Walking Dead 1. It Goes Like This

The sound of screeching tires had barely registered over the hammering of Daryl's heart, pumped full with fear and adrenaline.

Always having been a man of action, he had wasted no time before pushing forward and forcing his muscles to burn with exertion. He ran and ran, and ran. He ran until he couldn't run anymore, and then he sunk to his knees and wondered how he had let himself forget what being alone felt like.

In 37 years, Daryl Dixon had never felt as alone as he did, breathing like thunder in the middle of that dirt road. Everything after that had happened in slow motion, blurring together in the worst way. It had been easy for Daryl to follow Joe's group. With the practiced patience of years spent in Meryl's shadow he had sunken into their black and white structure almost seamlessly. Still, he could never quite get rid of that soft voice inside of his head telling him he was better, he was good. He tried to ignore it because she was gone. She was gone and he wasn't better or good, or anything.

It was probably poetic that when he'd found Rick it had been on the side of the road, next to a beat up old truck. Cars and trucks meant movement and movement meant life. It also meant distance and distance was what pulled at Daryl's insides every moment since he'd watched her disappear. Maybe finding Rick next to that truck had been more ironic than poetic. But everything that had happened after was hard and wrong. The burning pit that had been growing in his gut had erupted the second he'd heard Rick's voice, seen him rip out a man's throat with his bare teeth.

The voice had been right. He was better than those men. He still wasn't convinced that he was good, not without her, but he was better.

Sitting next to Rick and staring at the smudges of blood melting into his skin had been sobering. It had brought him back to earth and out of the reverie he'd been living in. He had felt in his bones that Terminus was a bad idea, the same way he felt that tug to track and find, and hold. But he was too scared to hope for anything more and too tired to be alone again. So he had followed Rick, in a way that was more comfortable than following Joe or even Meryl, and he'd made his way to Terminus.

His instincts had been right but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry when Glenn and Maggie had stepped out from the shadows of the boxcar. Beth had been right about the others surviving. She had been right to hope.

Her absence felt loud and full. But the gaping hole she'd left in his chest began to fill with something else. He was hesitant to call it hope because that notion had never gotten him very far. It was more like sureness, the feeling that she was still out there waiting for him. Good people didn't survive anymore but maybe people like Beth did, people who were more than good.

"Does anyone know what happened to Beth? After the prison…" It had been pitch black and nearly silent when Maggie had finally asked the question Daryl had been dreading.

Rick looked right at him but aside from a few whispered apologies and shrugs, no one said a word. He felt something strange tear at his throat, a sound or a feeling trying to get out. But he swallowed it and looked down at his feet.

"I looked for her on the bus but it was so hard to tell, I don't know. She probably- she wasn't meant for this," she'd stuttered quietly.

It might have been her gentle dismissal that ripped the words from his throat, or maybe everyone's easy acceptance. But before he knew what was happening he was filling up the boxcar with her name and their story. "She was with me. After the prison fell, Beth got out with me."

Her absence spoke louder than ever after his admission and Maggie's sharp gasp was the only sound heard for several moments.

"What happened to her?" Glenn finally asked covering Maggie's quiet sniffling with his question.

"Car took'er. Just… took her," he'd said numbly.

Maggie had yelled after that. She'd cried and hit his chest until Glenn had pulled her away. Daryl couldn't hear her words, blood rushing through his ears in waves, but he knew what she was saying. He'd said the same things and hated himself in the same way.

"Do you think she's dead?" Maggie asked hours later.

"Might not be," he muttered, refusing to make eye contact. She'd sat herself beside him then, knees drawn up and chin quivering.

She was direct in a way that made Daryl uncomfortable. Her father had been the same way, straight forward not just with words but with feelings and intentions. Beth was more subtle about things. She let people see what she wanted them to see and kept the rest for herself. But when it counted, when it mattered she'd say her piece clear enough to make you wonder how you could have missed it. It was all right there in her eyes, in the way she set her mouth and held her shoulders. So raw you had to look away.

"She, was she okay? After the prison…" she swallowed.

Daryl nodded abruptly. He could feel her gaze burning against the side of his head and he looked down at the broken skin of his knuckles. "She was Beth," he rasped.

Maggie snorted, covering her mouth with a hand and choking on laughter and dry sobs. "She musta drove you crazy huh?" She breathed raggedly.

He chanced a look in her direction and she caught his gaze, the saddest smile he'd ever seen stretched across her face. "Probably kept me sane," he admitted quietly.

"Yeah?"

He nodded a bit and shrugged his shoulders. "We get out of here, maybe look for her a while, maybe she's…"

"You'd do that?" Maggie asked, eyes widening a bit in surprise. He felt his throat close up, full with things he'd never said. Instead he shrugged again and looked away.

They spent nearly 48 hours in the boxcar, hating each other in complicated ways but hating the people outside more. Rick had been determined and ready, talking through different plans and looking at the door with fire in his eyes. He'd turned those same eyes towards Daryl more than once saying things like, "It aint your fault" and "I need you with me." It hadn't helped much but at least it was something.

Getting out of Terminus had been Daryl's favorite kind of mess. It was bloody and chaotic in a way his whole life had readied him for. Carol and Tyreese had integrated into the society, too smart to challenge the rules with a baby by their side. They had figured out what was going on in the boxcars and Tyreese managed to sneak out several members of the group while Carol did her best to protect Judith. By the time the guards noticed what was going on Daryl was armed with a semi-automatic. He wasn't much for guns but they made one hell of a statement.

When all was said and done, they'd fought their way out of Terminus tooth and nail. It hadn't been easy or pretty, and it couldn't really be called a win. Bob took a round to his chest, a choked curse falling from his lips before Sasha put a bullet in his head. She didn't falter or pause, not until they were three miles into the woods and her body collapsed against a tree with silent sobs.

Glenn had taken a bullet to the side and Maggie had screamed so loud she'd drowned out all seven shots she'd fired into the offenders face. Abraham had launched Glenn over his shoulders like a baby deer, blood dripping down his massive arms as Rosetta carved a hole in the fence for them to slip through. In the thick of the woods Carol looked over Glenn's wound, deeming it a near miracle that no vital organs seemed to have been hit. The biggest worry was the bleeding, but after setting up parameters and selfishly cursing Bob's absence, they'd slowed the bleeding enough to take a breath.

They moved carefully for the next two days. It was too slow for Daryl's liking but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open. On the third day, Carol had gone with him to scout the dirt road just through the thinnest part of the woods. That was the day he finally saw what he hadn't even known he'd been looking for.

It was the car again.

It wasn't actually the same car but it had the same cross in the back window, pulling the breath out of him and launching him forward like a bullet.

"Daryl! Daryl wait!" Carol called.

Her words got lost in the screech of tires and the scrape of his feet against the dirt. Panic welled in him at the site of the car disappearing. Before he could think twice he was pulling a pistol from his belt and firing it at the car's tires. The bullet missed the tire by a few centimeters, but the sound startled the driver into swerving sharply. The car stalled as it hit a shallow ditch and Daryl used the opportunity to quicken his pace and catch up with the vehicle. He could see the driver frantically hitting the gas and switching gears in an attempt to get out of the ditch. Sprinting around the car, Daryl caught sight of a dark skinned man in his late thirties, with a priest collar adorning his shirt. Stepping in front of the car, he pocketed his gun and aimed his bow right at the man's skull.

"Out," he ordered. The man raised his hands carefully, muttering some kind of plea or explanation. Daryl didn't know and didn't care, because the second the man stepped out of the car he had him pinned against the door with an ugly slam.

Dropping his bow, he used both hands to clench the man's shirt and slam him into the door again and again. Shaking with a rage he couldn't name, he leaned in close and looked the man right in the eyes.

"Where is she?" Daryl's words came out quiet and hurried. The pressure in his chest made him feel like he should have been yelling but his lungs wouldn't cooperate enough to let him scream the way he wanted to.

"I don't know who- where is who?" the man stuttered nervously. His brown eyes were wide with fear as he hunched into himself as much as he could.

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty..." he huffed, slamming the man against the car again. "Where is she," he gritted.

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know," he repeated. He squeezed his eyes shut, flinching like he was going to be hit again. Daryl sneered at the action, feeling the rage bubble inside of him.

"You kidnap girls often? Can't even keep em' straight no more?" he spat, shifting his forearm to rest against the man's throat and block his airway.

"No! No," he wheezed.

"Where the fuck is Beth, huh? Where is she?"

"I don't know-"

"Did ya kill her? You hurt her? I swear to God you piece of shit..." he reared his arm back, balling his hand into a fist.

"Daryl!" Carol's voice called out to him from somewhere in the distance. He paused for a moment before shaking his head and letting his arm do what felt right, what felt natural.

Two punches later arms with more force than Carol could rightly possess were wrestling him backwards away from the man. Elbowing his way out of the grip Daryl turned to find Rick behind him, Carol panting a few feet away with her gun trained on the man. Rick held his hands up cautiously, lowering his head like he was approaching some kind of wild animal.

"Daryl..." Rick began.

"I didn't take any girl," the man spoke, spitting a mouthful of blood.

"Shut up," Carol advised, cocking her gun purposefully. "Daryl what's going on here?"

"I'm a man of God. I would never-"

"Shut up," Rick snapped. "I was checking the snares with Carl when I heard Carol scream. Told him to stay put and came runnin'. You wanna tell me what the hell this is about?"

All eyes were on Daryl but he remained silent, starring at the man who's bald head was bent as he mouthed some kind of prayer, his hands clasped tightly. When Daryl moved towards him again Rick caught his arm and held it firmly, jostling it until he made eye contact.

"Talk to us man."

The silence that stretched out was deafening until Carol stepped closer and shoved her gun to the man's head. "You tell me this man deserves to die and I'll put a bullet in him myself. We trust you and we're with you. But you gotta tell us what's going on here Daryl," she said.

"He took her," he finally muttered.

"I didn't take anyone. I haven't even seen another human for weeks."

"He's got the same damn cross sticking to his back window Rick. I ran after that car all night, I'd know it anywhere," Daryl insisted.

"It wasn't me!"

"Are you sure it's the same car?" Rick asked.

"The car... the car aint the same. But the cross is. The cross is his and if the cross is his then he took her."

Rick looked around uncertainly, dragging a hand down his face and shaking his head. "Shit man, hell. If it aint the same car then maybe he's tellin' the truth."

"I'm a man of God. A man of honor," he began again.

"You're full of shit!" Daryl yelled, jabbing a finger in his direction.

"Now hold on, just hold on Daryl. We can't kill him cause he's got a cross in his window," Rick reasoned.

"It's the same damn cross!"

"I swear to you..." the priest swallowed the rest of his words when Carol jammed the gun up against his throat.

"Do you like pretty little blonde girls father? Cause I had a little girl once, she was pretty, had blonde hair. She was real sweet and the world wasn't kind enough to her. It's never kind enough to girls like that," she paused to push the gun against him harder. "You wanna swear something? You swear that you don't know what happened to that girl. And you pray that I believe you."

"Carol. Take it easy," Rick warned.

"I didn't take her," the man repeated. His eyes fell shut hopelessly, his body slumping with exhaustion. "But I might know who did."

Daryl rushed towards the man before anyone could say another word. It was Carol who grabbed him then, silencing his protests with a stern glance and blocking the man from his reach.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"Father Gabriel. Gabriel..."

"You were a priest?" Rick questioned him.

"I still am."

"Can't nobody give themselves titles like that anymore," Daryl sneered.

"It's not just a title," he replied, eyes stealing with something that looked a lot like determination.

"Look we're wasting time with all this back and forth. Just tell us what you know about Beth. Do you know where she is, if she's alive?" Rick urged.

"I - I can't say. The men who I think may have taken her, they aren't good men. They stole a car I had been using a couple of months ago. That's why you recognized the cross in the window," he explained.

"You seem to have found yourself a new car pretty quickly," Carol noted skeptically.

"We had two cars for a long time. Me and, well there was a group of us. We had secured a church and were using the cars to bring people to safety. The men who took the car called themselves Samuel and Jackson. They came into the church one day and pointed their guns at us. They were evil men and they did evil things, horrible things..." Gabriel clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly for a moment. "They killed everyone, laughed in my face and asked me where God was. Then they took our supplies and the car, and left."

"You were the only one they left alive?" Rick asked.

"Yes."

"If what you're saying is the truth, then we're very sorry for what happened to you. But you can understand why we'd be cautious. We've dealt with our fair share of evil men ourselves," Carol sighed.

"I understand," he nodded.

"Any idea where these men might be staying?" Rick asked.

Gabriel nodded hesitantly. "I saw the car parked outside of a house a few miles north. I didn't think- I didn't know they had a girl…"

"Can you find it again?" Carol asked.

"I just wanted to get as far away from them as possible. I didn't think-"

"Do you know where the house is?" Daryl snapped. Gabriel nodded shortly, backing away from Daryl's looming presence.

"We should take him back to the group. Let the others hear what he has to say and then decide what to do," Rick said.

Daryl had begun shaking his head before Rick finished speaking. "Nah. Like you said, all we're doin' here is wastin' time. I aint waitin' around for some group vote. I'm findin' her."

"Maggie deserves to hear this Daryl," Carol tried.

"Don't care," he grunted, moving towards the car. "You two wanna deliver the telegraph, go right ahead. Me an padre here are gonna head up the road and find that damn house," he said, grabbing Gabriel by the arm and leading him to the passenger's side of the car.

"Wait," Rick huffed.

Daryl paused with his hand on the side of the door and his eyebrows raised.

"I'll go with you," he nodded. "Carol you should head back to camp, find Carl and take him with you. Tell the others what's going on and keep everyone calm. We'll check out this house, see if they're still there."

"What exactly should I tell Maggie to keep her from running after you all?" she wondered.

Rick chuckled knowingly and shrugged. "Just ah, tell her we'll meet with you all at the camp before following any leads. If we find Beth we'll bring her back and if not, we'll decide what to do next as a group."

Daryl snorted humorlessly before shoving Gabriel all the way into the car and slamming the door. He made his way to the driver's side, not sparing a glance to see if Rick was following.

"Keep an eye on him," Carol said, nodding towards Daryl. Rick eyed her critically for a moment before nodding shortly. She returned the gesture before backing away and watching him maneuver into the back seat.

There was a look in Daryl's eye that neither Carol nor Rick could recognize. It was unsettling and magnetic all at the same time. His determination was familiar but the urgency worried Rick. Seeing that unnamed recklessness had prompted him to give in and join Daryl. Rick couldn't stop him from rushing in blind, but he could stand by his side. He could watch his back and offer his shoulder.

It wouldn't be easy and it wouldn't be pretty. But, sometimes the hardest things were the most worthwhile. They owed it to Beth to try. And Daryl knew that for his own sake he'd better do a hell of a lot more than that. He needed to find her.

* * *

**Notes** : This is my first venture into Walking Dead fiction. I'm not sure how long this will be, but as of now I have 5 chapters written. It should be noted that I have a fantastic beta reader, Angela, helping me with this. Her feedback and critiques have been key in getting this going. I have also been listening to Hallelujah on loop as the title suggests and have found a lot of inspiration in the lyrics.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the story. I would appreciate any comments or feedback. Thank you for reading!


	2. The Fourth, The Fifth

The short drive up the road was silent until Gabriel pointed to a dingy little shack stuck to the top of a steep hill. He closed his eyes as they pulled into the narrow drive way, stopping short behind a black sedan. It was the car that took Beth. Jerking their own car forward several more inches, Daryl stopped just shy of hitting the other bumper. He gripped the steering wheel tightly before slamming a hand down and shoving the gear into park.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, switching off the engine and opening his door.

Rick reached out a hand to stop him, "Wait a minute now. We can't just go in there without a plan," he reasoned. Daryl stared at him intently for a moment before shaking his arm away and climbing out of the car. He slammed his door pointedly and walked around to the other side, hitting the hood with the underside of his fist.

"The plan is ta get Beth back."

Without sparing another glance, he began to charge towards the door, bow across his chest and Rick on his heels.

"Daryl! Daryl stop, just stop for a second," Rick hissed. But Daryl didn't falter for a second.

As he made his way up the rickety steps towards the door, he noticed blood had been smeared across the railing and dribbled along the stairs. It was dark and faded, too old to tell him much. The door was wedged open but just as Daryl moved to push it further a startled gasp drew his attention away.

A rotting corpse was leaning towards the priest with its arms outstretched. Gabriel let out a strangled yell and jumped out of the way. "I don't, I can't..." Gabriel slid against the side of the car, narrowly dodging a brittle hand. He stumbled backwards, eyes never leaving the walker as it shuffled towards him.

"Daryl," Rick called, tipping his head towards the bow.

Cursing under his breath, Daryl aimed an arrow at the walker's head, letting it fly just seconds before it fell into the terrified priest. Gabriel tripped over his feet, dodging the corpse as it collapsed onto the ground before looking up at Daryl in surprise.

"Doors open," Daryl said, inclining his head towards the house and turning his back once more. The priest was still stuttering out some kind of apology or prayer but Daryl was reaching for the door, too focused to care.

"You don't know what you might be walking into," Rick whispered, hurrying closer and readying his gun.

"Only one way to find out."

"Just think for a second Daryl. Be smart about this," he argued.

But being smart had never meant the same thing to Daryl that it did to other people. At ten years old he'd learned that being smart meant finding food and staying out of sight. At thirty five he'd learned that sometimes letting go of the past meant making room for something better. And at thirty seven he knew that being smart wasn't about doing the smart thing, it was about doing the right thing. The thing your gut burned like fire for and the thing your bones started to run towards before your head caught up.

"I am," he breathed, stepping into the house and wincing as the floorboards creaked.

The air was thick with the stench of decay and a layer of filth nipped at his skin. He took a few careful steps until the heel of a boot came into view. Holding his breath he leaned forward to see the body of a man spread out on the carpet. Most of his torso and limbs had been eaten and his insides were strewn in pieces across the floor. A wide stain of blood had settled around him, and what was left of his face looked to have been human with a bullet lodged right between his eyes.

"You check the front rooms, I'll clear the back," Rick instructed, shouldering past him and glancing at the corpse.

Ignoring the order, Daryl knelt down next to the body, a strange sense of familiarity looming in the air. He looked over the man, hoping for some kind of sign or clue that Beth was alive. He searched for her along the dirty walls and in the dust filled glasses next to the recliner. He squinted his eyes looking for blonde hairs or tiny prints.

He squinted so hard he saw stars in the shape of her smile.

"Come on girl, where ya at?" he muttered, standing up and scratching at his chin.

"Daryl!" Rick called.

Following Rick's voice to a small back room, he noted more streaks of blood scattered along the short hall. "Find anything?" he asked anxiously.

"Looks like some kinda' struggle," Rick pointed, directing his gaze towards a large mess of dried blood across the floor.

Daryl's eyes shot down to the floor, following a streak of blood until it came to a pile of clothes and blankets in the corner. "Hell..." he uttered sharply. Taking two large strides he bent forward towards the pile and picked up a grime covered shirt. "Was hers," he swallowed.

"That shirt?" Rick asked, eyeing the filthy scrap. "You sure?"

"She was wearin' it the night they took her."

"Daryl, are you sure?"

"It's hers," he ground out.

Rick looked at him long and hard before nodding. "Okay then. Let's see if we can figure out what happened here," he sighed. He put a hand behind his neck and rubbed it tiredly. "Like I said, it looks like there was some kind of struggle here. If Gabriel was right about there bein' two men then I'd guess the body we found out front is one of 'em. The other was probably with her in here at some point. The amount of blood in here and out there don't add up to just one person."

"Think she got away?" Daryl asked.

"She might have," Rick answered. He paused for a moment looking unsure. "Can't rule out the possibility that some of it's hers."

"How the hell'd that bastard in there die then, huh? His buddy just decide to kill him on a whim?" Daryl argued.

"She mighta' tried to run, shot the one guy and got caught by the other. Mighta' been what caused the struggle in here," Rick offered.

"Nah," Daryl spat. He shook his head, gripping the shirt and twisting it between his fingers.

"We gotta be prepared for the worst."

"The worst's already happened. It keeps happening and being prepared don't help none," he snapped.

"I'm just saying that if we follow this lead, you might not like what you find," Rick reasoned.

"Don't matter. I gotta."

"Alright man, alright. I get it."

They searched around the room for a few minutes to see if they could find anything else that might tell them something about what had happened. When they came up empty they followed the blood smears back outside and onto the stairs. Father Gabriel was standing near the dead walker outside, kneeling close with a pained look on his face. He startled and stood when he heard Rick and Daryl coming down the steps, moving towards them slowly.

"I believe this man is- well, used to be Samuel. His face is unrecognizable but he had a tattoo on the side of his neck. Some of it is still visible, though just barley," he said wearily.

"Shit if that's one of 'em and the other son of a bitch took a bullet to the skull, then maybe she did get away." Daryl hustled down the steps, shoulders set with determination.

"Worth a look," Rick agreed. "Be a damn miracle if we find her but..."

"Think we're due for a miracle," Daryl cut in. "Least she is," he added softly.

Rick stared at him strangely, making a soft noise in the back of his throat and setting a hand on his hip. Daryl shifted on his feet before squaring his chest defensively. "What?" he grunted.

"Nothin' just…nothing. We should head back to camp and let the others know what's going on," Rick said.

"You go ahead. Ima' take a look around, see if I can pick up a trail," Daryl grunted, leaning down to peer at a dark stain of blood lining the railing. He followed the dried splatters until he reached the car. It was covered in dust and grime, but there were several distinct smudges of blood on the door handle and driver's side window. The inside of the car looked a bit disheveled with more bloody prints along the steering wheel.

"Daryl you gotta come back with us. It's gonna be dark soon," Rick tried.

"Looks like she mighta' tried ta use the car. Probably couldn't find the keys an get it started so she gave up," he mused, still staring at the dark smears.

"We can come back in the morning when it's light. We'll put together some search groups and see what we can find."

"The blood looks at least a couple of weeks old. She could be anywhere by now," Daryl muttered.

"Let's just head back to camp and-"

"I aint heading back to camp."

Rick stepped towards him, eyebrows raised knowingly. "You think you can track a two or three week old trail in the dark?"

"She's been out there, she's…" He shook his head in frustration.

"Uh, gentlemen. I think we may have company," Gabriel interrupted, shrinking backwards as much as he could.

Raising their weapons, Rick and Daryl turned towards the road to see Maggie and Glenn walking up the steep driveway. Maggie started jogging towards them, sucking in shallow terrified breaths. "Is she here? Did you find anything?" she called.

"I told Carol to keep you all at the camp," Rick huffed.

"She's my baby sister," Maggie spat, looking up at the house with apprehension.

"We followed your tire tracks. Maggie was… insistent," Glenn explained, holding a hand to his side as he caught up.

"Anything?" she directed at Daryl.

"Couple-a dead bodies, probably the pricks that took 'er. Found her shirt too. She was here," he confirmed.

"Oh my God," she said, dropping her head with a shuttered breath.

"She's alive then. Two kidnappers, two dead bodies and no Beth. She got away." Glenn chanced a brief smile and squeezed Maggie's shoulders.

"Whatever happened here probably happened weeks ago. It's hard to say where she might be now," Rick mentioned.

"What the hell are we wasting time standin' around for then?" Maggie asked.

"Maggie," Glenn began.

"She's right. We're wastin' the last bit of daylight we got," Daryl agreed.

"We need to be smart about this," Rick argued.

Maggie stepped towards him jaggedly. "If this were Carl would you be sayin' the same thing?"

Rick just shook his head, moving to grip her shoulder but retracting his hand when she pulled away. "I want to find her too. Believe me I do. But we gotta do this right," he sighed.

"I can't just sit on my ass and stare at the sky knowing my sister is out there somewhere. You can't ask me to," she swallowed.

"No I guess not," he uttered tiredly.

"If you'll excuse me I uh- I might have a compromise," Gabriel offered.

"What's that?" Rick asked.

"We split into two groups. One group heads further north to look for signs of the girl, the other group heads east. It's the only other road around and just deserted enough that she might have chanced it. We look until it gets dark and then head back to your camp to compare notes. It won't put anyone at risk and it'll give you an idea of which direction she might have headed."

"That sounds reasonable," Glenn agreed.

Rick nodded and looked towards Maggie. She hesitated and glanced at Daryl. They held each other's gaze for a moment before blinking away purposefully. "Fine," she said.

After that the group quickly decided that Gabriel would drive his car north along with Maggie and Glenn. Glenn was unwilling to leave Maggie's side and Gabriel was adamant that he stay with his car. Daryl hot-wired the other car and begrudgingly agreed to go east with Rick. He felt more comfortable on foot but he knew that time was pressing.

The two men remained silent as they headed down the dirt road, but Daryl could tell that Rick was biting his tongue. The other man had something to say and the weight of it was nearly tangible. But Daryl didn't ask and Rick didn't offer, so they rode in silence, racing against the ever dimming sky.

About five miles down the road they came to an old clunker with the trunk ajar. Daryl pulled up to it and shoved the car into park. Rick's brow furrowed as he climbed out of the car. "You see something?" he asked.

"We hid out in an old Cadillac trunk once. Spent the whole night while a heard passed by," he explained, lifting the trunk and peering inside.

The car was filthy, covered in dirk and rot. But underneath a thin layer of dust were several deep red prints, outlining fingers clear as day. Daryl felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. He looked around the trunk hoping for more, needing to find every piece she'd left behind.

"You think she was here?" Rick asked.

"Had to of been. One of the head lights is kicked out," he pointed to the missing glass. "Like an air hole," he added.

Rick squinted thoughtfully. "She coulda' spent the night in there, figuring it's safer than anything else while she's alone."

"We're on the right track," Daryl said, slamming the trunk back down and examining the road.

They climbed back into the car, eyes alert and eager. They drove another couple of miles before coming to a small suburban neighborhood. Daryl hesitated for a moment before turning onto a secluded little street with picturesque houses and broken down picket fences. Up ahead he could see a fairly large cluster of walkers roaming the street.

"We should head back," Rick mentioned, hand clenching at his gun as they neared the walkers.

"Not yet," Daryl replied. He steered the car around several walkers and sped up to pass them.

But he jerked the car to a sudden stop when his eyes caught the deserted piece of land the walkers were scavenging across. What had once been a picture perfect house had been burned to the ground. The sight of ashes and charred wood nearly stopped his heart and he slammed the breaks, throwing the car in park and ignoring Rick's protests. He leaped out with his cross bow raised and took three consecutive shots, hitting his mark every time.

Rick cursed loudly before crabbing his knife and joining Daryl outside. There were nearly fifteen walkers headed towards them, arms outstretched and grabbing. But Daryl barley paused at the sight. They weren't a danger or a liability. They were just another thing standing between him and finding Beth. And just like when he'd run after that car all night long, he didn't stop firing his arrows or swinging his knife until he fell to his knees. He was covered in gore and weak with desperation when a walker loomed over him, lunging at his neck.

Decaying hands whispered across his skin when Rick fired the first and only bullet they'd risked, dropping the walker before it could grip him. Daryl shoved it to the side, stumbling to his feet and breathing hard.

"What the hell were you thinking, stopping in the middle of this shit?" Rick asked.

"She was here," Daryl coughed. He reached down to pull an arrow from a walkers head only to re-load it and take down one that wasn't quite dead.

"You almost got us killed!"

"Wasn't no almost. We've had plenty a closer calls," he argued.

"Not by choice."

"Aint like that. I just know she was here," he said surely. "We'da had ta go through them one way or another. Might as well get it done with and be on our way," he finished.

"You aint thinking straight," Rick sighed.

"Beth was here," he ground out. "We're lookin' for Beth. The hell isn't straight about that thinkin? I'm just following her trail."

"I know that. But there's no shame in slowing down and takin' a minute to breath."

Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose before waving his bow in frustration. "You keep sayin' that shit! Saying we should take our time like this aint the end of the god damn world," he cussed bitterly. "Could die any minute an how many a those we already wasted, huh?"

"Just…" Rick stopped himself short, unsure of what to say. Daryl was right in so many ways, but nothing was black and white anymore. The rightness of his words couldn't negate the real danger he'd put them in. The kind of recklessness Daryl was riding was familiar to Rick in the worst kind of way.

"Slow down," Daryl muttered to himself, dragging a body out from in front of the car. "Middle of the fucking apocalypse…"

Glancing back at the house, he took in the charred wood and blackened frame. It didn't look like the fire had lasted long. But enough of the house was burnt for it to leave an impression. Someone had definitely torched the place. And Daryl knew with everything in him that it had been Beth.

As they headed back to the car Rick didn't bother trying to reason with him again. Resting his knuckles against the door handle, Daryl had told Rick he could take the car back to camp. He said he would walk the rest of the way if he had to but he wasn't stopping. Rick had known he'd meant it, so he'd opened the passenger side door and climbed in silently.

"Sometimes I forget how headstrong you can be," Rick spoke several minutes later as they clunked along the broken road.

"Hmm," Daryl grunted.

"Shoulda' known better than to try and keep you from finding someone you care about," he continued. He glanced at Daryl out of the corner of his eyes, pausing as though he were waiting for the other man to deny the words. But Daryl's only response was to clench his hands against the steering wheel and add the slightest bit of pressure to the gas peddle.

"S'getting' dark," Daryl mentioned. He looked at Rick expectantly.

"Mhm…"

"Maggie'll probably lose it when we don't show up at camp," he added.

"Oh, I'm sure she will," Rick chuckled.

"You aint gonna tell me to go back again?" he asked skeptically.

"If I thought I could get you to go back I wouldn't be sitting here."

And that was it. They'd said everything they'd needed to say to each other. There was nothing left to do but drive. So they kept a steady pace until the sky turned black and the road grew deserted. It was silent and stupid, but they didn't stop until their headlights flashed across a big green sign with white letters half covered by black marker.

"Pull over," Rick ordered, eyes wide with recognition.

"You see something?" Daryl asked, pulling up alongside the sign.

"Yeah," he breathed, grabbing a flashlight and jumping out of the car. He moved towards the sign, flashing the light along the faded letters. "Well I'll be damned…"

Daryl stumbled against the hood of the car, swallowing thickly at the sight in front of him. An aborted noise escaped his throat as he blinked away something too big for his body to process. The words, "with Morgan" were scrawled at the top of the sign above the marker for Cheyenne, Georgia. The city was circled in black ink and Beth's name was written below it.

"She's alive," Daryl muttered.

He had known she was out there somewhere for a while now, he'd truly believed it. But to stand in front of something tangible and real, it was like a piece of him came to life. It was more than just tracking, it was a feeling. It was that same sureness he'd felt in the boxcar.

She was out there, and he was gonna find her.

* * *

**Note | **I just want to thank anyone who is giving this story a chance! I really appreciate it. I always want to let you all know that Beth will be in the next chapter. We're finally going to start to see what happened to her while she was away. Though her whole story won't come out all at once. We're gonna get bits and pieces as the story goes alone. Anyways, thanks again! Please let me know what you think 3


	3. The Minor Fall

Beth had been sixteen years old when the world had gone to shit.

She had been applying for after school jobs and stealing Maggie's clothes, taking pride in the way she embodied the southern cliché. She had done everything right and she had learned just how little that meant.

The news stations had created a panic, talking about epidemics and the plague. But her daddy had assured her that everything would be just fine. He'd never lied to her before and at sixteen years old she'd thought that meant something too.

Shawn had been bitten while he was working in the fields. She and her mamma were fixing dinner in the kitchen when they'd heard the scream. Watching him run across the field, clutching his shoulder and hollering so loud, it had felt like her skin was pulling away from her bones and stretching her too thin.

They knew they couldn't go into the city, and the hospitals were mostly shut down anyways. Her daddy had patched Shawn up the best he could, believing that if they stuck together and kept their faith everything would be okay. Stitched together with strong thread and whispered prayers, her brother had fallen unconscious within hours. He passed away early the next morning with their mother by his side, her head pressed gently against his chest.

Beth didn't remember screaming when she'd watching him rise up and bite the hand closest to his face. When she let herself think about it she heard her mother's voice, yelling and begging and sobbing. Annette had let him rip most of her arm apart before the others came into the room and pulled her away. Beth can still remember the shrill sounds pouring from her mamma's throat. But Maggie said they were never there, it was Beth who had been screaming.

She was nineteen now and the world was still shit.

But she didn't scream anymore, and she didn't hide behind pretty lies like they were worth something. Her faith was still strong, only now it fuel her forward instead of holding her back. She was stronger and more worn all at the same time.

Two weeks ago she'd stood in the middle of a street in Cheyenne Georgia, or what was left of it, ankles knocking together she was shaking so hard. She'd watched a man point a rifle at her head and tell her to turn back. But she'd walked closer, grew bolder with her shoulders set film and her chin held high.

"I can help you if you help me," she'd said.

"Turn back little girl," he'd repeated.

But she couldn't turn back. She'd known it in a way that was unlike anything else she'd ever known. Instinct had never been something she'd put much stock in, preferring to lean on faith and hope, and all the other things people liked to scoff at. She wasn't even sure she had instincts until that moment, but then there they were, anchoring her feet and telling her to stay put.

"I'll help you kill them. The walkers," she'd clarified. She looked around, taking in each trap he'd set up. It was an elaborate maze, wrapping around the street like a beautiful nightmare.

"What did you call them?" he asked, his rifle jerking downward.

"Walkers?" she called.

"You call them walkers?" he'd asked, alert and unsure.

Seeing her opening, she had raised a hand and sent him a hesitant wave. It was stupid and childish, but being friendly was her comfort zone. It fit her like a glove she never wanted to take off. "I'm a friend of Rick Grimes. He mentioned you once, well his son did. Carl? I just thought… my name is Beth."

"Don't tell me your name," he'd snapped, looking more terrified than angry.

"My name is Beth Greene. I was with a group, Rick's group. But we all got separated and I'm alone now. I'm not too good at being alone," she'd said.

"I'm not too good at being with people," he countered.

"One week. Just let me stay for one week and then I'll be out of your hair sir," she promised.

He paused for a long moment before dropping his gun completely and shaking his head. "Five days," he sighed. "And you can call me Morgan," he added.

Beth grinned so wide she thought her face might split in two. "I know," she'd smirked.

After he had helped her inside, she'd assured him that she just needed some time to rest and heal her ankle. But she'd used those five days to worm her way under his skin, asking just the right questions and saying just the right things. He was uncomfortable with how much he didn't dislike her company, but he continued to act put out.

She helped him kill walkers and gather supplies. It felt good to have a purpose again and she began to heal. Something good settled inside of her. It wasn't the same thing those men had taken from her, that wasn't something she could ever get back. But she wasn't empty anymore, and that made all the difference.

On her sixth day they had been cleaning out some of the traps when Beth looked over at him, eyes earnest as anything and said, "What if I stayed a little longer?"

Morgan had jerked to a stop before stabbing a walker through the skull with his knife. Turning away from her, he'd kept on walking and muttered, "quit your worrying" just loud enough for her to hear.

They didn't talk about it again after that. They talked about Rick, Maggie, and even Morgan's wife. But they didn't talk about Duane and they didn't talk about her leaving.

He asked her once what she had been thinking, seeking him out without knowing what she'd find. She tried to explain to him that it wasn't about what she would find. It was about whether or not she could be found herself. Because if she left the right clues in just the right places, she knew that Daryl would find her. She had to know it or she would have gone crazy all those days she was alone.

Morgan told her she was stupid for risking her life on the idea of a stranger. He could have shot her where she stood without a second thought. He'd promised her that he'd done so with others before. He didn't understand what had led her to him or what was making her stay. He only knew that she was waiting on something or someone and one day she would be gone again.

Beth had been with Morgan for nearly two weeks when all that waiting came to an end.

She saw him through the scope of her rifle, perched high up on the roof where she was keeping watch. It wasn't the first time she saw him through her scope. When the sun beat hot and the hours were long she liked to let her imagination play tricks on her. But this time when she stepped back from the scope he was still there. She could barely make out the lines of his bow or the plains of his face. But he was there.

Her voice got caught in her throat for a moment, so much happiness filling her up she didn't know what to say. In the end it was his name she shouted through a haze of breathlessness and tears. "Daryl! Daryl!" she called.

He looked up sharply, moving forward without thinking. It was careless in a way that she knew he wouldn't let himself think about later. His foot swept across a trip wire that released a pointed makeshift arrow. The snapping sound of the wire jerked Rick into motion and he pulled Daryl back just far enough for it to miss his skull. The thin wood ripped through his shoulder, halting his steps and tugging him down.

"Daryl!" Beth cried. It was the third time she'd said his name. Saying it the first time had felt like a dream. The second time had felt like laughter, that deep weightless freedom. Now she couldn't stop saying it.

She ran for the door, the sight of him clutching his arm in her mind and his name still on her lips. She took the stairs two at a time, exhaling his name with each step. Over and over again until she reached the door, barley managing to bypass the traps before throwing it open and falling through it.

"Daryl, Daryl…" She felt a sob crawl up her throat as she choked his name, stumbling towards him and Rick.

The hand gripping his shoulder was covered in blood but he reached out to her with it anyway and she reached back. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and his legs collapsed. But she was right there with him, dropping to the ground and sliding that hand up around his neck. She clutched the fabric of his shirt before pressing herself to his chest and fitting her head between his uninjured shoulder and neck.

Daryl pushed his fingers into the flesh of her waist, holding her so tight she could feel every bit of him seeping through her skin. His injured arm hung painfully by his side but it twitched with want, trying to find its way around her. It was as if he couldn't make himself say or do anything but pull her closer.

"What took you so long?" she whispered against his neck, her voice thick with tears.

He huffed a laugh as she pulled back slightly. He opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head and let out a soft breath. They stared at each other intently, like blinking might tear it all away. But soon Rick was moving towards them and clearing his throat.

"It's good to see you Beth." Rick touched her shoulder lightly, causing her to startle. "You think you can help me get him inside?"

"I can walk," Daryl grunted, his voice hoarse.

"Don't be stubborn," she chided, gripping his forearm and pulling him up. "And it's real good to see you too Rick, both of you."

Rick moved to offer Daryl a hand but he brushed it aside. "Arrow's in my shoulder not my leg," he said. He nodded towards the door. "You go on ahead and disable any other traps. I'm okay."

The older man sighed but maneuvered in front of them. "Where's Morgan?" he asked.

"He went to get some supplies a little further out, should be back soon," Beth answered. She moved Daryl's good arm across her shoulder and placed her own around his waist.

"Said I could walk…" he muttered uselessly, letting himself lean on her just a bit.

"Maybe I aint ready to let you go yet," she said. Before the words could linger in the open too long she continued on, "I can't believe you're actually here."

He grunted something indecipherable and Beth felt her head spin happily. She giggled a little, snorting when he glanced at her sideways. "Can't believe you tripped the wire like that Dixon."

"Got distracted."

Her smile drooped into something more contemplative and she let out a quiet hum before turning her gaze towards Rick. "Watch out for the lever sticking out near the door. It's new," she warned. "It was actually my idea. It pushes a blade up behind you like a skewer."

Both men paused to look at her, eyebrows raised. She shrugged impishly and grinned. It felt good to be back with the people she considered family. Morgan had given her so much and she would always be grateful for that. But seeing Rick and Daryl again made everything click into place. She was back where she belonged, tangled up in Daryl and following Rick's lead.

When they finally managed to get inside, Beth helped Daryl onto the bed, sitting him down and ignoring his protests. She got right to work cutting the sleeve of his shirt around the wound and applying alcohol.

"Why don't you give me some of that," Daryl said, holding his hand out for the bottle. Beth rolled her eyes but passed him the Jack Daniele's carefully. Her nerves were buzzing and she was tempted to take a swig herself, but she managed to resist.

"So how'd you two meet up anyways?" she asked softly.

Daryl looked down, remembering his time with Joe and hating himself for it more than ever now that she was there beside him. He took a slow swig of the alcohol, letting it burn down his throat as he avoided her gaze.

"It's a long story I guess. Let's just say we were in the wrong place at the wrong time and Daryl was in the wrong place at the right time," Rick chuckled.

"We?" Beth asked. "Who else?"

Her heart pounded as they stared at her, expressions too hard to read. Rick looked to Daryl, the two of them deciding something with a glance. "A couple of weeks back we met up with some people from the prison. Maggie's alive Beth. She's okay," Daryl told her.

"She's… I knew it. I knew she- I told you, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Who else? Who else, I know there's more!" she sniffed, giggling through tears.

"Glenn, Carol, Sasha, Tyrese... Judith. Carl was with me after the prison fell. We met up with Michonne not too long after. And somehow we all found our way back to each other," Rick answered.

Tears fell from her eyes with every name she heard. She began to bounce on her feet, covering her mouth with a hand. She hadn't let herself hope for this much in a long time. Not since she'd watched her daddy's head roll to the ground, eyes cloudy and still.

"Just waitin' on you," Daryl said quietly.

"I knew it," she repeated, her voice a shaky whisper.

"Yeah. You were right all along," Daryl smirked. "You an your faith…"

"It's what got me here," she smiled softly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."

She blushed prettily, fumbling with a towel and feeling her heart burst. "We should probably get that thing outta you now." She gestured towards the arrow.

They all agreed that the arrow had to come out whole. It would hurt more but the risk of splinters catching in the wound was too great to snap the end. Rick held one side of Daryl steady while Beth gripped him with one hand and pulled the arrow with her other. She had to lean down close to keep from tearing the surrounding skin.

With her face just inches from his own she'd quietly asked him if he was ready. Unable to speak, he'd swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. His eyes didn't leave her once as the searing pain shot through him.

She winced for him, pressing a square of gauze to the front. "Hold this here," she said, waiting until his hand brushed against her own before letting go. She handed Rick another square for the back. "Keep pressure on it while I get ready to stich."

It took almost ten minutes for her to finish stitching the wound in the front. Daryl kept cursing under his breath and telling her to get on with it. But she was careful and meticulous. She didn't want to take any chances or risk infection. Switching places with Rick, she began to stitch his back. Halfway through, the door slammed open and Morgan shuffled inside. He dropped his backpack and blinked at the scene in front of him.

"Look who's here," Beth smiled, pausing the needle to speak directly to the older man. "You know Rick of course, and this is Daryl."

There was an air of pride in her voice. She had insisted time and time again that her group would find her. Morgan had only shook his head or ignored her entirely. She knew he thought she was naïve. Everyone thought she was naïve. But she didn't mind those kinds of thoughts anymore. It only meant that she knew things they wouldn't let themselves know. Things that helped her get up each morning.

"Rick," he nodded to the former sheriff.

"Morgan," he replied.

"They followed my trail and saw the message I told you I left. Daryl sprung one of the traps and took a hit to his shoulder. I'm just patching him up," she explained easily.

"The trip wire?" he asked.

"Mhm," Beth hummed, turning her attention back to Daryl's shoulder.

"Pretty hard to miss that one," Morgan mentioned, moving towards a table and emptying his bag.

"Got distracted," Daryl mumbled uncomfortably.

Beth finished the stiches and reached for some gauze and tape. "Did you find those fish hooks you were hoping to get?" she asked Morgan.

"Found a few. Enough to set some new nets further east," he said.

"Oh good! That area will be secure as anything once you get those up." She smoothed down the tape, letting her touch linger for a moment too long before pulling away. "You're all set," she smiled.

"Thanks doc," Daryl deadpanned, earning a soft snort. He shifted his arm, stretching it a bit experimentally. The pain still drummed along his muscles but his grip felt steady.

Rick was looking between Morgan and Beth curiously, as though he couldn't quite picture the two of them sharing space. Her bright disposition was a contrast to Morgan's brittle exterior. But they seemed to work around those things, only acknowledging pieces of each other that fit or made sense.

"How far out have you been setting your parameters?" Rick asked Morgan curiously.

"About half a mile," he answered.

"I've been helping," Beth said, moving to stand by the edge of the bed. "Haven't I Morgan?" she challenged when no one said anything.

He pursed his mouth grimly before shrugging one shoulder. "Some," he grumbled.

Lips twisting in amusement, Rick rubbed his hands down the sides of his shirt. "Well either way, I wanna thank you for takin' Beth in like this. I know it aint exactly your way," he mentioned hesitantly.

"Killing walkers is my way," he grunted. "She was willing to help with that."

"Still appreciate it. And if you just give us one night for Daryl here to rest, we'll be out of your way," Rick said.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya, I can still walk!" Daryl snapped, moving to stand up. Beth put a hand to his chest and sent him a stern glare.

"We've been going for nearly two days straight and you just lost at least a pint of blood," Rick argued.

"Sit your ass down and rest," Beth pushed. "Doctors orders," she added lightly.

Morgan huffed out a starling chuckle. "I'd listen to the lady if I were you," he said. "You all can stay the night."

"Christ…" Daryl muttered, letting Beth shove him down until he was laying on his back. Her hand hovered over his chest but she didn't touch him again.

She wanted to. She wanted to hold onto him until she was sure he was real. But he wouldn't like that. Daryl liked his space, especially when he was hurt. He had become more comfortable with her during their time together, resting his hand on her back or tugging on her arm. But he was still skittish and unsure when it came to getting close with people.

Too much time had passed and too many people were in the mix for her to start pushing his limits again. They needed to get reacquainted with each other. She knew she had changed since they had been apart, so it was only fair to assume he had as well.

One thing that hadn't changed was the way she felt about him. It was just as confusing and consuming as ever. She wanted to hold him and shake him all at once. Trying to figure how he was feeling made her crazy, so she'd just given up on trying to read his thoughts. She'd take whatever he said or did at face value and go from there. Right then he was uncomfortable and skittish, too mindful of the other people in the room. So she twisted her hands together and kept them to herself.

For now, just being able to blink her eyes without him disappearing was enough.


End file.

Walking Dead, Hurt-Comfort, Romance