Last Woman Standing

by moonshine_and_candlelight

Chapter 1: Rain & Smoke

Daryl burst out of the funeral home, crossbow in his hand, his chest heaving like he had just run a marathon. He made his way through the graveyard, dodging a couple of walkers as he sprinted toward the road where Beth was supposed to be. His eyes darted around with frantic energy and his pulse pounded so loud in his ears, it nearly drowned out all the ugly snarls and growls from the herd behind him.

Where was she? Did she make it out?

He had opened that door without thinking, without checking first, assuming that it was just that damn dog again. He had been too caught up in his own head, too busy trying to escape the awkward tension at the table. All because he couldn't get himself to admit that she made him believe that there were still good people left in the world. You. You changed my mind.

And now a whole damn horde was inside their home, and it was his fault. If she didn’t make it out, if she got bit, that was on him.

You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.

Hell yeah, he would. More than that. The thought of losing her made him wanna crawl out of his skin, made his heart twist, and pushed the breath right out of his lungs. Why was she stupid enough to even trust him in the first place? She should've known he was going to fuck it all up eventually.

Fuckin' dumb, good-for-nothin' piece of white trash.

A group of walkers stumbled out from the bushes, their milky eyes locking onto him. Daryl raised his crossbow, aimed with practiced precision, and sent an arrow through the skull of the closest one. No time to reload. He tossed the crossbow aside, shifted his stance, drew his knife, and plunged the blade into the soft, decayed skull of the next walker. Another one lunged at him, and he kicked it hard in the knee, the brittle joint snapping as it crumbled to the ground. Before he could finish it off, two more walkers closed in, their rotten stench filling his lungs. He spun around, driving his knife deep into the temple of one, but the other grabbed his shoulder, its snapping teeth only inches away from his skin.

Couldn't save ya mama, or your brother, couldn't save nobody at the prison either, couldn't save the girl, and now ya can't even save ya own ass, huh, boy? Fuckin' deserve to be ripped apart then, that'll teach you a good leasson.

“Daryl!”

Her voice broke through the chaos, sharp and desperate, and in the blink of an eye, she was there. She grabbed the walker by its matted hair, yanking it back just as its teeth came dangerously close to Daryl’s throat. Before it could recover, her knife drove into the side of its head with a loud crunch. It went limp, slumping against Daryl before he shoved it off and turned to her, his chest heaving.

“Beth!” His heart jumped at the sight of her and relief flooded through him. There she was, right in front of him, covered in blood, her blond hair slipping loose from its ponytail, stray strands clinging to her sweaty forehead and neck. Alive. She was alive.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her big blue eyes sparkeling in the moonlight as she scanned him for injuries.

“Yeah,“ he panted, as he slid his knife back into its sheath, snatched his crossbow of the ground and reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.

“C'mon, we gotta go.” he said, his voice tense as the snarls behind them grew louder with each passing second.

Beth nodded, her wide eyes scanning their surroundings for a way out. Together, they ran down the street, past another group of walkers, and into the dark woods, leaving the growling herd behind.

When their lungs burned and their legs threatened to give out, they slowed to a walk. The only sounds were their heavy breaths and the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath their boots. The night sky was dimly lilluminated by the pale half-moon, its glow veiled by heavy, dark clouds. A chill crept through Daryl's whole body as the first raindrops fell on him, quickly building into a cold, relentless downpour.

 

*

 

The sun had risen hours ago, but the rain still hammered down, soaking them through and stealing whatever comfort they had left. Their clothes clung to their skin, heavy and useless against the cold. Beth's muscles were stiff and aching from exhaustion, her hands pruney from the constant wet. Her injured ankle throbbed with every step, but she forced herself to ignore it and push through. Jaw clenched to keep her teeth from chattering, she scanned the woods for anything, any place they could hunker down and make it through the coming night.

She let her thumb brush over the delicate scar on her wrist, and a small smile tugged at her lips. That scar was a quiet, but constant reminder of the moment she chose life, the moment she chose not to cut any deeper. Walking in the heavy rain next to Daryl, both of them soaked to the bone, completely exhausted and shivering, she realized just how right that choice had been. Despite everything, she was grateful to still be here. She wanted to survive, wanted to live, not just for herself, but to honor the family she’d lost. She wanted to be brave like Shawn had been, strong and unapologetic like Maggie had—

No.

She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking off the thought before it could settle. She refused to think about Maggie like she was dead.

If she and Daryl had made it out, then there was still a good chance that Maggie was alive too. Maybe Glenn was with her. Maybe Rick, Carl, Lizzie and Mika had gotten out somehow. Maybe, there was still a small chance that Judith wasn't...

Or maybe it was just her stupid wishful thinking again.

It was a fine line, she realized, between not giving up hope and being delusional.

Beth’s eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden among the trees. A small, weathered cabin perched awkwardly on long stilts, half-swallowed by the thick foliage. It looked like an old deer stand, or lookout post, forgotten and left to decay. A narrow, fenced-in platform jutted out before the door, and a wooden ladder leaned against it, its steps crooked and splintered, as if daring anyone to climb it.

She squinted through the rain, brushing her wet hair out of her eyes.
“Daryl, look.” She pointed toward the deer stand. “Think we can get up there?”

Daryl looked the rickety thing up and down, water dripping from his hair and running down his face like tiny rivers as he seemed to consider her question.

“Ain’t got much of a choice,” he said finally. He shifted his crossbow onto his shoulder and moved toward the ladder, testing the first step with his boot. The wood creaked and bowed slightly, but it held.

“Stay here. Don’t climb ’til I say.”

Beth’s hand shot out, grabbing his forearm before he could start climbing.
“I’ll do it.”

Daryl didn’t even look at her when he pulled his arm free and reached for the ladder again.
“No, you ain’t.”

She grabbed his arm again, this time with a firmer grip, her fingers digging into his jacket sleeve.
“Daryl, stop!” Her voice was sharper now, cutting through the relentless drum of the rain. . “It’s stupid. I’m lighter, I should go first. Makes more sense”

He turned to look at her then, his eyes narrowing.
“Yeah? And what if it don’t hold?”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Let me do this.”

Daryl held her gaze for a long second, water dripping from his lashes. Finally, he huffed through his nose and stepped back, his expression unreadable.

Beth reached for the ladder, her hands trembling from the cold as they grasped the slick, rain-soaked wood. Each step bent under her weight as she climbed higher, the ladder swaying slightly with each movement. She kept her eyes fixed on the platform above, and when she reached the top, she hauled herself over the edge and looked down at Daryl below.

“Made it.“ she called down. “Your turn“

Beth watched him as he climbed up, his movements quick and sure. The ladder creaked under his weight, but he didn’t seem to care. He slipped the crossbow off his back and handed it to her before turning his attention to the cabin door. The wood, swollen and saturated from the rain, resisted stubbornly, and he had to put in extra effort to pry it open.

The old cabin was tiny but surprisingly dry, with nothing inside except a small, worn trunk bench. Beth knelt down and opened it, revealing an army-green blanket made of thick wool. Beneath it, she found a backpack, a box of rifle ammunition, a pair of binoculars, and a pack of cigarettes along with a lighter, which she immediately slipped into her pocket.

Daryl stood motionless for a moment, water dripping from his clothes and hair onto the wooden floor. Without a word, he took the crossbow from her and hung it on a rusty nail above the bench, creating more room for them to maneuver in the cramped space. Beth could feel him shivering beside her. She sat down on the floor, her back pressed against the wooden boards, and wrapped the blanket around herself. After a moment, she lifted the blanket and patted the space next to her.

"C'mon," she said softly. "You’re freezin', too."

Daryl hesitated, his eyes darting towards the door as if debating whether he should take watch instead, then back to Beth. She patted the wooden floor again, inviting him once more.

“M'fine,“ Daryl muttered stubbornly, but he finally crouched down next to her. Beth shifted the blanket, placing it over him too as he settled against the wall beside her. His body was tense at first, but after a few moments, the cold seemed to win out, and he eased into the shared warmth.

Beth pulled the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from her pocket. "Found somethin' else in there," she murmured, holding them out to him.

Daryl looked at the cigarettes, then at her, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Didn't take you for a smoker."

"I’m not," she said with a small laugh, thumbing the edge of the pack. "Figured you might want one."

He hesitated, then reached out, taking the pack from her hand. “Haven't had one in... hell, don't even remember," he muttered, pulling a cigarette free and lighting it with practiced ease. He took a long drag, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, before turning his head slightly away from her to breathe it back out. The hit of nicotine seemed to calm his nerves, and after a moment, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. Beth relaxed against him, her head settling on his chest.

“Can I try it?” she asked, her tone casual but curious.

“What?” Daryl glanced down at her, seemingly surprised.

“Just one drag,” she said, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand. “I just wanna see what it’s like.”

“First you wanna start drinkin’, now you wanna start smokin’ too? Didn't your dad teach ya all 'bout the dangers of cigarettes an' lung cancer?“

Beth grinned, unfazed. “He sure did. But that was before dead people started walkin’ around, tryin’ to rip your face off.” She chuckled, and brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “If I’m gettin' old enough for lung cancer, well... then I'm one of the real lucky ones.”

Daryl shook his head slightly as he held the cigarette out to her. “Fine. But don’t go blamin’ me when you choke on it.”

She took it carefully from his fingers, raised it to her lips and drew in a shallow breath. The bitter smoke hit her throat instantly, hot and acrid, making her eyes burn and water. She pressed a hand to her collarbone, struggling to suppress a cough.

Daryl chuckled a little, the sound rough but warm. “Told ya.”

“That's awful,“ she croaked, shaking her head and blinking back the tears “What do you like about this?”

“I dunno” He shrugged. “Ya get used to it. Guess it just... makes stuff feel a little better. For a while, anyway.”

Beth frowned, eyeing the cigarette in her handwith wary curiosity, before taking another, much deeper drag from it. The smoke invated her mouth, throat and lungs, thick and overwhelming. It burned worse than before, — and then a lightness rushed to her head, leaving her momentarily dizzy, like she was rising too quickly after sitting down. A strange warmth spread through her veins, radiating through her whole body in a way that felt... oddly soothing, though her heart was definitely beating faster than before.

“Alright girl,“ Daryl said, amused but cautious, and plucked the cigarette from her fingers before she could go for a third attempt. “that's enough for now.“

She exhaled slowly, her gaze following the faint curl of smoke as it disappeared into the cabin. Her voice was soft, thoughtful. “I think I get it.”

Daryl leaned back, the cigarette glowing faintly as he took another drag, his arm still resting around her shoulders, steady and grounding. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.“Yeah? What’d ya get?”

Beth tilted her head slightly, meeting his gaze. “How it makes stuff feel better.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, his eyes wandering to the crossbow on the wall. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “Ain’t always a good thing, ya know. Easin’ stuff away like that…“

She leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth and strength seep into her soul. “I’m not trying to forget,” she said. “I’m just… trying to figure out how to deal with it all.”

For a while, the only sounds that filled the cabin were the steady drumming of the downpour on the roof and the whispering wind that swept through the trees outside.

“How do you do it?” She whispered.

Daryl looked at her, brow furrowing. “Do what?” He asked, his voice almost as quiet as hers.

“Keep going. After everything you’ve been through. After everything we've lost…”

He sighed, and his thumb began to trace slow, gentle circles on her arm. “Ain’t no secret to it. You just... keep puttin’ one foot ’n front of the other. Don’t think too much about where you’re goin’.”

He took one last drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly before stubbing it out against the wooden floor.

“Don’t have it all figured out. Hell, half the time, I don’t even know why I bother. Maybe I wouldn't if I was on my own.“

Beth’s heart ached at his words. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I'm glad you're not on your own, Daryl. I'm glad we have each other.“

The smell of their wet hair and body odor, the taste of tabacco on her tongue, the warmth between them, and the steady rhythm of the rain on the roof made everything else feel distant — like they were the only two people left in the world. As the sun went down, they both fell asleep.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing anything, so I’m a little nervous to share it, but I hope you enjoyed it. English isn’t my first language, so sorry for any mistakes. See you soon!

Chapter 2: Predators

Notes:

Warning: This chapter includes attempted rape and sexual assault.

Daryl woke up to daylight streaming through the cracks in the dear stand's walls. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the air damp and cold. Beth was still asleep, curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest. Her breathing was soft and steady, each exhale warming the fabric of his shirt. Both of her hands rested peacefully in his lap, right on top of the hard line straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Oh, fuck.

A wave of heat rushed through him, and his abdominal muscles tensed, as he focused on keeping his hips still. His body craved friction, craved her touch, and oh, God, it would be so easy. So easy to just take her soft hands in his, press them against himself, to tilt her chin up and kiss her awake...

No. This ain't happening. No fucking way.

He clenched his jaw, willing it to stop, willing those thoughts to stop. What the hell was wrong with him? It's Beth. She's barley eighteen, sweet and stubborn and too damn good for this world. And here he was, like some kind of sick pervert, getting turned on while she was asleep, vulnerable. He carefully moved her hands away from his crotch, his face burning with shame. He stood up quickly, desperate to put some distance between them.

The sudden movement stirred her, and she blinked awake.

"Daryl?" she murmured, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes. "Somethin' wrong?"

He turned away quickly, his back to her as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down and keep his body in check. "Nah." His voice came out gruff, harsher than he intended. "C'mon, we gotta move."

"Already? Did somethin’ happen?”

“Rain stopped,” he replied shortly, grabbing his crossbow from the wall. "Ain’t safe stayin’ in one place too long."

He could feel her hesitation in the silence that followed, but she didn’t push further. “Okay,” she said softly, rolling up the blanket, and stuffing it in the backpack before getting to her feet.

The woods were still cold and damp from the rain, the scent of wet earth and rotting leaves heavy in the air. Daryl used to like this kind of weather. For a long time, wandering through the endless forests of northern Georgia had been his only escape. The fresh, clean air had always helped to sort his thoughts, and nature offered a kind of peace he could never find at home.

Home. That word had always felt wrong to him. It hadn't been much of a home. It been a place filled with his father’s drunken rage and tantrums. When it became too much, Daryl would vanish into the woods for hours, sometimes days, trading the suffocating tension of four walls for the freedom of the forest.

He took a deep breath, trying to push the memories away. This wasn’t the time to get caught up in the past. The world didn’t care about what used to be. You have to put it away. You have to. Or it kills you. All that mattered now was Beth, getting her to a warm place, keeping her safe and fed.

Now, the wet and cold were just threats, gnawing at their strength and making survival that much harder.

Beth followed him closely, her boots squelching softly in the mud. She didn’t complain about the cold or the still damp clothes clinging to her skin, or about the fact that they were somewhere deep in the woods, with no real shelter, no food, and no plan or destination. He didn’t even know why he’d half-expected her to, because she never complained. Back at the prison, when he went on a run, she never wanted anything for herself—no extra blankets, no new clothes, not even some candy, like most people did. She only asked for things for Lil’ Asskicker.

The girl lost her whole family, her home, got stuck with him, and still didn't break. She stayed on her feet and kept going. And yet, she’d asked him how he did it, like she wasn’t the one keeping him going. Truth was, if it weren’t for her, he would've given up after the prison fell.

Daryl kept his eyes on the ground, scanning for signs. Every so often, he would pause, crouching down to inspect a mark on the ground or a snapped twig. Beth watched him intently, her gaze trailing his every movement.

“What are you lookin' for?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Tryna find us some breakfast,” he muttered without looking up.

“Can you show me? Still wanna learn,” she said, her voice soft but eager.

He glanced at her, considering. “Alright,” he nodded, motioning for her to kneel beside him. He pointed to a faint impression in the mud. “See that? Deer print. Front hoof’s sharp, back edge’s rounded. It ain’t too old, maybe a few hours.”

Beth knelt down, studying the mark with a focused expression. “How can you tell how old it is?”

“Rain washed most prints out,” he explained. “This one’s still clear, so it came after the rain stopped.”

She nodded, her gaze still fixed to the ground. “A deer’s too big though, right? We can’t eat it all in time.”

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed, straightening up. “Better if we get us somethin' smaller.”

It took a while, but eventually, he found what he was looking for. Crouching down, he glanced back to make sure Beth was still paying attention. “See that?” he asked. "Rabbit track. Their back feet leave bigger marks, kinda long, 'cause they hop.“ He explained, as he gestured along the prints. “Front feet are smaller, closer together.“

Beth leaned in, her fingers hovering over the prints as if to trace them. “They look fresh...so, if we follow it, we’ll find the rabbit?”

“If we get lucky. Rabbits ain’t dumb. They’ll zigzag, try to throw ya off. Gotta stay quiet, keep downwind.“

He led her further along the trail, his steps careful and deliberate as he followed the faint tracks in the mud. Beth followed close behind, and he could tell she was mirroring his movements, trying her best to move through the underbrush, without making too much noise.

They came to a small clearing, and Daryl raised his hand to signal her to stop. “There,” he whispered.

A rabbit sat in the clearing, nibbling on a patch of grass, oblivious to the danger. Daryl slid the crossbow off his back and handed it to Beth. “You do it.“

Her eyes widened in suprise. “You sure? What if I mess this up?”

“Ain’t gonna learn if you don’t try,” he said firmly. “You’ve got a good aim. Just keep steady and don’t rush it. Rabbit don’t see us yet, so you’ve got time.”

Beth hesitated, then nodded, her grip tightening on the crossbow as she raised it.

“Aim just a little above where ya wanna hit,” he murmured. “Gravity’ll pull it down some.”

Beth exhaled slowly, and after a few seconds, she squeezed the trigger. The arrow sliced through the air, hitting the rabbit clean in the middle.

“I did it,” she breathed, her voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered the crossbow, then placed it carefully on the ground. Before he could say anything, she turned and pulled him into a hug that knocked the air out of him.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his shoulder.

Daryl stiffened, unsure what to do at first, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. Christ, she felt so good against him, so warm, so full of joy, and her cheek was so soft against his. “C’mon, let’s grab it ’fore somethin’ else does.”

 

*

 

Beth felt a quiet sense of pride as she worked the rabbit’s fur off its body, and carefully pulled out its innards. She’d skinned and gutted animals plenty of times with Maggie and Patricia after Otis returned from his hunting trips, but this felt different. This one was hers. Her first real catch.

She crouched by the edge of a creek, the cold water biting into her hands, as she cleaned the rabbit carcass. After washing away the blood and bits of fur trom her hands and the meat, she glanced up. Daryl was a few paces away, rummaging through the underbrush. He was gathering wood, but she could tell by the furrow in his brow that it wasn’t going well. Everything was still soaked from the heavy rain.

Beth straightened, rabbit in one hand, knife in the other, and walked to the fallen tree to sit down where they'd stopped to rest. Daryl joined her a moment later, setting some wet sticks down on the ground.

“Don’t think we gonna get a fire goin’ with this,” he muttered, his voice low, almost apologetic. He brought his thumb to his mouth, chewing absently on the edge of his nail, his eyes flicking toward the rabbit in her hands.

After a moment, he asked. “Think you could eat it raw?“

Beth blinked, looking down at the carcass in her hands. The idea wasn't exactly appealing, but the gnawing hunger in her belly reminded her just how long it had been since she’d eaten something. Survival didn’t leave much room for being picky.

“I think I can.” she decided, took her knife and began cutting small chunks of muscle from the rabbit’s bone. The raw flesh glistened faintly in the filtered light that broke through the trees. She tried not to think too much about the texture or the faint, metallic smell of blood.

She sliced off a piece and handed it to Daryl. He didn’t hesitate, shoving it into his mouth and chewing with the ease of someone who’d done this plenty of times before.

Beth took a smaller piece for herself, and hesitated for only a moment before putting it in her mouth. The texture was strange, soft and slippery, but the taste was mild, nowhere near as bad as she’d expected.

Chewing thoughtfully, a memory surfaced, and she smirked. “You know, this ain’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Beth nodded and reached for another chunk of meat. “Maggie once tried to make pancakes for breakfast. Thought she’d be all sweet and give Mama a break, ‘cause Daddy and her had been up all night delivering a neighbor’s calf. She was real determined, said it couldn’t be that hard.” Beth let out a small laugh. “Turns out, it can.”

He snorted. “What, she burn ‘em?”

“Oh, I wish she’d burned 'em,” Beth said, shaking her head. “At least then we wouldn’t have had to eat ‘em.”

Daryl gave her a questioning look, and she felt her cheeks warm up under his gaze. “First off, she used cornstarch instead of flour, so the batter was all weird and kinda… gluey.”

Daryl made a face. “Sounds real good’.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Beth said dramatically. “She didn’t know when to flip ‘em, so they were half-cooked on one side and practically raw on the other. But Maggie, bein’ Maggie, just put ‘em on a plate and figured the hot syrup would fix it.”

Daryl popped another piece of rabbit into his mouth and sucked his fingers clean. “Damn.”

“So there we were, sitting at the table, tryin’ to be polite, ‘cause Maggie was lookin’ all proud of herself. Daddy took one bite and just stared at his plate. Shawn tried to chew it, but it was like eating a rubber tire.”

“But ya ate it?”

Beth sighed dramatically. “Yeah. And lemme tell you, chewin’ through gluey, half-raw pancakes drowned in way too much syrup ain’t an easy task. And you know what? Mama didn’t even say nothin’. She just patted Maggie on the back and said, ‘That was real nice of you, honey. But maybe next time, just make a sandwich.’”

A genuine laugh escaped Daryl, and for a second, Beth just stared, caught off guard by how much she liked the sound of it. She’d never really heard him laugh before, not like this, and the realization that she was the one who had made it happen sent a rush of something warm and overwhelming through her.

“Remind me to never let her cook for me.” he smirked, shaking his head.

Beth giggled, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Trust me, I wouldn’t — “

“Looks like we got ourselves a chatty little campsite.”

In the blink of an eye, Daryl was on his feet, crossbow in his hands.

Before Beth could react, the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head, stealing the breath right out of her lungs.

“You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over.“ the voice behind her warned. “That what you want? C'mon, fella, suicide is stupid.”

“Let her go,“ Daryl demanded, his gaze and aim fixed on the man behind Beth. “We ain't got nothin’ worth taking. Your robbin' the wrong people.“

“I think my boys would disagree with you on that.“ The man chuckled, dark and amused. “Ain't that right?“

His question was answered with loud, cruel laughter.

“Girl’s claimed,” another voice added, its slimy tone sending a shiver down Beth’s spine. “Pretty thing like her? She’ll keep us warm tonight, huh, boys?”

Beth swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising panic. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her chest. Calm down, Beth. Keep breathing. Just breathe.

“Ya better be in a sharin’ mood tonight.” a third voice sneered.

One of the men circeled around them, coming up behind Daryl and holding him at gunpoint. “I’m claimin’ the vest. I like them wings.” He announced with a wide grin.

“Alright now,” the man behind Beth drawled, pressing the gun harder against her head. “First things first. Why don’t ya make this easy on yourself, an' hand over your weapons? No sudden moves, unless ya want that brain o’ yours decoratin' Len’s new vest.”

Daryl didn’t move.

“You really gonna make me count?“ She could hear the cruel amusement in his voice. “Alright. Five...“

“Four...“

No. No, no, no.

“Daryl,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. “Please, there's nothing you can do.”

His gaze flickered toward her, conflicted, but the grip on his crossbow didn't loosen.

“Three...“

“Daryl, please!” she tried again, her voice a little stronger this time, desperate to reach him. “Don't leave me. Don't leave me like this.”

“Two...“

His eyes burned into hers, fierce, furious, and shiny with unshed tears. Then, finally, slowly, he lowered his crossbow and handed it over, along with his knife. On of the men pulled Beth's knife out from its sheet.

“Oh yes, Daryl, please.” someone mocked. “That's such a smart boy, listenin' to his little girlfriend.”

“Get down. Knees. Now.” Another man barked.

A fist buried itself in Beth’s hair, yanking her from the tree trunk. She stumbled as she was dragged forward, and then someone shoved her down, forcing her to her knees.

Daryl knelt in front her, his face simmering with fury as a gun barrel pressed against his temple.

She slowly lifted her head and glanced around. Six men. Six men, each and everyone of them with a vile, exited grin on their face, that made Beth feel sick. They all looked at her now. Like a pack of wolves eyeing a wounded deer.

A man with a blue bandana tied around his head stepped forward. “Don’tcha worry, darlin',” he cooed, his voice a mockery of kindness. “We’re gonna take real good care of ya.” He reached out, running his fingers through her hair, then down the curve of her cheek.

“Don’t touch her.” Daryl growled.

The man behind him reacted instantly, driving the barrel of the gun harder against Daryl’s temple. The force of it made him sway slightly, but he didn’t seem to care.

“What, ya gonna try an' stop me?” Bandana Man sneered, his fingers hovering just above Beth’s skin. “Ain’t you a hero. Bowman here’s a little possessive, huh?“ He grinned down at Beth, and pinched her cheek. “Bet he stretched her out real good. Ya should thank him sweetheart, it's gonna make this a whole lot easier for ya.“

Daryl’s jaw clenched so hard Beth could hear his teeth grind. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch her.” his voice was raw, venomous.

Beth’s stomach twisted. How the hell were they going to get out of this? Six armed man, against one man and a woman, while both of them were held at gunpoint? Her mind raced, searching for a plan, a way out. The smartest thing to do would be to keep still, stay quiet, and endure whatever came next. Maybe they could escape at night, when the men were asleep.

The man pressing the gun to Daryl’s head smirked and turned to the one with gray, wavy hair. “Joe, I don’t think we need this one,” he said casually. “Ain’t nothin’ but trouble, keepin’ him alive.”

No. No. He couldn't die. She couldn't do this without him. She couldn't breathe without him.

“Please, no, please, I'll do anything, anything you want, just tell me what to do!“ Beth cried desperately. “Please, please, I'll do whatever you want, just don’t—please…“

Her voice tore through the quiet of the forest, and for the first time in her life, she prayed that there were a lot of walkers nearby. She braced herself for a slap, for one of them to grab her, shove a gun in her mouth, tell her to shut the fuck up. But her pleading only seemed to amuse the men.

Laughter broke out, sharp and cruel.

“Shit, boys,“ one of the man chuckeled. “She's a nervous little thing, ain't she?“

“Yeah, look at that,” Bandana Man said, his grin widening. “She’s screamin' already, huh? We didn’t even hafta try.” He grabbed her arm, hauling her upright. “You’re gonna make this real fun, sweetheart.” he murmured, licking his lips as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His sour breath hit her face when he leaned in, and Beth instinctively turned her head away, averting her gaze so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

That's when she noiticed the dagger in a sheet on his belt, his shirt tucked behind the handle for easier access.

She could grab it. Could stab it into his gut, twist the blade—

No.

It would only make things worse right now. Get both of them killed.

“Strip down,” The man commanded. “Show me what’s mine.“

For a moment, her vision became blurry, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat, loud and rhythmic, and the blood rushing through her head. The forest, the men, Daryl kneeling on the ground, it all felt unreal, distant, like a fever dream, like she could wake up from it at any second. Her hands trembled as she slowly undid the buttons of her cardigan, the fabric slipping from her shoulders, and falling to the ground behind her.

When her fingers hesitated at the hem of her shirt, Bandana Man sighed, long and exaggerated. "Oh, for fuck’s sake, I ain't that patient, baby girl."

He nodded toward Daryl, who was staring at the ground, completly motionless, frozen in place. “Ya better pick up the pace, or I’ll carve his fuckin' eye out. Real nice an' real slow. Hell, maybe I’ll even let you pick which one.”

A cold chill ran down Beth's spine, ripping her from her daze. She yanked her shirt over her head so fast the fabric nearly tore. "Don't," she gasped. "I'll do whatever you want, see? Just... please, don’t hurt him."

Bandana Man grinned. “Oh, I see. You’re real sweet on him, huh?” He gestured lazily toward her chest. “Take that thing off too.”

Beth took a shuddering breath, her fingers fumbling at the clasp of her bra. It came undone, sliding down her arms, and she forced herself to keep her chin lifted even as her eyes filled with tears.

“Man, she’s scrawny, good thing we ain’t too picky,” The man behind Daryl announced, earning himself some laughter.

Bandana Man tilted his head, letting his eyes roam over her bare skin. “Don'tcha listen to them, sweetheart.“ he purred, and reached out. His fingers trailed along her collarbones before sliding down to squeeze her breast. “That's the best pair of tits we've seen in months.“

Beth clenched her jaw so hard it ached.

There were birds, singing in the backround. Leaves, rusteling in the wind. And then, there was something else. Growls. Moans. Beth’s head snapped toward the sound. Shadows moved between the trees. Then she saw them. About a dozen walkers, shuffling through the undergrowth, drawn in by all the noise.

“Dan, Harley, go take care of that,” The man called Joe barked. “No guns. Use your knives.”

As the two men stalked off, Bandana Man gripped her chin, turning her face back to him.“Ah-ah, eyes on me, sweetheart.“ He grinned, his thumb brushing over her lower lip before pressing inside. “Bet you know exactly what to do with that pretty little mouth, ain't that right? Bet you’ve been waitin’ for som— ”

A gunshot went off.

Beth flinched, and in the corner of her eye, she saw Daryl wrestle the man behind him to the ground, but her focus quickly snapped back to the man in front of her.

In one smooth motion, Beth grabbed the dagger on his belt, and sank the blade into his throat, slicing it open. Blood sprayed, warm and wet, across her bare chest as Bandana Man stumbled back, his eyes wide in shock. He gurgled, a strangled sound escaping his mouth as he fell to the dirt.

Another gunshot.

Beth’s head whipped toward Daryl. He was standing, one hand pressed against his stomach, gun raised as he shot another man in the head.

Joe cursed, drawing his own gun from his belt, and aiming at Daryl. Before he got a chance to pull the trigger, Beth charged at him. She lunged forward, jumping onto him with all her weight, knocking both of them to the ground, the gun landing somwhere beside them. Joe tried to grab it, but Beth was already on top of him, driving the stolen dagger into his chest, his throat, his face, over and over again. It was like her body was moving on its own, each stab fueled by the pure rage that was pouring out of her

Two gunshots. Dan and Harley.

Three more gunshots for the walkers that Dan and Harley didn't put down in the time they had. Then silence.

The birds started singing again, their melodies light and careless, unbothered by the events below them. Beth’s chest heaved, her hands trembeling as she climbed of the mutilated body, and stumbled toward Daryl. The air was thick with the scent of wet leaves and blood. So much blood. It covered her bare torso, soaked into her jeans, dripped from her fingertips. She could taste it on her lips, coppery and still warm. But none of that mattered.

All she saw was him, slumped against a tree, the gun still clutched tight, his chest rising and falling too fast.

And then she saw the hole in his thigh, just above the knee, gushing blood in pulsing waves. So much blood. He was losing so much blood. He was sitting in a pool of his own blood.

“No, no, Daryl, no,” she muttered, falling to her knees beside him. Her gaze flickered from his leg to his abdomen, where his shirt clung to him, wet and dark with blood, the fabric sticking to a long gash beneath it.

Beth spun around, spotting her backpack that still leaned against the fallen tree. She grabbed it, yanking open the zipper with shaky hands. The first aid kit tumbled out. Her fingers fumbled as she unzipped it, scattering its contents across the ground. No tourniquet. No hemostatic powder. Just gauze, alcohol wipes, band-aids—nothing meant for something this bad.

“Beth.“

She almost didn't hear him. Her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely get the buckle undone. She fumbled with it, cursing under her breath as she yanked her belt free from the loops of her jeans. She dropped to her knees again, looping the leather strap around his thigh, just above the bleeding wound.

“Beth,” Daryl’s voice was weak but firm. “stop.”

She ignored him, and startet to tighten the belt around his leg.

“Beth,” he rasped again, more urgent this time. “Ain’t no point. You gotta go.”

“No.”

Daryl let out a slow, shaky breath, his head tilting back against the tree. “Just go,“ he murmured. “You gotta get outta here ‘fore more of ‘em show up.”

She wasn't sure if he meant walker or people, but it didn’t matter.

“I'm not leaving you, Daryl.“

"Beth, ya gotta. I'm done for, just gonna slow your down."

She grabbed a sturdy looking stick from the ground, shoving it under the belt and twisting. Daryl let out a strangled grunt, his whole body tensing from the pain, but she kept going.

“I slowed you down, more times than I can count,” Beth said through gritted teeth, twisting the makeshift tourniquet as tight as she could. “So you don’t get to do this, Daryl. You don’t get to tell me to leave you behind.”

The bleeding on his leg slowed before coming to a stop. She grabbed some of the gauze and tied the stick in place, locking the tourniquet tight. Her hands were still trembling as she reached for more gauze, pressing it over the wound on his abdomen, but the blood seeped through it almost instantly. Beth's pulse pounded in her ears, as she started down at the blood on her hands. She should probably lift his shirt and see how bad it really was, but...she didn’t want to know.

So she just pressed down harder, layering more gauze over the wound, and wrapped what was left of it tightly around his middle. It didn't do much to stop the bleeding, but it was all she could do. It had to be enough.

Daryl let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. “There are still other people out here, ya know?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Good people. You’ll find ‘em.”

“Shut up,” she said, her voice shaking. Then, louder, angrier, “Are you really that fucking stupid?!“

He blinked at her, startled, but she didn’t stop.

“I don’t want some other people, I want you!” Her voice cracked, and she felt the sting of tears burning her eyes. “I don’t wanna go on without you, I don't wanna be without you!”

Daryl’s chest rose and fell, fast and shallow. He didn’t speak, just watched her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Beth sniffled, blinking back her tears, as she forced herself to stand up.She pulled her shirt back on, and quickly gathered their knifes, some guns and ammo from the dead men. She shoved everything into the backpack, slinging it over her shoulder along with his crossbow.

“Get up, Daryl Dixon. Get the hell up, or I swear to God, I’ll drag your heavy ass outta here myself.”

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading.

Chapter 3: Tell me somethin’ good

Daryl's bad leg felt like dead weight, heavy and numb, and the cut on his stomach sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his body with every step. The world tilted around him, his footing unsteady, as if the ground wasn’t quite where it should be.

Beth had his arm slung over her shoulders, doing her best to keep him upright. He knew he was leaning too much on her, his fingers digging into her shoulder with a grip that had to hurt, but she didn't say anything about it. She just kept steadying him. Kept moving. They were following the river, hoping it would lead them somewhere.

He shouldn’t be letting her do this. Shouldn't be letting her waste all her strength on him.

Those men...

They were the kind of men he and Merle ran with growing up. The kind that took what they wanted, who didn’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. The kind Merle had always fit in with just fine.

And Merle had done shit like that, hadn’t he? Not rape, but he’d always found other ways to degrade women. The way he talked, the way he looked at them, the crude jokes that always left Daryl shifting uncomfortably in the background. And then there were the hookers, the addicts, the ones who only agreed to sex because they needed money or drugs. Sometimes Merle would shove some poor girl Daryl’s way too, patting him on the back like he was doing him some big favor.

C'mon Darylina, enjoy yerself, gotta break that dry spell sometime.

Daryl never enjoyed it. Didn’t know how to, not when the women were just going through the motions, waiting for it to be over. Because for them, he was just another problem, another thing they had to put up with to get what they needed. He should’ve stopped it, should've walked away from them. But he hadn’t. He'd just let it happen, because saying no meant dealing with Merle, his laughter, his insults, the way he’d look at Daryl like he was less than a man.

His numb foot caught on a root, his knee gave in, and Beth had to fight to keep him from hitting the ground.

“Daryl—”

“S’okay,” he slurred, forcing himself to stand.

Beth adjusted her grip, her arm tightening around his waist. “Just a little further,” she murmured, like she was trying to convince them both.

She didn’t know. Didn’t know what kind of man she was holding up. Didn’t know that if things had played out different, he could’ve been one of—

No.

No.

He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t.

Beth thought he was worth saving. That was all that mattered. She wanted him to keep going, so as long as his heart was still beating, he was gonna stay by her side, do his best to keep her safe.

The sun had started dipping lower, casting a gold and orange glow across the forest. The calm flow of the water and the occasional chirping of birds were the only sounds, aside from their labored breathing and the rustling of leaves beneath their feet.

As they kept walking, the trees started thinning, the undergrowth giving way to open space.

Ahead of them, cutting through the forest, was a road. The river flowed beneath it, through a wide concrete pipe that was guiding the water under the asphalt, where it poured out on the other side.

Beth hesitated. “Which way?”

Daryl dragged his gaze up and down the road. There was no telling where they were, no way to know which direction they should take. Left and right looked the same, except for one car sitting abandoned on the right side of the road.

The windshield was smeared with grime and dried blood, and inside, walkers slumped against the glass, their rotten hands weakly clawing at the surface. The front tires were flat, the rims barely lifted off the pavement. Even if it wasn’t crawling with the dead, that thing wasn’t taking them anywhere.

Still, that car had to come from somewhere. So maybe they should go...

“Right,” he rasped.

She followed his gaze and nodded. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

Step by step, they moved down the road, leaving the trapped dead behind, walking toward whatever lay ahead.

 

 

Daryl’s body felt detached from his mind, moving only because Beth made it move. He'd lost track of time, had no idea if they'd followed the road for minutes or hours. The world felt far away, like he was slipping under the surface of deep water.

Then, suddenly, Beth stopped, and before he could ask why, she gasped, “Daryl, look!”

She shifted under his arm, holding him with one hand as she pointed with the other. He blinked, trying to focus, his sluggish brain struggling to catch up.

On the left, beside the road, stood a row of houses.

They sat back from the road, each with its own overgrown yard. Some were ranch-style houses, others colonial. The house closest to them had two stories and a big, fenced in porch. The windows were dark, empty.

Beth didn’t wait for him to say something. She tugged him forward, her steps quickening as they neared the house with the big porch, as if it might disappear if they didn’t reach it fast enough. She helped him up the wooden steps, and guided him toward the front door. Daryl slumped against the wall, his hands bracing against it for support, while Beth crouched down, flipping up the doormat and running her fingers over the dusty wood beneath it. Nothing.

“Damn it,” she muttered. She checked the potted plant beside the door, then ran her fingers along the top of the doorframe. Still nothing.

Daryl watched in a daze as she stood, glancing around, thinking. Then, without hesitation, she strode to one of the windows, picked up a flowerpot from the porch, and smashed the glass. The sound rang out sharp and loud, making him flinch slightly.

“Beth,” His voice came out hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in days.

She ignored him, brushing shards away with her sleeve.

“Ya don’t know what’s in there—”

“I’ll be right back,” she interrupted him, already hoisting herself up, squeezing through the broken window before he could stop her.

Daryl gritted his teeth, his body tensing despite its exhaustion. Every nerve screamed for him to move, to go after her, to protect her, but he couldn’t even stand without leaning on the wall. All he could do, was listen as her feet landed inside, hear the shuffle of her movements.

A second later, the front door creaked open.

She was back at his side in an instant, her hands gripping his arm. “C'mon,” she said, pulling him inside.

The air was stale, thick with dust and the faint smell of something rotten, but it was quiet. Beth half-dragged him through the abandoned house, her breath uneven from the effort. The walls blurred past him as they moved down a hallway, through a doorframe—then suddenly, they were in front of a neatly made bed, piled with a ridiculous amount of throw pillows.

Then he was sinking onto the mattress.

Beth pulled the blanket back and eased his legs up, settling him against the pillows. She was careful, gentle, but he still bit back a groan as a sharp pain flared through his abdomen.

“Shhh,” she murmured. “It'll be okay.”

She stepped back, moved to the bedroom door, and shut it. He heard the soft clink of the key turning in the lock.

Right. House wasn’t cleared yet. Smart girl.

Beth quickly returned to him, kneeling at his bedside. She reached for his hand, wrapping it in her smaller, warmer one, then lifted it gently and pressed a featherlight kiss to the back of his hand.

“You're gonna be okay,” she whispered against his skin, like she was telling herself as much as she was telling him.

Daryl swallowed, his throat dry, his chest aching with something that had nothing to do with his injuries. “If I don’t—”

Beth shook her head. “Stop.”

He let out a slow breath, head sinking deeper into the pillows. “Beth… if I don’t make it, you gotta put me down.”

“That's not gonna—”

“I mean it,” he rasped. His vision went blurry again, but he held her gaze, making sure she understood. “Don’t let me wake up as one of 'em, don't let me hurt ya.”

Beth’s lips trembled, and for a second, she didn’t do anything, just looked at him. Then she reached up, brushing his sweat-dampened hair back from his face, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat.

When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her gaze darting over his face like she was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re gonna be the last man standing, remember?”

Daryl huffed a weak breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “'M tryin',” he whispered. “but only if you’ll be the last woman standing.”

Beth’s fingers tightened around his. “Deal.”

The weight of exhaustion was finally pulling him under. His body relaxed, and his grip on her hand was loosening.

Then everything faded to black.

*

As soon as Daryl fell unconscious, Beth started searching the house. She needed to find something to patch him up with, and she needed to find it fast. The belt around his thigh had stopped the bleeding, but it couldn’t stay on much longer, or he'd get permanent damage to the leg, that much she knew.

The house was quiet, no walkers to be heard. That should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. The silence felt heavy, threatening, and Beth’s fingers tightened around one of the guns she’d taken from those men. Was this the one that shot Daryl? She pushed that thought aside. It didn’t matter.

A foul smell filled the air, and flies buzzed sluggishly near the windows, most of them already dead on the windowsill. When she stepped into the kitchen, she quickly found the source of them. The fridge was filled with rotten food, most of it already liquefied, and was crawling with maggots.

There wasn't anything useful in the kitchen cabinets and drawers, just some dishes, cutlery, and some old spices. The pantry was much better. A few packs of bottled water, some canned ravioli and chicken noodle soup, everything covered with a thick layer of dust.

She moved upstairs, creeping through the hallway, clearing each room with her finger hovering over the trigger.

The bathroom was small, stale-smelling. The medicine cabinet was filled with a few tubes of toothpaste, mouthwash, an electric razor, aspirin. And then— a bottle of amoxicillin.

For a second, she just stared at it. It almost felt too good to be real. She snatched it up, popping the cap off, and checked the pills inside. There were still enough left. They were probably expired, but in this world, medicine didn't have an exparation date anymore. They had to work.

She searched the bedrooms next, rifling through drawers and closets as fast as she could. After what felt like forever, she found a small sewing kit buried in the back of a closet. She grabbed it, along with some clean-looking shirts and bedsheets, and hurried back downstairs.

Daryl hadn't moved. His face was ghostly pale, his breathing shallow. Fresh blood had seeped from the wound on his stomach and soaked into the matress beneath him.

She quickly set out the supplies on the bedside table before sitting down beside him.

“I found some antibiotics.“ she explained softly. “Gonna give ‘em to you, but I have to patch you up first.“

That sounded much more confident then she actually felt. She’d watched her daddy stitch up plenty of wounds, but she’d never done it herself. And now, Daryl’s life was in her hands.

Beth carefully unwrapped the bandages and peeled his blood soaked shirt away from his abdomen.

It was bad. But it could've been worse.

The gash was deep, running diagonally across his stomach. The muscles were cut apart, and beneath them, she could see the glistening hint of his guts. Not spilling out, not punctured, but visible. Everything was slick with blood, it poured out of him, was smeared all over his skin.

Beth swallowed against the panic clawing up her throat, and threaded the needle from the sewing kit. The thread was thin, not the sturdy surgical kind she knew would be better, but it was all she had.

She took a breath, braced herself, and pushed the needle through his skin.

Daryl flinched. It was just a tiny twitch, his body reacting to the pain even in unconsciousness.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, tying off the first stitch with unpractised fingers. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry.”

She kept going, one stitch after another, pulling the edges of the muscle and skin together as best she could. When the last suture was in place, she folded a bedsheet into a makeshift bandage and wrapped it around his middle.

Next was his leg.

Beth used the tiny scissors to cut away his pant leg, revealing his thigh. The skin below the belt had turned a sickly pale, almost bluish color. The bullet had passed through at an angle, leaving an entry wound in the middle and an exit wound on the inside. Somewhere in there, a damaged artery was waiting to start gushing the second she took the belt off.

The stitches on his stomach had been hard to do, but this? This was terrifying.

If her daddy was here, it would all be okay. He would know what to do. He would have handled this with steady hands and quiet confidence, just like always. But he wasn't. His decapitated body was rotting in the dirt outside the prison, and she had to do this on her own.

We all got jobs to do.

Blinking back tears, Beth bent over his leg and got to work. The needle pierced his skin, stitch after stitch, and this time, Daryl didn't react to it. The lack of blood flow seemed to have numbed his leg completely.

After a while, she finally pulled the last stitch tight and sat back, staring at the mess of black thread holding his flesh together. She had done what she could. Now, all she could do was pray to whoever might be listening that it was enough.

Her hands hovered over the belt buckle. One breath. Then another. Then she loosened the belt and pulled it away.

For one terrifying moment, she just stared at his leg, waiting for a flood of blood— but nothing came. The stitches held. Relief crashed over her so hard, so overwhelming, it made her dizzy.

“I did it... Oh my God, Daryl, it actually worked.“

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she reached for a folded shirt, pressing it over the wound and wrapped another strip of fabric around his leg, securing it tightly. She stood up, her legs shaky and unsteady as she turned away.

The leftover adrenaline still thrummed through her as she hurried down the hall to the pantry. The bottled water was still there, right where she'd left it. She twisted the cap off and downed nearly the entire thing before grabbing another bottle and rushing back to Daryl’s side.

Kneeling beside the bed, she placed a hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature. His skin, once cold and clammy, now burned under her touch. Fever. She had to get those antibiotics in him now.

She popped the cap off the medicine bottle and shook out a couple of the amoxicillin pills into her palm.

“Daryl?” She touched his face again, smoothing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “C'mon, you gotta wake up now.”

Nothing.

She tried again, cupping his cheek, her thumb lightly stroking his rough stubble. “C'mon, Daryl, you gotta take these. They’ll help.“

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of awareness behind his closed eyelids.

Beth carefully placed the pills inside his mouth, then shifted closer, so she could lift him slightly. His body was heavy, limp, and fever-warm against her as she cradled the back of his head with one hand and brought the water bottle to his lips with the other.

“Just a little,” she whispered.

She tipped the bottle carefully, letting a small trickle of water run into his mouth. For a moment, she was worried he might choke, but then his throat worked, swallowing instinctively.

Beth let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

“There you go,” she soothed, lowering him back onto the pillows.

 

 

A couple of hours had passed, and night had settled in completely.

Beth had found some candles in the living room and set one up on the bedside table in Daryl's room. She made sure to close the curtains first, so the the flickering light wouldn't be visible from outside.

She had covered the window that she'd broken earlier with a heavy wooden board, that had once been a closet door, before she ripping it off and nailed it into place. The rest of the windows and doors were reinforced with whatever she could find—chairs wedged under doorknobs, rope tied around window handles, even a bookshelf tipped sideways to block the back door entirely.

For the past hour, she had circled the house, stopping at every window to scan the street, the yard, the neighboring houses. Watching. Listening.

Nothing. Just the dark, empty road, lifeless houses, overgrown grass shifting slightly in the wind. No walkers. No people. But that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling in her gut.

Between those rounds, she kept returning to Daryl’s room. She’d stand in the doorway, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest in the dim candlelight. He looked so different like this, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen him before.

She had to keep him safe.

So she did another round. Then another. And another. But exhaustion was catching up with her, and after what had to be the twentieth time of checking that all the doors were really locked, she had to accept that she couldn’t do this all night. Sooner or later, she had to sleep.

Beth set her gun on the bedside table within easy reach, then eased onto the mattress beside him, listening to his quiet inhales and exhales, the slow, steady rhythm of them. Proof that he was still here. Proof that she hadn’t lost him yet.

For the first time all night, she felt herself begin to relax.

And then—

“Beth.”

Her heart jolted. She turned her head just enough to look at him, but his eyes were still closed.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

There was a long pause, before he slowly lifted his arm.

“C’mere,” he rasped.

Carefully, she moved closer to him, slipping under his waiting arm, and resting her head on his chest, where his heartbeat was calm and grounding beneath her ear. She wrapped her arm around his middle, just above the bandage that was covering his wound.

Daryl let out a slow, shaky breath, then his arm settled around her, pulling her even closer.

For a long while, there was only the sound of his heartbeat and their breathing. Just when Beth was sure he had drifted off again, his voice, rough and quiet, like he was half-dreaming, broke the silence.

“Tell me somethin’ good.”

Beth was quiet for a moment, searching for something to say.

“You remember Nervous Nelly?” she finally asked.

“Damn horse.” Daryl muttered under his breath.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Well, when we first got her, she was a skittish little thing, only skin an' bones. Wouldn’t let anybody near her. Daddy said she came from a bad place, been passed around too much, never had anyone take the time to be patient with her.”

As she spoke, her fingertips traced slow, absentminded circles over his shirt.

“Everybody gave up on her, said she was more trouble than she was worth. But Maggie... she wanted that horse, even if it meant training her herself. Spent weeks just sittin’ in the stall, talkin’ real soft, letting Nelly get used to her. And one day, outta nowhere, Nelly just walked right up and nudged her hand. Like she finally decided she could trust her.“

Beth smiled at the memory. “Maggie was so happy, ran into the house screamin’ ‘She likes me! She finally likes me!‘“

She trailed off for a moment, lost in thought.

“She never really got over her nerves, but she was a good horse. You just had to know how to handle her.”

“Guess I couldn't,” Daryl murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

“Yeah, well... if we ever come across some horses again, I can show you how to do it.” Beth smirked, her tone turning playful. “We just gotta find you a cowboy hat first.”

“Ain’t wearin’ no damn cowboy hat.” he grumbled.

“No?“ Beth hummed like she was considering. “What about some cowboy pants?“

Daryl made a quiet noise, almost like a chuckle.

His arm tightened around her for a second, and she swore she felt the faintest ghost of a kiss press against the top of her head before he settled back.

Warmth spread through her, starting at the spot where he had kissed her and sinking deep into her chest.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered.

Beth let her heavy eyelids close.

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “You too.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Chapter 4: Alive

Daryl blinked awake, his eyes adjusting to the soft sunlight that filtered through the curtains. Beth was still asleep beside him, her head resting on one of the pillows, her hair spilling behind her like a gentle wave.

He didn’t move, just watched her for a while. Memorized the way the morning light traced her features, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly with each slow exhale. She looked peaceful. There were no worries creasing her face, no fear in her eyes.

No nightmares.

Most nights, he felt them before he heard them— her body tensing against his, her soft crying muffled in his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt like she was trying to ground herself. On the worst nights, she’d whisper “no“ over and over again, and all he could do was hold her tighter, smooth a hand over her hair, and murmur, “S’alright. You're alright“.

She never talked about them in the morning. And he never asked.

Carefully, he shifted, trying to climb out of bed without waking her. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd been stabbed and shot, and his healing wounds still ached as he pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge.

Behind him, Beth stirred. He froze, waiting for her breathing to even out again.

“You really shouldn’t be walkin’,” she’d told him on the second day when he’d tried to get up to take a piss outside. She held up a plastic bucket she’d found in the house, giving him a serious look.

He had just stared at her. “Ain’t usin’ that.”

“Daryl—”

“No.”

Beth had huffed in frustration, muttering something about him being a terrible patient, but she hadn’t pushed further. She didn’t need to, he already knew she was right. He’d felt the agonizing pull of his stitches with every little step as he made his way out to a tree behind the house. But there was no way in hell he was gonna lie in bed and piss in a damn bucket like some helpless old man.

With a slow exhale, he pressed a palm to his thigh and stood up. He limped out of the bedroom, grabbing his crossbow from where it leaned against the wall.

As he made his way down the hall, his eyes landed on the front door. The chair was still wedged under the knob, and Beth’s makeshift alarm—an old rope strung with empty cans—stretched from the doorknob to the window latch.

If anyone tried to force their way in, the noise would wake them instantly.

Daryl eased the chair away, careful not to scrape the wood. Then he worked the knot loose, one hand steadying the cans so they wouldn't clatter, and opened the door. He stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

His gaze drifted to the garage of the neighbooring house, half-hidden behind overgrown bushes. Beth had told him about the car she’d found in there. Said it looked decent, maybe even drivable. He hadn’t been able to check it out before. But now, with his strength slowly returning, he had to try.

He needed to do something. Be useful again.

When he reached the garage, he bent down and grabbed the handle, dragging it up inch by inch as it groaned on rusted rollers. Sunlight spilled across the concrete floor, revealing a red '90s Ford Explorer.

He set his crossbow down and ran a hand over the hood, brushing off a thick layer of dust before popping it open. The hinges creaked, but the engine looked... decent. Not perfect, but not dead either. Nothing that ducktape and a little elbow grease couldn’t fix.

The battery was probably dead, though. They might get lucky and find a spare, or some cables. Or worst case, they would just have to push start it. He checked the oil next, unscrewing the cap and giving the dipstick a quick look. Dark, but not sludgy. That was something. Fuel was the real question. He’d have to check the tank, maybe siphon some from lawnmowers or old generators.

One of the tires was flat, and the others had a bit of give when he nudged them with his boot. They definitely needed air. He glanced around and spotted one of those old-school foot-operated pumps in the corner of the garage.

Daryl circled around to the driver’s side and gave the handle a tug. It opened with a groan. The interior smelled like dust and old vinyl, with a faint trace of some sweet vanilla air freshener. He leaned in, scanning the dashboard and the console, before finding the keys sitting in the cup holder.

He picked them up and turned them over in his hand, about to try them in the ignition, when footsteps behind him made him pause.

“Daryl?”

Beth stepped inside the garage, golden morning light spilling in behind her, framing her like a halo. Her hair was messy from sleep, strands curling wildly around her face, and she clutched her pistol in both hands, her knuckles white.

“You scared the hell outta me.“ she said, her voice trembling despite the weak laugh she tried to give.

“Didn’t mean to,” he muttered, stepping away from the open car door. A sharp sting shot through his side when he straightened, but he masked the wince behind a quick sniff and glanced away from her. “Just wanted to see if it’ll run.”

“You’re still hurt, Daryl. You should be rest—”

“I’m restin’ enough,” he cut her off, and instantly regretted how harsh the words sounded. He let out a long breath, trying to soften his voice. “Really Beth. I'm fine. Just sick of sittin’ on my ass all day.“ He gave the Explorer’s roof a pat and leaned against it. “Gonna fix this thing so we ain’t stuck here forever.”

Beth nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I get it. But next time… wake me up, okay? Please.”

There was something in her voice that made his chest tighten, made his heart twist. She’d woken up alone, scared and thought something happened—

“C’mere.”

Beth didn’t hesitate. She walked right into him.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her melt into his chest, clutching the back of his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear again. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. She smelled like sunshine, like warmth, and something else that was just her, just Beth.

“We’ll fix it together,” she murmured into his shirt. “Alright?”

Daryl pulled back just enough to see her face. He brought a hand to her cheek, brushing the rough pad of his thumb over her soft skin.

“Alright,” he nodded. “Together.”

*

Beth wiped her hands on the hem of her shirt, smearing grease across the fabric. Her arms ached in a way that actually felt kind of good. Productive.

They’d been at it for hours.

Beth didn’t know much about engines or spark plugs or whatever the hell Daryl had been mumbling about under his breath earlier, but she’d learned enough to nod along. At some point, he’d cut a split hose clean with his knife, reconnected it using a short stretch of tubing they’d scavenged from an old lawnmower, and wrapped it tight with layer after layer of duct tape.

“Not ideal, but it’ll run,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.

She’d done her part too. While he worked on the engine, she’d gone searching through the garages of the next few houses down the street. Most were empty, long since picked clean, but behind a pile of old paint cans, she found a single red gasoline canister, almost completely full. She brought it back like some kind of trophy, grinning when Daryl gave her a thumbs up.

He showed her how to check the fluid levels, how to clamp jumper cables properly, and how to use the old foot pump she’d dragged out of the corner to put air in the tires. She loved the way he explained things, loved the way he talked her through the tasks in that gravel-soft voice of his, patient even when he pretended he wasn’t.

By afternoon, she watched him drag the jack out from under the workbench, his movements slower than they’d been in the morning. He crouched down beside the flat tire and flinched, one hand snapping down to clutch his injured thigh.

“Daryl,” she warned, already walking over to him.

“I got it,” he muttered without looking up from his work.

“No, you don’t,” she said firmly, kneeling down beside him. “You wanna hurt yourself? Fine. But you're not doin' it while I’m watching.”

He huffed through his nose, shooting her an amused look. “Fuckin’ bossy.”

“Yep,” she replied with a smirk, snatching the wrench from his hand.

He gave in after that, easing himself back onto the dusty floor with a grunt and watched as she took over. Beth had never changed a tire before, but he talked her through it, telling her which way to twist the lug nuts, how to position the jack and raise the car, how to line up the spare with the wheel studs. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, warm and intense.

The sun had moved across the sky and dipped low now, painting long shadows through the open garage door. Daryl slid into the driver’s seat, and twisted the key in the ignition. For a second, the engine coughed, but then it roared to life, sputtering for a moment before settling into a shaky but steady rhythm.

Beth let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Daryl gave the dash a pat like he was praising an old dog. “Told ya it’ll run.”

He sat back, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other still on the dash. The golden light from the setting sun streamed through the windshield, bathing his face in a warm orange glow, softening the lines of his expression.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

There was something about seeing him like that, so calm and proud, with grease smudged on his arms, sweat at his temples, and a slight flush to his skin from working in the heat. He looked so alive, so real and strong and utterly himself, and she felt a wave of heat rolling through her stomach.

Daryl glanced over, catching her staring. The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the direction of the house. “Best we get some shut-eye ‘fore we hit the road.”

Beth quickly nodded, feeling a little breathless.

They walked slowly across the cracked driveway and through the overgrown yard to the house. Daryl’s limp was still there, and she automatically slowed her steps to match his. The day’s work had worn him down, but he hadn’t said a word about it. Just like always.

“So,” she said, glancing at him as they walked. “Where we goin’?”

“I dunno,“ he looked over at her, his eyes soft. “Wherever you wanna go.”

That made her smile. As they climbed the porch steps together and stepped inside the house, she reached for his hand, threading their fingers together.

“Yeah? So we could go...to the beach? Swim in the ocean?“

Daryl snorted, his eyes dropping to their joined hands for a moment. “Mmh. Sure. Fight with sharks.”

She laughed and gently squeezed his hand. “You’d win.”

Inside the dim bedroom, Daryl reached for the matches and lit the candle on the bedside table. The warm glow flickered to life, casting soft shadows across the walls.

Beth closed the curtains. When she turned around again, her heart picked up speed. She bit her lip as her eyes traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way his arms moved when he shook out the match. She almost felt guilty for how much she wanted him. He was still healing, and they’d been working on the car all day, he had to be hurting now—

But then he looked at her.

And whatever it was in his eyes, it wasn’t pain. It wasn’t exhaustion.

It was something else. Something just as hungry and hesitant as what she was feeling.

She stepped closer. Close enough to breathe him in, to smell his sweat, the sun and the motor oil that was still clinging to his skin. She lifted a hand to his jaw, slow and careful, her thumb brushing along the stubble.

Daryl leaned ever so slightly into her touch, his eyes searching her face. “Beth...“ he breathed out.

Before she could think herself out of it, she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips against his.

He froze.

Her stomach dropped for half a second. What if she was wrong? What if he didn't want her like that? Was this just one of those things she’d built up in her head, only to find out it was never real?

But then his hands came up, rough and shaking, cradling her head as he kissed her back. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and a little clumsy as they moved against hers. She gasped softly when he deepened the kiss, her hands sliding down to grip the front of his shirt.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“Beth,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “We...we shouldn’t do this.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Why?”

He looked away from her, his jaw clenched.

“I ain’t...this ain’t right. After what these bastards tried to do to ya— “

Beth brought her hands to his face again, her thumbs pressing lightly into his jaw as she turned his face back toward her. “Don't.“ she whispered, eyes burning into his. “Don't make this about them, alright?“

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering between hers like he was trying to make sense of it all.

“I love you.“

Daryl stared at her for a long beat, like the words had knocked the breath clean out of him.

“You don’t have to say it back,” she added softly. “I just... I wanted you to know. And we don’t have to do anything right now, not if you don't want to—”

“I do,” he cut in. “God, Beth, I do.”

She barely had time to breathe before Daryl surged forward, his mouth crashing into hers. It wasn’t careful anymore. Wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate. His tongue explored her mouth like he was starving and she was the only thing left in the world worth tasting, like something inside him had finally snapped and there was no holding back now.

In one motion, he turned them both around, stumbling backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat down heavily, tugging Beth with him until she was straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. She braced her hands on his shoulders, careful not to press too hard against his healing wounds.

She shifted her hips just slightly, and that’s when she felt him, hard and straining beneath his jeans.

Her breath caught as heat twisted deep in her belly. She kissed along his jaw and down his neck, her hand sliding between them. When her palm moved gently over the bulge in his pants, Daryl's hips instinctively bucked up into her touch.

“Oh, fuck.” he gasped, his breath coming in short, shaky pants.

Beth's whole body thrummed with arousal. It pulsed low in her belly, curled tight between her legs, her panties already soaked, and the layers between them started to become unbearable.

“Can I...” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the waistband of his jeans. “take 'em off?“

He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers, pupils blown wide, and gave a short, breathless nod.

Beth climbed off his lap, her fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. Daryl lifted his hips to help her as she tugged his jeans and boxers down together, careful not to disturb the bandage on his thigh.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and Daryl made a rough, needy sound that shot straight through her. He looked up at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving.

It made her feel bold. Brave.

She undid her jeans with steady hands, sliding them and her underwear down past her hips. She kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans and panties the rest of the way, tossing everything aside, before she climbed back onto his lap.

His cock pressed against her bare stomach, leaving a smear of precum on her skin, and Daryl choked out a groan. Beth reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, throwing it behind her.

“Touch me,” she said, gently taking his hands and guiding them up her thighs, over her waist, then higher, until they cupped her breasts. His thumbs moved over her nipples in slow, teasing circles, and Beth moaned, her back arching into his touch.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, and leaned in, his nose brushing her breastbone. “So fuckin' perfect.“ He pressed open-mouthed kisses all over her skin, before his mouth closed over her nipple, warm, wet, and hungry. His tongue circled it, suckled softly, and the sound Beth made was half gasp, half whimper. Her fingers slid into his hair, threading through it and holding him close.

Her other hand reached down between them, fingers wrapping around his cock, her thumb gliding across the sensitive head, spreading his slickness.

“Fuck — ” he moaned against her breast.

“You feel so good,” she gasped, her lips brushing the curve of his ear. She kept stroking him slowly, base to tip, admiring how hard he was for her, how soft his skin felt under her touch. “I wanna know what you feel like inside me.“

Daryl's forehead dropped against her collarbone, a shudder running through him, and for a moment, all she could hear was the uneven rasp of his breathing.

“Beth,“ he almost pleaded, his voice hoarse and barely more than a breath. “It ain't safe...ain't safe for you.”

Her hand slipped from his hair to his jaw, gently cupping his face, her thumb brushing along the curve of his cheekbone. His eyes flicked up, their noses nearly touching. “Nothing's safe anymore,” she whispered. “And I'm not scared of it. Not if it's with you.”

“You really want this?”

Her answer was a breath against his lips. “Yeah. Please, Daryl, I need you.”

A rough groan tore from his chest as his hands slipped down to her thighs, steadying her as she shifted her weight, lifting herself just slightly. She guided him to her entrance and sank down on him slowly, gasping at the stretch.

She paused once he was fully inside, letting her body adjust around him, her forehead dropping against his.

Daryl's hands found her hips as she started to move, rising just enough to feel the full drag of him before sliding back down. The shuddering whimper that escaped him sent hot sparks shooting through her belly.

“Shit, girl,” he choked out, eyes squeezed shut like he was barely holding on. “Ain't gonna last long.”

“It’s okay.” She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You don't have to.“

Daryl leaned forward, his lips brushing her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. One hand stayed firm on her hip, guiding her rhythm, while the other slid down from her waist until his palm pressed firmly against her mound.

His thumb found her clit, circling with slow, maddening pressure.

“C'mon, girl, I wanna feel it,” he whispered, teeth gritted. “Wanna feel you come around me.“

Her breath hitched, her hips rolling against his. He kept rubbing small, insistent circles over her clit, in rhythm with the movement of her body. She was trembling now, her moans getting higher, tighter.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice tight, strained. “Take what you need. Take it from me.”

Beth’s hands clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as she felt the tight knot in her stomach about to come undone. She moved faster, chasing her own pleasure, and Daryl met her every thrust, panting, kissing her throat.

“Daryl,” she gasped. “I—I'm close, I'm so close—”

“Let go for me,” he begged. “C'mon, baby, let me feel it.”

She did. Her muscles tensed around him, her rhythm faltered, and her thighs began to shake when the rush of heat and pleasure pulsed through her in crashing waves.

Daryl pulled her tight against him, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head as he wrapped his arms around her. He thrusted up into her once, twice, and then he was spilling inside her with a desperate, broken sound.

His body went slack, and he let himself fall back, taking her with him. His back hit the mattress, Beth sprawled over his chest, her cheek pressed against his neck. Both of them were breathless, their hearts thudding hard in sync, their bodies still connected.

They stayed like that for a moment, until Beth felt the faint, involuntary wince that rippled through him, the way his breath caught just a little too sharp.

She shifted quickly, lifting herself off of him, careful not to put any weight on his stomach. He let out a long breath, clearly grateful, but didn’t say anything. She cuddled up to his side instead, and his arm wrapped around her instantly, pulling her close like he couldn’t stand the idea of her being even an inch away.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her hand sliding gently over his torso, fingers ghosting over the bandage. “Did I hurt you?”

Daryl’s eyes blinked open, sleepy and half-lidded. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a long moment before giving a faint snort, as if the question was absurd.

“Ain’t I the one s’posed to ask that?”

Beth lifted her brows at him. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one with stitches,” she said, giving the bandage a light tap.

“Don’t matter,” he murmured. “Could've ripped 'em all. Still would’ve been worth it.”

She shook her head slightly at his words, trying to push away the memories that came rushing in— his blood on her hands, his torn flesh, the choking panic tightening her chest when she realized it was up to her to save him. He could’ve died. Almost did. And somehow, that still seemed to haunt her more than it did him. But she didn’t argue. Not right now.

Instead, she snuggled closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Daryl reached down and tugged the blanket up over them both with his free hand, tucking it around her back.

They lay in silence for a while, his heartbeat under her cheek and their combined breathing the only sounds.

Daryl’s hand moved slowly, lazily, tracing along her spine beneath the blanket like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it. Beth melted into him, her body relaxing more with each gentle touch.

“You meant it?”

Beth blinked. “Meant what?”

There was a pause, like he had to work up the nerve to say it. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, uncertain. “What you said… y’know. ‘Bout lovin’ me, or whatever.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes gleaming with something between amusement and tenderness. “Or whatever?” she teased gently.

He huffed and looked away, jaw tight like he already regretted bringing it up.

Beth reached out, fingers combing through his messy hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “You mean when I told you that I love you?”

His throat bobbed in a hard swallow. He gave a tiny nod, eyes flicking up to hers, then away again.

“I do.” she said softly. “I love you. And you better get used to hearing that.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes darting across her face. Then without a word, he pulled her to him again, tight against his chest. One hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head. Her face was pressed to the space between his collarbone and throat, and she could feel his mouth move when he murmured into her hair, his voice low and fond.

“Crazy girl.”

Beth smiled against his skin, arms wrapping around his middle. They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten, his hand combing gently through her hair.

Just as her breathing began to slow and her body softened into sleep, she heard him again, barely a whisper.

“I love you too.”

Her lips curved into a smile once more. Oh, how beautiful it was to be alive. How beautiful it was to be alive with him.

With that as her last thought, she fell asleep in his arms.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading. This chapter was a bit difficult for me to write, especially since it’s my first time writing smut. I hope it came across okay and that you enjoyed it!