A/N: This was written for this prompt on Tumblr by the user piperme:
witch au / beth tries to bring daryl back from the dead
-he won't be the same
the blood had pooled thickly, turning the soil black
she worked faster, but the voice kept repeating
he won't be the same
he won't be the same
he won't be the same
[Cover image was included with the prompt post and is property of piperme.]
It's the first real AU fic I've ever written as I've always been somewhat of a canon whore, but something about this prompt just struck me and I had to write it. I'd love to get your feedback and thoughts on this and feel free to ask any questions you might have. And if you're a Bethyl fan on tumblr, feel free to follow me, my username is im-immortal.
(paragraphs in italics are flashbacks)
The Whole Heart
His kisses were like steel against her skin. Metal pressed to soft satin. He trailed his lips across her collarbones, up her neck, right below her scalp. She shivered under his touch. Rough callouses left goosebumps up and down her arms. When they made love, it was always in the pale moonlight, sheets wrapped around them, nothing but stifled moans and heavy breathing echoing off the walls.
He softly kissed a line along her ear before whispering into it in that rough voice that sent chills up her spine.
"You taste like all the lives I never lived."
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was dressed in all black, streaks of light makeup smudging her face from crying. She stared down at the grave, a pain she couldn't identify gripping her chest. He was gone. He was really gone. And she was standing six feet above him. This wasn't right. He didn't belong down there, eternally still inside a box under pounds of dirt. He belonged under the sunlight, out in the open, where the sweat would glisten on his body almost like diamonds and his hair would ruffle in the breeze like it was made of silk.
Where he would tell her, in his low voice that almost always sounded like a growl, that he loved her. That he'd protect her. Die for her.
"You got a lotta nerve comin' here."
Beth spun around at the sound of the voice, startled. Her gaze met with an older man, and the sparkle in his grayish blue eyes shook her to the core. They were so familiar.
"I'm sorry, I just had to visit him one last time," she said quietly.
"It's yer fault he's dead," Merle said flatly. "He died… fer yer bitch ass."
She shook her head, more tears pooling in her eyes. "No, I didn't want him to, I tried to stop him – "
Merle held up a hand to stop her, stepping closer. "I don't wanna hear it. I know about you. I know what ya are. We all do."
She pursed her lips, waiting for him to go on.
"I know what you can do."
Her heart skipped. She hoped he wasn't about to ask her what she thought… He didn't understand it all. He didn't understand just exactly what she was and where she was from. He didn't fully understand what she could do… and couldn't do. Everything that could be risked.
"Bring him back."
"I-I can't," she choked. "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Anger flared in his eyes. It struck her like lightning to recognize the look in his eyes, as if she were staring into a window from the past. She'd never thought they looked much like brothers, but now she saw it.
"Yes, you CAN! And you WILL! Or I'll find those hunters and I'll tell 'em exactly where ya are," he growled.
Before she could argue or try to explain, he had turned and walked away, anger quickening his pace. She turned back to the grave.
The words she'd wanted to say to Merle escaped from her throat in a tense whisper to the wind. A warning about dangerous spells she remembered from her childhood.
"He won't be the same…"
"You need to stay back. They're gonna come for me and my family and I don't want you gettin' hurt."
She watched the disapproval form on his face, an argument already built up in his head. She knew he was going to fight her tooth-and-nail on this, but it was for his own good. She couldn't stand to lose him. Not now.
"You need me," he said lowly. "Ya ain't a very good fighter, and… I couldn't live with myself if somethin' happened to you. I'll help you. Let me protect you."
This made her furious. She was a witch. She didn't need his help. She didn't need his protection. She'd made it this long without him – she could protect herself. She wasn't a damsel in distress that needed some prince to come save her.
"No, I DON'T need you! That's what you don't get," she argued. "I don't need protectin', and I don't need savin'! You're just gonna get yerself hurt and that'll be on me. I can't have that, Daryl. I can't have your blood on my hands!"
He narrowed those blue eyes at her. She couldn't help but melt a little under his stare. She almost regretted arguing, but deep down, she knew it had to be done.
He stood up, shoving the chair back from beneath him in anger. It slid across linoleum and hit the wall. The sound echoed off the paneling and faded before he spoke. His tone was defiant and indifferent at the same time. It was resent blanketing worry.
"Blood on yer hands is the least o' yer worries."
Her hands shook as she turned the pages of the giant, old book. Dust flew up from every page and the paper was heavy and yellow with age. Her eyes scanned the dark calligraphy – foreign languages combined with fading artwork, horrifying portrayals of demons reaching their long hands up to possess what was theirs, mysterious sketches of unnamed creatures. She knew what she was looking for but there were thousands of pages.
When she finally found it, she struggled to read through the tears that had sprung up. It was exactly what she had expected. Horrible. Wrong. Bloody.
Dangerous.
She took out her notebook and wiped her eyes on her sleeve before translating the words from the page into her own handwriting on clean, white paper. She tried to steady herself, but her hands were still shaking, making her writing sloppy and uneven. Lists. Preparation. Rituals. Chants. It was a page she never thought she'd be writing in English. It didn't belong.
When she'd finished, she glanced over the two-page sprawl she'd just sketched out. She could barely make out her own handwriting but she read aloud to herself as her eyes ran through the scrawled words and rough sketches.
"Pentagram formation… living sacrifice… non-rodent animal… around the heart… the blood… markings… the whole heart… gravesite… midnight… full moon… blood… wings to the kingdom… release him… the witch waits…"
She let out a deep, shaky breath before whispering the last line aloud to herself. It was a warning from the very bottom of the spellbook page, written in blood red ink, that she'd struggled to roughly translate but immediately recognized.
"He won't be the same…"
"I love you," he whispered into her skin. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
He repeated it like a mantra, but a different emotion leaked out each time he said it. Need. Desperation. Joy. Anguish. Relief. Love.
Her nails dug into his sun-tanned skin. He was like a shadow against her pale figure. The smell of his sweat filled her nostrils. Whimpers came from her throat.
"I need you, Daryl," she whispered into the darkness. His hair brushed across her cheek before his dry lips met hers like sand against cotton. He swallowed the rest of her words, silencing her moans.
"Don't ever leave me," his deep voice breathed hot against her open mouth. "Don't ever give up on me."
She wrapped her small arms tighter around his torso, his bulking frame enveloping her as she pressed her forehead against his, soaking in the warmth of his body, dark hair falling against golden locks.
"Never," she sighed against his skin.
"You got my whole heart, girl," he whispered before pressing his lips to hers once more.
It had only been a week since her visit to Daryl's grave when his angry brother showed up in her yard. She didn't hear him approach and wasn't sure how he'd slipped past the gates unseen, but he stood a short distance away from her now. He was wearing the same dirtied clothes she'd seen him in last time. His hands were in his pockets as he watched her expectantly, scrutinizing her beneath graying eyebrows. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had gotten deeper. He was showing his age more and more every day. She wondered if Daryl had been the life force for his youth. Maybe he was what had kept Merle young.
"Can I help you?" she asked when she realized he wasn't going to speak first.
He smirked, but his face didn't show satisfaction with anything. "I made some new friends."
Her face went pale, but she forced herself to stare back with defiance as she waited for him to go on.
"They know you. They know what I know," his voice grew more menacing with each statement. "And I know somethin' they wish they did… I got somethin' they could really use."
A cold sweat broke across her skin. Panic was settling into her. "Merle, I – "
He held up a hand to silence her. "You just do what you know best, lil' girl. It wasn't my brother's time. He don't belong in that damn coffin."
She swallowed a knot that had formed in her throat.
"An' unless he shows up at my door with a beatin' heart… well, we wouldn't want him to've died in vain now, would we?"
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, readying words to defend herself with. But when she opened them again, he was gone.
Her face was soaked in tears. They were running down her chin, tracing her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt. Her breaths came short and gasped. Sobs were wracking her body. She was holding her knees tightly against her chest and rocking herself on the bed, trying to calm down, when he entered the room.
"Beth! I got here as soon – "
"She's dead," she choked out before he could continue.
He stopped. His face fell and he sat down next to her awkwardly. He was unsure of what to say.
"Momma… she's dead… they-they got her…"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He placed a hand on her arm and she buried her face away, more sobs escaping. "But we gotta do somethin'… We gotta get you safe. It could've been you."
She swatted his hand away in a rage, anger replacing the sadness almost immediately as she looked at him through watery, blue eyes. "I KNOW it could've been me! You don't think I know that?! It also could've been Maggie, or-or Daddy, or Shawn – it could've been anyone we know! Anyone we associate with! They won't stop till we're all DEAD!"
His lips pursed. He was holding back his words for once, choosing to calm himself first instead.
"It could've been you, too," she added quietly, her anger subsiding. She was somewhat satisfied with how quiet he'd gotten.
"It ain't gonna be me," he mumbled. "I wanna help ya, Beth. I don't want you to be the next… I can't lose you."
She sniffled, looking away from him in shame. She was embarrassed that he was being so caring when she was being so hostile. "I can't risk it… I can't have you riskin' your life for me. It's not right."
She met his eyes again before adding, "I can't lose you either…"
His gaze softened and he scooted closer to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his embrace. "What can I do? Just tell me."
The tears came back and she let them fall as she leaned into his arms. He rested his head on top of hers.
She took a shaky breath then spoke against his shirt. "I just need you. I need you right now. Always. Please."
He held her tight against his body and let her cry, not saying another word. She let herself get lost in the scent of his sweat and leather vest until the tears stopped forming.
She was running. Her blonde hair flew behind her. Her feet hit the grass with soft thuds and her heavy breathing was lost in the wind that wrapped around her form.
It was dark, the moon hiding with the stars behind ominous clouds that shifted like waves of sand. The cemetery looked like a tiny city, rising and falling with landmarks and stones. The grass ran into the darkness of the thick woods that surrounded the graves and she ran towards the tree line, towards that familiar stone embedded in freshly dug dirt and newly-planted grass.
She was exhausted and breathless by the time she stopped. She threw herself to her knees inches in front of the stone. Her hands gripped the cold earth beneath her, nails digging into dirt, rocks, and roots. The tears didn't come anymore. She felt like she'd cried herself dry. It was just sobs, shaking her body, making her throat raspy and her lungs deprived. Her hair fell around her face, veiling it in the almost non-existent moonlight. She gasped for breath between choked words – desperate pleas.
"I need you," she sobbed, digging her nails harder into the earth. "I need you, I need you, I need you. So bad right now."
A few more sobs echoed out into the night, disappearing into the safety of the woods.
"I'm so sorry," she wept. Her knees hurt from the rocks beneath them, but she pushed herself harder into the spot she was kneeling, looking for any kind of purchase to fight the feeling that she might float off into the breeze around her. "It should've been me. It should've been me!"
She was yelling now. At no one. At the darkness. At the horrible, impending finality of death itself. She was picturing the blood and the tears and the pained expression on his face. She was picturing his blue eyes glistening in the sunlight, and the shadows dancing across his scruffy face in the midst of the night. She was picturing his lips against hers and imagining the settling sound of his rough voice in her ear, against her mouth, on her skin.
"I just need you," she whimpered. Her voice was traced with defeat. She quieted her pleas to the Other Side as she gazed at the engraved stone below.
Daryl Dixon
beloved brother & friend
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to forget that all that was left of him now was his name and birthday on an old stone. He was so much more than that. She had to think of his face, not the letters that comprised his name.
She saw his shy smile. His soft hair that she would always sweep away from his eyes when their bodies were pressed tightly together beneath sheets. The vest she'd grown used to seeing slung over the chair in her room. The way those wings on the back would almost shine in the sun, like a beacon of hope to her.
Another sob rose and shook her. She choked it back, opening her eyes again.
"Come back to me…"
"I know he loves you, Bethy, but he can't know."
Maggie was standing in front of her, firmly planted and staring at Beth with a scolding gaze. She spoke softly but assertively. Beth was still intimidated by her to this day. She feared being reprimanded by her big sister. It was even worse now without her mother around to interfere.
"If he finds out, or if you tell him… we're done for. You don't know who he's wrapped up with. He could have friends who are hunters. He might not even know they are," she went on. "They'll do anythin' to get to us, Bethy."
"He wouldn't do that," Beth snapped. "He does love me… more than you know. And he would die before he'd put me in danger."
Maggie's face stiffened. She pursed her lips and stood up straighter. "You already told him, didn't you?"
She didn't answer, continuing to stare back defiantly.
"Didn't you?!"
Maggie's sudden harsh tone shook Beth and she hesitantly nodded, whispering out a fearful explanation. "I had to. He was gonna figure it out anyway…"
Maggie's eyes blazed. "This isn't just about you anymore, Beth! This is about us! It's about everyone we've ever been close to. You're not the only one at risk here."
Beth looked down, her sister's words sinking into her like tiny needles.
"You've put him in danger," Maggie continued, lowering her voice to a stern whisper now. "Why do you think I left Glenn? Because I wanted to? No. I love that man more than life itself and because of that, I separated myself from him, 'cause I can't risk losin' him. Not now. Not ever. That's love, Beth. Puttin' someone's life before your own. Throwin' your own happiness away to ensure their safety. If you knew anythin' about it, you'd do the same damn thing."
Beth remained silent. Her bottom lip quivered but she couldn't find any words to answer with. She knew her sister was right.
"You say he'd die for you?"
She nodded, still not looking up to meet Maggie's eyes.
"Well he's gonna end up doin' just that."
She was in the shed, her eyes running over all the tools hung on the walls as her fingers absent-mindedly traced through dust and cobwebs. She perked up when she spotted what she'd been looking for: the shovel, hung by itself in the corner, surrounded by hedge clippers and spades. She reached up to grasp the old wooden handle when a voice at the open door startled her, filling the small wooden room.
"Beth."
She lowered her hand and spun around to see Maggie in the doorway. Her eyes drifted from Beth to the shovel on the wall behind her before settling back on the startled blonde. They narrowed in disapproval.
"I know what you're doin'," she said in a low mutter.
"What?" Beth tried to act innocent, but she knew it would end up pointless because Maggie could always see right through her. She was always a step ahead of her.
"The spellbook wasn't where it usually was… it was moved, not a speck o' dust on it… I know what spell you were lookin' up. And I know what you're doin' now."
Beth inhaled through her nose and straightened her back. "And…?"
Maggie's brow furrowed in a sort of confusion. "Beth… you can't do this. You can't."
Beth blinked, forcing back tears that were threatening their way up her throat at the tone of her sister's voice. "I have to. I don't have a choice."
Maggie stepped inside the shed and approached her younger sister until there was less than a foot of distance between them. Her voice had a slight unease to it, like she was forcing herself to stay calm and sound confident at the same time. "It doesn't work like that. You know this, Bethy. Please… you can't. You're not strong enough."
Beth didn't reply. She just stared at her sister, no expressions crossing her face. Maggie continued, the worry in her voice growing.
"You can die if you try to do this and you're not strong enough. You just… you can't. It's not right. Those books are untouched because those spells are so dangerous. We can't risk our lives even more than they already have been - than they already are."
Still no answer. No argument. Beth stood completely still, even though she was at war on the inside. She knew Maggie was right, but she wasn't doing this for herself anymore. And Maggie couldn't know that because she'd try to interfere and get hurt. Or worse.
"I need him, Maggie."
At those words, tears finally formed in her eyes. She realized she wasn't lying when she said it. A part of her was being selfish in her need for him, in her constant aching. Maggie was taken aback by the pain that suddenly consumed her baby sister's face.
"He… he won't come back the way he was," she whispered in reply. "He could be… dangerous. Different. It won't be the man you love…"
She paused before adding bluntly, "It's selfish to bring back a dead man 'cause you can't find closure."
Beth said nothing, knowing her sister was right but unable to explain herself. The brunette shook her head, staring at Beth with perplexity. Her mouth moved to form more words, but none came out. Instead, she turned around and left the shed.
Beth turned back to the shovel and took a deep breath, swallowing back her unshed tears. She slipped it from its hook and left.
They were cornered. Trapped. Surrounded. There was no escape now.
Trees flew past in a blur, her feet pounding through dirt and fallen leaves beneath her. The only sounds in her ears were her racing heart, her pumping blood, her breathless gasps for air and her hair flying in the wind. And the footsteps next to her. He was running beside her, a crossbow in his hand. They were both covered in sweat and exhausted, but they kept running, dodging trees and large rocks. But the voices kept up, the sinister sounds of running men and the angry yells.
Witch hunters.
There were a dozen of them. They were at all sides, their voices echoing off trees and filling the dark woods with menacing threats.
Beth looked beside her and saw Daryl, running breathlessly as he looked back at her. His eyes were filled with fear, something she hadn't seen before.
She only looked away from him for a moment to search ahead of her for an escape route when a gunshot rang out and then his voice joined the echoes around her.
"BETH!"
Before she could look or respond, he shoved her to the ground in a tackled heap. They tumbled across the floor of the woods for a few seconds before coming to a stop. She had scraped her hands and her arms, her knees and her shins. But she pulled herself up and looked around desperately. She couldn't make out any figures in the shadows. She had no idea where the hunters were or why Daryl had shoved her down.
Then she saw it.
She looked down and saw Daryl lying in a heap, face-down, one arm underneath him and the other still gripping the crossbow at his side. She crawled to his side and pushed him over onto his back, freeing his trapped arm. All the air left her lungs.
He looked up at her with tired, blue eyes. His mouth was slightly open and he was… bleeding. Dark, red blood seeped from his chest. He didn't move his hands to touch it or try to cover it. He seemed exhausted and at the end of his rope.
Beth put a hand beneath his head and brought him closer to her, holding him. She pressed a hand tightly against the wound in his chest, blood soaking her fingers and covering her skin in crimson, but she knew it had completely penetrated him and was bleeding from his back as well. Deep down, she knew this was it.
His blood soaked his shirt and leaked onto his vest. It dripped down and pooled on the ground beneath them. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Told you… I'd… protect you," he said between gasps, still staring up at her. The moonlight glistened off the crimson blood that pooled atop his chest.
She shook her head. A million thoughts raced through her mind. If she had her things with her, she could fix this. She could mend him. He could live. But they were miles away from the farm, from everything she needed to save him.
"I… love you… Beth," he choked out, his chest rising and falling in his desperate attempts to breathe properly. Blood was starting to seep from his mouth and pool at the corners of his lips. "You… need to go."
She continued shaking her head. "No… no, Daryl, please. Don't-don't do this. I can fix this, I can fix you!"
He was fighting to keep his eyes open now and she saw it. She shook him, urging him to stay with her.
"Please… Don't leave me. I need you - I need you!" she cried, tears falling from her eyes as her voice rose in anguish.
He let his crossbow fall to rest in the dirt and reached a shaky, weak hand up, obviously struggling to hold it up against the weight of his arm and sleeves, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. She grasped it with one hand and held it close, tears rubbing off onto his knuckles as they poured from her eyes. The sobs shook her whole body.
"I love you, Daryl," she wept, refusing to look away from his slowly dimming blue eyes. "I need you… I'm not givin' up on you…"
A smirk tugged his lips upward. His voice was a choked whisper now. He struggled to speak past the blood.
His last words rang in her ears, shadowed by the dying light in his soft eyes.
"You got my whole heart…"
The moon was high and full. It shone bright onto the ground beneath her and created shadows around the trees. She worked quickly, arranging sticks and specific herbs into the familiar star-like symbol on the ground, carefully cutting and snipping at ingredients with the glistening scissors held steady in her hand as she glanced back and forth from her project to her open notebook. She was at the edge of the woods that surrounded the cemetery, Daryl's grave merely feet away. She wore a black cloak over all black clothing, the hood resting on her back and her hair let down in an unbrushed mess around her face. Her shovel lay on the ground beside his tombstone and the pile of dirt she left looked ominous, but not as much so as the giant hole she'd worked all day to dig. She made a point not to look in its direction. The very sight of the hole and its depths made her nauseous and unsure of herself… of her own strength.
The moon was in full view above her, peeking through the wide gaps in the treetops and illuminating her dark deeds. It glowed almost golden, turning the small clouds that surrounded it into puffy, crimson arteries. Her notebook lay open in front of her, her scrawled copy from the spellbook staring up at her. She had dozens of candles laid out in front of her and around the pentagram she'd just laid out. The light breeze in the night air made the tiny flames dance. Shadows flickered across the old crossbow that rested on the soil at the top of the pentagram.
She recalled the steps in her mind as she stood and picked up a jar resting beside her, reaching her hand in and pulling out pinch after pinch of the dry dirt she'd collected from the grave. She scattered it along the edges of the pentagram until the jar was empty. Once it was done, she set the hollow glass back down and turned around. She'd memorized the ritual by now, having studied it and planned it for the last two weeks. She spoke to herself inside her head, silently checking off the tasks as she moved down the list.
Living sacrifice… non-rodent animal.
She walked a few feet away, carefully unlocking the cage she had sitting in the dirt. A hiss came from inside and then whimpers, but she didn't hesitate, opening the door and reaching her hands in. She wrapped them around the fat, furry warmth of the raccoon and pulled it, scratching and kicking, from the depths of the cage. It tried to bend around to bite, but failed multiple times before finally giving up.
She held it out at a safe distance in front of her and stood in front of the symbol on the ground. She set the wild creature down, in the center of the pentagram, but didn't loosen her hold on it as it tried to scurry away. She reached with one hand and grabbed the dagger sitting next to her notebook, bringing it up in front of her. Her eyes grazed over the shimmering blade, the way it reflected the moon and the flames of the candles. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the silver – wild blue eyes, tangled blonde hair falling around her ashen face - before she brought it down into the animal.
…around the heart.
It cried. Loudly. The sound was torture to her ears and almost brought tears to her eyes but she continued, digging the knife into its flesh. She made sure to cut around the heart, finally making an opening wide enough for her hand to reach inside and grasp the organ, pulling it in its entirety from the still and silent body of the wild raccoon. She left the bleeding carcass in the center of the pentagram as she placed the heart on the ground right next to it, also occupying the center.
…the blood… markings…
She brought her fingers up and traced lines on her face with the warm, wet blood – one on each cheek facing inward and one down the center of her forehead.
…the whole heart.
"Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear me!" She spoke aloud now, the bloody lines drying on her face and her sacrifice lying in the center of the pentagram she'd arranged with the necessary herbs and items, all topped by the crossbow like the North of a compass. "Accept my humble gratitude. In death, you give life. May you find the wings to the kingdom…"
She began rehearsing the spell, speaking the words with desperation and thirsty gratitude. She begged the higher powers to hear, to accept. Her scabbed palms were open out in front of her and she glared down at the blood covering them, the way it dripped down to the earth from her fingertips and seeped through the indentions in her skin. The way it mixed with the scabbed remnants of the scrape from her fall as well as the dirt on her hands and under her nails and turned a darker black.
…blood.
She moved back to turn the carcass of the animal sacrifice over, still rehearsing the spell, letting all of the deep red liquid seep into the brown soil – letting it quench the thirst of whatever creature would answer her. She took the knife and made more wounds, more openings. She was slaughtering the corpse now, mangling it to drain it of every ounce of thick, red liquid it had to offer. The heart lay on the ground, motionless, blood soaked into the earth around it.
"Accept my offering. Know my prayer," she continued, raising her shaking voice and trying to put as much strength into it as possible.
She worked relentlessly to drain every drop of blood, to appease her unknown god. But there was a voice inside her head, replacing her own and reminding her of what she already knew. What she feared. What she dreaded.
He won't be the same.
The blood had pooled thickly, turning the soil black.
She worked faster, but the voice kept repeating.
He won't be the same.
He won't be the same.
He won't be the same.
"…release him… release him… RELEASE HIM!" She cried out, completing the final verse of the spell and dropping the blade to watch the last of the blood splatter around her.
Then the witch waited.
Everything went silent. The candles blew out all at once. A cloud floated across the sky and covered the moon, veiling her in complete darkness. The breeze halted and the air was still. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded in her ears. The voice was a soft echo in the back of her head now.
He won't be the same.
A sound came from the direction of his grave. Her eyes shot over to look just as the moon began to peek out again, shedding the dimmest of lights on the shadowed hole she'd dug.
Something moved. A person. A human. Back turned towards her, on the edge of the hole, crawling outward… then standing up.
Those familiar wings reflected the moonlight. He turned around. She saw blood.
He won't be the same.
the end.