around her. 

He followed Maggie upstairs and didn’t say anything as she showed him the bathroom, he just nodded when she pointed out a folded file of clothes on the counter and a towel hanging behind the door. 

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The silence was a vacuum after a day of constant motion and fear. He caught his reflection in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the man staring back—blood-streaked, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, shirt stiff with dried blood. 

He peeled out of his clothes slowly, feeling stiff in his joints. The hot water from the shower stung the cut on his arm, but he didn’t care. He scrubbed at his body until his skin felt raw. When he stepped out of the shower, he couldn’t tell if the redness of his skin was from the heat, scrubbing too hard, or staining from Sara’s blood. 

He dressed quickly, grateful for the softness of clean clothes—black jeans and a black crewneck sweatshirt, and socks and underwear with no holes. 

When he made it back downstairs, the smell of stew hung in the hair. Willow and Beth sat at the kitchen table, empty bowls in front of them. Beth was laughing at something Glenn had said, her fingers absentmindedly smoothing Willow’s hair where the little girl leaned against her side. It was soft—intimate in a way that made the room feel warmer.

Daryl stopped in the doorway, unseen for a second, just watching.

She looked different. 

Not in a big way. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But Daryl did.

There was something in the set of her shoulders. The ease in her smile, even if her eyes were still red from all the crying she’d done that day. It was like a weight had been lifted. Or maybe shifted onto both of their shoulders, shared instead of carried alone.

And just as he was thinking it, she looked up and spotted him. Her smile softened—smaller now, more private. Something just for him.

“There you are,” she said.

“You’re up,” he replied, sitting in an open chair beside Willow.

Carol placed a bowl of stew on the table in front of him and ordered, “Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. 

“Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” Beth said, taking Willow’s hand and letting Maggie lead them, presumably to the bathroom Daryl had just come out of.

Daryl didn’t touch the spoon at first. He just sat there, letting the heat from the bowl rise into his face, the smell of meat and potatoes and real herbs filling his nose. It was jarring how normal everything was.

“You gonna eat it or just stare it into submission?” Glenn joked from across the table.

Daryl looked at him, one eyebrow ticking up, but he didn’t answer. He took a bite, burning the roof of his mouth a little, but he was starving and the stew was the best thing he’d eaten since the prison.

Conversation picked up again between the kitchen and the living room. He was briefly introduced to the people he didn’t recognize: Abraham, Rosita, Eugene and Father Gabriel. People their group had picked up along the way.

He was told that he and Beth would have to meet with the woman that was in charge of Alexandria, Deanna, before they could officially settle in. Deanna would decide where they could be placed for jobs and would assign living arrangements. Then, they would get their weapons back.

Despite the warm food in his stomach, Daryl’s insides twisted. He didn’t know if he could stay in a place like this. Did Beth want to stay?

Beth came down the stairs twenty minutes later with wet hair and clean clothes. Willow was right behind her, also freshly bathed and wearing children’s pajamas with little animals on them. 

The moment their eyes met, he knew. 

“Sara?” he asked, scarfing down the rest of his meal in three quick spoonfuls.

Beth gave a quick nod. “I need to go back.”

Daryl was already pushing his chair back before Beth had finished the sentence. “Me too,” he said gruffly.

“I’ll walk with you guys,” Rick volunteered. He gently patted Judith’s head as he walked by where she was sitting on Carl’s lap, gurgling and pointing at a board book. 

Daryl couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He knew why Rick was coming with them. They had to be escorted because they weren’t members of the community. Rick just shrugged, not bothering to apologize because he knew it wouldn’t help with Daryl’s annoyance. 

The walk back to the infirmary was quiet. The streets of Alexandria were lit with torches. Rick walked a few paces ahead of them. Daryl could see he wanted to say something—maybe about Alexandria, maybe about Sara, maybe just to fill the silence—but whatever it was, he held back. 

When they reached the little house where Sara was, Rick gave a short nod and held the door open for them, then leaned against the porch rail instead of coming inside. 

Denise was just inside, inventorying a box of supplies. “She’s still out,” she said softly, leading them to a bedroom down the hall. “But everything looks good still. You can sit with her as long as you want.”

Beth mouthed a thank you and led Willow into the room first. The room was small, soft lamplight casting shadows across pale blue walls. Sara lay in the bed, tucked beneath clean sheets and a quilted comforter, an IV drip hung beside her. 

Beth pulled a chair close to the side of the bed. She gently brushed Sara’s curls away from her forehead, fingers lingering briefly on her skin to reassure herself that Sara was warm and alive.

Willow hesitated in front of Daryl and he stooped down, picking her up and setting her down on the end of Sara’s bed. “It’s okay, she’s just sleepin’.”

Carefully, Willow laid down beside her sister, reaching for her hand. She gently tucked her teddy bear into Sara’s elbow. “Strawberry helped me get better,” she whispered as she nestled her head near Sara’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

Daryl brought a chair to sit beside Beth’s and sank into it. The chair creaked beneath him, but Daryl didn’t move once he was settled. The tension in his back hadn’t fully eased, even after the food and hot shower.

“They asked me if we were stayin’,” Beth murmured. 

Daryl’s gaze shifted from the slow rise and fall of Sara’s chest to Beth’s profile, washed gold in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He studied her face, quiet for a beat, then finally spoke.

“What’d you tell ‘em?”

“That we needed to think on it. Talk it over.”

Daryl looked down at his hands, scarred and calloused from holding weapons more than anything else. He picked at the skin around his thumb nail. “Did they tell you ‘bout the interview?”

Beth nodded. “Maggie said it wouldn’t be hard to give us jobs. There’s always somethin’ to do.” She finally turned to him as if she was positive neither of the girls were going anywhere, and pulled her feet up onto her chair, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. “I can tell this place makes you a little antsy.”

Daryl shrugged. “I’ll be antsy anywhere.”

She smiled faintly at that.

“If this is what you want, we’ll stay.” 

“What about what you want?” she asked.

“I want you safe,” he said simply. “I want the girls safe.” 

Beth leaned her cheek against her knees, watching him. Her expression was open, her eyes so big and blue in the soft lamplight. Her gaze on him felt like warmth. Something he always thought home was supposed to feel like.

“I know this place ain’t what you pictured. And I sure as hell ain’t the man you pictured. But I’ll give you all I got. Wherever you wanna go, I’ll go with you.”

Beth’s eyes glistened at his words, and for a long, quiet moment, she didn’t speak. Then, she held out her hand, and he took it without question. “It sounds like you love me, Daryl Dixon,” she whispered, just a hint of teasing in her tone.

Daryl looked at her, eyes steady, thumb brushing softly along the back of her hand. “I do,” he said. 

Beth’s breath caught, her mouth parting slightly—not because she was surprised by the words, but because he’d said them out loud. Because she knew how heavy they were for him. She shifted, putting her feet back on the ground, and kissed him, whispering her love for him against his lips. 

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Daryl’s eyes grew heavy as the warmth of Beth’s body settled against his, her slow, even breathing lulling him toward sleep.

A rustle. 

Soft at first—so quiet, Daryl couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a dream.

Then a groan, weak and high-pitched, followed by a hoarse, mumbled word: “Beth?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open. He sat upright so fast, the old chair creaked beneath him and Beth was forced awake as she slipped from where she was leaning on his shoulder.

“Sara, my sweet girl,” Beth whispered, shooting up from her own chair and pressing kisses to Sara’s face. 

Sara blinked up at them, bleary-eyed. Her face was pale, her lips dry and cracked. “Wha…” she looked around the room, disoriented. 

Willow stirred beside her and slowly lifted her head. She looked at Sara, not quite seeing her, and then she began to cry, burying her face into Sara’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” she whimpered.

“Are you in any pain?” Beth asked. 

Sara’s brows furrowed and she winced a little when she tried to shift. “A little.”

“Is it bad?” Daryl asked, rising from his seat. “I’ll go get the doc.”

Sara shook her head and met Daryl’s eyes, eyelids still heavy. “Did we get it?”

“Get what?”

“The possum. Did we get it?”

Daryl huffed out a laugh he couldn’t hold back and dropped his head between his shoulders before he looked back up at her. “Nah, kid, we didn’t get the possum.”

Sara frowned slightly, then her eyes fluttered shut for a second—just a blink too long—and when they opened again, she looked clearer, more aware. “I…I got shot?”

“Yeah, baby,” Beth said, rubbing a comforting hand up Willow’s back. “You’re gonna be sore for a while, but the worst of it is over.”

Daryl stood behind Beth, gesturing to Sara’s abdomen. “You took a bullet like a badass. You’ll have a scar to prove it.”

Her eyes lit up, brows rising just a little. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated with a sure nod.

Sara’s lips pulled into a proud grin. She poked Willow’s shoulder. “You hear that, sissy? I’m a badass!”

Beth gave a watery laugh, wiping beneath her eyes. “Okay, we’re not gonna have any cussin’.”

“But—” Sara began to protest.

“Girl just got shot,” Daryl cut in, winking at Sara. “I think she gets a pass.”

Sara giggled. Willow hiccuped, pulling her face away from Sara’s shoulder, and she giggled as well despite the tears on her cheeks.

Beth shot Daryl a look over her shoulder that had no heat and she looked back to the sisters. “Just this once,” she relented. “But don’t let it become a habit.”

Sara looked back at Daryl and whispered, like it was still sinking in, “I’m a badass.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Daryl’s lips. “Damn right you are.”

Chapter Text

1 YEAR LATER

Beth stood at the kitchen counter, slicing carrots for dinner, the afternoon sunlight spilling warm and golden across the room. The record player in the corner played an Etta James song softly. The refrigerator wasn’t used to keep things cold anymore, but it was used to hang aced school assignments and creative expressions—including the picture Willow had drawn; the closest thing they had to a family portrait.

A gentle breeze blew through the open windows, stirring the curtains just enough to cool the warmth of the late-summer day. Sara and Willow sat at the dining room table, books and pencils spread across the surface, their homework mostly forgotten. Under the table lay Molly, a black and brown curly haired dog they had taken in not long after settling into Alexandria.

“How’s the homework comin’ along, girls?” Beth asked casually.

There was a quick shuffle and Willow answered with a hurried, too-loud, “Good!” 

Beth didn’t have to turn around to know they hadn’t done more than scribble their names on the top of their pages. She smiled to herself, shaking her head as she scooped the carrots into the pot simmering on the stove. 

Sara’s voice chimed in next, distracted. “We’re just taking a break.”

Beth turned around, wiping her hands on her apron, and arched an eyebrow. Both girls were twisted in their chairs, eyes fixed on the window. She followed their line of sight to the road outside, where the gate stood just barely visible between the houses. A pair of lookouts walked along the top of the wall, their shadows stretching long in the late-afternoon sun, but otherwise the road was quiet.

“Two days is too long,” Willow mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook.

“He said he’d be back before dinner,” Sara said, resting her chin in her palm.

Beth’s heart twisted a little, that familiar ache of love and worry mingled together. A year had passed and still, the girls tracked Daryl’s return like their lives depended on it. Maybe because, once, they had.

Molly stirred under the table, ears perking up. She gave a soft chuff, tail thumping once against the floor. Willow scrambled up onto her knees to see out the window better and pressed her nose to the glass. 

“There!” Sarah cried. “I see him!”

The words barely left her mouth before both girls were jumping down from their chairs and racing toward the front door. Molly gave a happy bark and bounded after the girls, claws skittering against the floor.

Beth followed them out, seeing Daryl down the street, waving a farewell to Aaron. The girls raced down the street, past several houses to meet him. He saw them coming and dropped his pack and crossbow to free his arms as he crouched down, letting them barrel into his chest. He staggered back just a little from the force of their hugs, arms wrapping tightly around both Sara and Willow as he pressed a kiss to the top of each of their heads. Molly circled around them, tail wagging in wide arcs as she barked excitedly, leaping up and down. 

Sara stooped down and picked up Daryl’s crossbow and Willow grabbed his backpack as they started to march back to their house, their voices overlapping as they told him about everything he’d missed while he was gone. Beth leaned against the porch column, arms crossed loosely over her chest, smiling as she watched them approach. She waited for them, feeling no need to rush to him. The girls always got the first hug—and she liked it that way. She liked watching Daryl with them.

Daryl’s eyes found hers as he listened to their girls. His lips twitched, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“You were almost late,” she teased, her voice warm.

“Traffic,” he deadpanned, climbing the steps until they were within arm’s reach of each other. Without another word, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her in. She went willingly, slipping her arms around his waist, letting her hands smooth over the sweat-damp cotton of his shirt. 

Beth pressed a kiss to his jaw and stepped back. “Go get cleaned up before dinner and you can tell us about the run. We wanna hear everythin’.”

Molly trotted at Daryl’s heels while Sara and Willow had already placed his pack and crossbow by the front door, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“And you two,” Beth addressed them, “need to finish your homework before dinner.”

Before either girl could protest, Daryl called out, “Listen to Beth,” as he climbed the stairs to shower. The girls groaned in unison, dragging their feet back to the table. Beth turned off the burner on the stove and pulled the pot of stew off the heat to let it sit. 

Sara tapped her pencil against her paper, lips moving silently as she worked through a question. Beth stepped in to help Willow with a problem when she asked. 

By the time Daryl had showered, changed and joined them in the kitchen for dinner, the girls had finished their homework. He hadn’t even sat down before they were peppering him with questions—what he saw, what he found, and what he brought back. 

He recounted the scouting trip, pausing occasionally to take a bite of bread dunked in broth, and Beth could tell he was leaving some things out. Willow gasped at the mention of a stray cat Daryl said had followed him and Aaron for nearly a mile, and Sara lit up when he pulled a slightly crushed paperback from his bag—a fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover.

After dinner, the girls helped clear the table without being asked. Sara stacked bowls and Willow gathered silverware. As the last dish was dried and put away, Beth sent the girls upstairs to get ready for bed. Daryl followed a few minutes later to help tuck them in. Sara read aloud from her new book while Willow snuggled under her quilt with Strawberry the bear tucked under her chin. Molly chose a spot on the floor between the girls’ beds, curling up with a deep sigh.

Beth stirred just as the light changed before her eyelids, soft and silvery, hinting at dawn as the sun crested the trees beyond the bedroom window. Her hand reached blindly behind her, finding Daryl’s warmth. He grunted softly beside her, also beginning to wake, and shifted. His arm came around her waist and pulled her closer until her back was tucked to his chest. 

Beth smiled sleepily and pressed her feet against his calves. Daryl grunted again, his legs twitching, but he didn’t pull away from her. 

“We gotta get up.” She trailed the tips of her fingers up and down the arm across her stomach. “I’m sure you’ve got somewhere you’re supposed to be.”

Daryl’s arm tightened around her and he pressed his face into her neck. “Nowhere else I’m s’posed to be but here.”

Beth smiled sleepily, maybe a little lovestruck. “What do you have today?”

“Gotta check some snares. Carl’s comin’ with me. Might take Sara too, if she’s got her homework done.”

“She finished it last night,” Beth said, relaxing into his chest. She could’ve stayed there all morning—tucked in the cocoon of soft sheets and strong arms—but they both had jobs to do. “Willow’s coming to the infirmary with me this morning and then she’ll be spending the rest of the day with the Carters and their kids.”

Daryl hummed in response and then seemed to finally garner the strength to let her go. He swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up, rolling his head on his shoulders. Beth laid back, turning her head enough to watch him as he pulled on a pair of jeans. The morning sun caught the curve of his shoulders, the muscles in his arms, the familiar collection of old scars along his back. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but Lord, if he wasn’t something to look at.

Daryl zipped and buckled his jeans as grabbed a t-shirt from their dresser. He met her gaze as if he could feel her eyes following him. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“You.” Beth dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. Her eyes dipped to his bare chest and she slid her legs out from under the covers, lifting one to point at him with her toes. “You’re real nice to look at, Dixon.”

A slow grin curved the corner of his mouth as he looked over his shoulder, shirt dangling from his hand. “You flirtin’ with me, girl?”

“Maybe,” she said, lifting her chin a little, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

In one fluid motion, Daryl turned to her fully, tossed his shirt onto the floor and his hands found both her ankles as he tugged, dragging her down the length of the bed. Beth yelped, laughter bursting out of her. Her arms flailed until her hands landed on his shoulders. One of his hands landed firmly on the bed beside her head while the other gripped her thigh, taking up the space between her legs.

Daryl’s mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow and deep, unhurried in a way that said we’ve got five more minutes even though they both knew they didn’t. Beth’s arms slid up around his neck, fingers sinking into hair still tousled from sleep. She kissed him back with equal fervor, lips parting as he deepened it, his weight lowering just enough to press her into the mattress. 

“Next week,” Daryl rasped, kissing down her neck, his goatee scratching her skin in a way that made her toes curl. “Wanna go huntin’? Just the two of us?”

“Like a date?” Beth teased, and immediately squeaked, squirming sideways when his hand left her thigh to tickle her side.

Thump.

They both stilled. 

Thump.

A door opened and closed down the hallway. A floor board creaked. Two pairs of footsteps followed by a four-legged friend.

The couple sighed, the kind of tired exhale that only came from being a parent. Or something like it. Daryl gave Beth one more kiss before pushing off of her and retrieving his discarded shirt.

There was a knock on their bedroom door and Willow called out, “We know you’re awake!”

“We heard you laughing!” Sara’s announcement was punctuated by a bark from Molly.

Beth sat up slowly, carefully working tangles out of her hair with her fingers. Now dressed, Daryl opened the door to reveal the girls and the dog standing on the other side, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

“I thought I smelled trouble,” he said by way of greeting.

Neither of their girls denied it, they just giggled like the little troublemakers they were, and followed Daryl down the hall. The girls’ happy chatter and Daryl’s low voice mixed as they headed for the kitchen to make breakfast.

Beth stacked the last bottle of rubbing alcohol in the cabinet and made a quick note in the ledger. The windows of the house-turned-infirmary were open to air out the rooms that still smelled of antiseptic. Dust motes swirled lazily in the late morning sun above the boxes of supplies that had been dropped off after a successful run the day before.

She’d already sent Willow off with the Carters, kissing her forehead and telling her to have fun playing with their kids. Now it was just Beth, the quiet of the infirmary, and the monotonous work in front of her. 

Her hands moved automatically—count, record, store—while she hummed softly under her breath. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before setting the now empty box aside and lifting a reusable Aldi tote onto the counter. 

Two rolls of gauze. Seven individual antiseptic wipe packets. One box of latex gloves, size medium. One pair of tweezers. One box of dinosaur themed Band-Aids. One box of significantly-less-fun Band-Aids. Something that gave Beth pause.

She hesitated, glancing toward the open doorway that led to the hall. The infirmary was still quiet. Her fingers found the box. She slid it out and turned it over in her hands, eyes tracing the printed text. Her pulse picked up just enough for her to notice it, a faint thrum in her ears.

“Hey.”

Beth startled, whipping around to see Tara poking her head into the room. With a hand pressed to her chest, Beth laughed. “You about gave me a heart attack,” she said.

Tara smiled. “Guess I’m stealthier than I thought. You almost done in here?”

Beth shrugged. “I can take a break.”

“You wanna grab lunch at the mess hall with me? Heard they found cases of pasta yesterday.” Tara sighed, her eyes going a little foggy. “I’ll kill Spencer if he lied.”

Beth let out a soft laugh, her eyes sliding to the box in her hand. “Pasta sounds good.”

Tara followed her gaze. “Everything okay?”

Beth swallowed and met Tara’s eyes. “Give me five minutes?”

“Got the okay from Deanna,” Daryl said, tugging at his end of the rope. Molly growled playfully, jaws gripping tight on her end.

Beth brightened, looking up from the jeans she was patching. “Really?” 

Daryl nodded, finally managing to get the rope out of Molly’s mouth. He threw it down the street and she bounded after it. “Thinks we’re crazy though.”

That didn’t surprise Beth one bit. But she and Daryl, and the rest of their family, were used to the way the original folks of Alexandria thought of them sometimes. They were all very welcoming and kind, but they thought it was odd that Rick let Carl walk around with a pistol on his hip or how Daryl took Sara hunting with him. And now, Beth and Daryl wanted to take both Sara and Willow outside the walls. 

“When can we leave?” Beth asked. 

Daryl hiked a shoulder. “Next couple days.” Molly skirted around him with her rope in her mouth, almost looking like she was smiling at him. He faked left and when she tried to dodge him, he was able to snag the rope from her and toss it again. “It’s gettin’ cooler. Best we get goin’ as soon as possible.”

Beth grinned up at him from the base of the steps that led up the porch to their house. “We need to get you a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of swim trunks…”

“I ain’t gettin’ in the water,” Daryl said with a shake of his head. “I ain’t never been in the ocean, but I know it’s gonna be damn cold.”

With a giggle, Beth stood. “I didn’t say you had to get in the water, I just wanna see you in a Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks.”

Daryl gave her a look, one eyebrow cocked. “Ain’t happenin’,” he muttered, turning back to Molly.

When they’d first floated the idea of the trip toward the coast, the people in Alexandria had looked at them like they’d lost their minds. Why leave the safety of the walls? Why drag kids out there? But Beth and Daryl knew the truth. Sara and Willow had already been out there before, and had learned how to survive, even as young as they were. Keeping them penned up forever wouldn’t keep them safe. It would keep them unprepared. 

Beth didn’t want to get her hopes up. She knew that at the first sign that it would take too long or be too dangerous, Daryl would turn them right around and go back home. But she was excited. It was the closest thing they could come to a road trip vacation as anyone would be able to get in their new world. 

News traveled fast within the walls of the Alexandria Safe Zone, and by the next morning, they’d had a couple well-meaning neighbors ask if they were sure they wanted to leave. And Beth just told them that they’d be back.

Maggie, Glenn, Rick and the rest of their family gave them all happy farewells, jokingly asking them to bring back souvenirs from whichever beach they visited.

Then, Daryl was driving the RV out the gates with Beth beside him in the front seat and the girls playing Chutes and Ladders in the dinette. It was Molly’s first time in the RV, but she didn’t seem perturbed by the movement at all and curled up on the floor behind Beth’s seat.

The drive was smoother than expected. No breakdowns, no detours. They passed areas where walkers were roaming streets and parking lots, but there was nothing that set off alarm bells in Beth’s mind. Soon, the landscape began to change and with it, the air outside the open windows began to smell faintly of salt.

Their drive east took them into Maryland and they took backroads for hours. It probably took them longer to get to their destination than it should have but Daryl wasn’t going to take any chances by taking any main roads. 

The asphalt crumbled into gravel and then into sand. Sara and Willow abandoned the books they had picked up after their third round of their favorite board game and came to stand behind Beth and Daryl’s seats.

“It’s so big!” Willow said in awe.

Sara was practically bouncing with excitement.

Beth smiled, her own chest tightening at the sight of the endless blue water. She was the only one of the four of them that had seen an ocean before, and while this was technically a bay, it was still a sight to behold.

The little beach they found was tucked away between dunes, shielded on either side by rocky outcroppings, and backed by a small neighborhood that had probably been abandoned at the beginning of the end. There were no signs of people. Only one walker was spotted far down the street.

Daryl parked the RV with a clear view of the water and hopped out, crossbow in hand. “Stay inside ‘til I say,” he told them, already scanning the area. He clicked his tongue and Molly shot up from where she lay to jump over the driver’s seat. 

Beth, Sara and Willow watched from inside the RV as Daryl walked around the area. Molly relieved herself quickly and then trotted after Daryl, her ears perked as she sniffed the ground and air. After a methodical sweep of the beach, Daryl turned toward the RV and raised a hand, signaling the all clear.

The wind caught in her hair and whipped across her face as Beth stepped down from the RV. The girls raced ahead of her, getting Daryl’s permission before they took off their shoes and socks to stand in the wet sand, waiting for the waves to lap at their feet. The first lap of the foamy water caused the girls to squeak at the cold temperature.

Daryl held his hand out to Beth when she met him on the beach and she took it, interlacing their fingers. They walked down the beach to the edge of the tide and Beth leaned her head against Daryl’s shoulder. They listened to the waves and the laughter from their girls—Beth wanted to bottle up the combination and keep it forever.

“Thank you for bringin’ us,” she said, slipping her free hand up the sleeve of his jacket to give his arm a squeeze.

Daryl’s only response was to press a kiss to the crown of her head. 

The girls squealed as a wave broke against the sand and surged around their ankles, both of them dancing backward before going right back into the water’s path. Molly bounded in and out of the foam, making soft yips in delight. 

Beth turned her face toward Daryl, studying his profile. He could feel her stare—he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but they immediately went back to the girls, tracking their every movement. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Daryl’s head snapped toward her at an alarming speed, brows dipping into a low V. “What?” He asked as if he thought he misheard her. 

“I’ve been late for a few weeks.” She worried at her bottom lip, eyes flickering toward the girls before locking back onto his. “I took a test a couple days ago—I don’t know if they’re still good, but…I know I’m pregnant.”

Daryl’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. 

Beth hurried on, her voice a soft rush, her stomach suddenly swirling with anxiety. “I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have brought us here if you knew. And I wanted this for us, for the girls.”

“Beth—”

Her chest tightened, praying that he would be happy with the news. “Are you upset?”

He shook his head, pulling his arm away from her grasp so he could face her. “Upset—no, just—” He let out a rush of breath, eyes falling on Sara and Willow again, and then coming back to her. “Beth, you’re carryin’ our baby.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, a radiant smile growing on her face, unable to contain her joy. “I know, isn’t it incredible?”

Daryl wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her in, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest. “I love you,” he rasped.

Beth tightened her arms around his neck as she whispered the words back to him. He didn’t say them often, but Beth knew that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it all the time. 

“We’re leavin’,” Daryl said, pulling back from her. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed from the wind. He looked overwhelmed but he was thinking clearly. Of course his first thought was to turn around, to protect, to put distance between her and anything that might risk her or the baby.

“We have company anyway,” Beth replied, nodding over his shoulder. 

Daryl turned to look at the three walkers that were slowly making their way toward them from the road, drawn in by the sound of the girls’ excitement. The walkers were slowed down by the sand sinking beneath their feet but they knew they had to go. 

“C’mon, girls,” Daryl called, and something in his voice must’ve told them not to argue as they gathered their belongings, still breathless from their laughter. He pulled Beth into his side, lips brushing her forehead. “Let’s go home.”