Beth wasn't lost, she was late. At least that's what always seemed to be the case.
Sometimes she felt so close that she could hear snippets of their conversation but that must have been her imagination. How long had it been since she'd eaten or drunk anything? She couldn't remember anything since the food at the hospital. Food they'd offered in exchange for her soul. Something that was never theirs to ask for.
Other times she felt like she was separated by a thick fog. It made her sluggish and her feet drag but she followed on with almost dogged certainty that this was the way her family had gone. Maggie, Glenn, Rick. Daryl.
Daryl.
It was his face that she conjured every time she felt her strength fail. She found that when she thought of him, those were her moments of clarity. When she felt the most grounded.
He had come for her so she would be damned if she wasn't going to come for him.
There were walkers though. So many walkers. Half the reason she'd fallen behind was so much of her time spent standing still. Beth couldn't fight them, she'd lost her knife in Atlanta amongst other things. And so she hid. When she stopped slogging forward, the spark faded somewhat. It wasn't patience but a pervasive apathy.
It was those moments when it suddenly seemed so very easy and desirable to sit down, to give up. But she never did. When the last walker went past her, she put her hands against the grass, felt the prickle of twigs against her palms and pushed herself up.
She just had to keep going and eventually she would catch up with them.
And one day she did. It was a beautiful day with a sky that stretched forever and heat that stuck against your skin. In a different lifetime, a different Beth would have taken her horse, ridden out into the fields and laid down. She would stare up into the sun until it stung and wondered if her eyes were a mirror for the endless blue that was above.
Her trembling weak hands reached out to brush against a tree that rose defiant and strong. The one thing that would most certainly still be here when this disaster reached its conclusions, be it in a year, in ten or in a hundred, would be the wild majesty that was nature.
Her hand never made contact. Across a clearing, sitting in the dirt was Daryl. After so long without as much as a glimpse of a live human and only dead walkers to guide her, Beth couldn't breathe.
There was a defeated slump to his shoulders and he was looking away from her. It stopped her where she stood, the sight of him brought back so many memories. A rush of confusing, churning emotions. She hadn't been able to define the cause when it first rose up from her stomach to make her chest tight. She'd been drunk so it'd been easy to dismiss.
And these last few days – or had it been weeks? – putting one foot in front of the other had been her only focus. But now the sight of him hunched over, matted hair pressed to his forehead, jerked her to attention.
Beth remember locked eyes across a dimly lit kitchen, a flare of intensity and one word. One sound really.
"Oh."
It might have changed everything if only they'd had the time.
Electricity surged through Beth and she began stumbling forward. It was the fastest she had travelled in a long while.
Daryl didn't even flinch, just pressed the cigarette into the top of his hand. Beth swore and picked up her pace. She was out and out running now.
Daryl was crying. It tore through her like a knife as she raced towards him. Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes but never quite spilling down her cheeks. She'd seen Daryl cry before but not like this. Not with broken despair.
She skidded to a stop beside him and dropped to her knees. Because she was who she was, her attention was drawn immediately to the wound in his hand. He didn't even seem to have registered the pain. The burn was deep and would scar. With a gasp she reached out and clasped his hand in hers. As if her touch alone could heal.
She lifted her head then to finally gaze upon a person whose existence had kept her going. She didn't know what she could even say to capture the profound gravitas of the moment.
But Daryl stared straight through her, his expression raw and aching but devoid of recognition.
Because Beth Greene wasn't there. Beth Greene was dead.
…
Daryl's head fell back against the tree. His throat was raw from holding down his screams. He knew he would never have deserved anything as pure as Beth but to have her stolen away, not just from him, but from the world was a cruel blow. Maybe he was cursed? Whenever he dared to care about anything, it seemed to end in dust and blood.
He flexed his hand and peered at the burn. It would scar, just another one amongst many on his body. He shouldn't have done it. Beth would have called him an idiot but he wanted this pain on his body. A physical manifestation. He wanted people to be able to look and see he had been wounded and hurt even if they didn't know what had happened.
His hand pulsed in burning agony, suddenly wrapped in pressure and then there was an inexplicable cool sensation. Daryl flexed his fingers and the movement seemed resistant. His eyebrows furrowed but a light breeze whipped around him, making the leaves dance and shadows flutter on the ground. Light flared at the edge of his vision which made him blink and pinch his nose.
He was dehydrated and his senses were starting to play tricks. That was a bad sign. He needed water and soon. Thinking of basic necessities sharpened him and with unsteady legs, he hauled himself upright. He used the tree to support him far more than he'd like to admit.
Daryl rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. They would still be red from the crying and if he re-joined the group too soon then someone would spot it. Carol and Rick were both too perceptive by half and they had been watching him like a hawk since Atlanta.
He decided that he would fall in step with Maggie or Sasha. Those two were too grief stricken to pay him much mind. Daryl didn't know why people kept trying to talk to him about it, making assumptions about what Beth had meant to him. He didn't even know himself what she had meant. All he knew was that in the last few days before he'd lost her, lost her the first time anyway, something in his chest tightened when she smiled.
Daryl didn't want to think about it. There was no point now. He wanted to slink off into the wilderness and lick his wounds in peace and quiet. He started a slow pace back towards the group, reflexively scanning the environment for walkers or for food.
He told himself that this would be the last weakness he would allow himself. A great deal of goodness had been snuffed from the world when Beth had died but Daryl knew they had also lost her strength. He took a shuddery breath.
"You're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone."
Those words were a taunt, threat and promise, all the more bitter now it had come to pass. He did miss her. More than he'd missed anything ever before.
…
Beth trailed Daryl in a daze. Her brain felt foggy and she had to fight to complete a coherent thought. She remembered the hospital and she could also recall plunging the scissors straight into Dawn's shoulder. That was always crystal clear in her memories. It had been afterwards that tended to blur together. It wasn't the lack of water or the lack of food. Beth apparently had no need for either. It was starting to make sense.
She had been wrong on a magnificent scale but for some reason she couldn't muster any surprise or fear. Without paying much attention she managed to stay close to Daryl. The strong surge of emotion she had experienced when she first saw him had started to fade.
Shock? She registered the thought distantly. Could she suffer that in her current condition?
"I'm dead." She mumbled the words. There was no cathartic release or epiphany moment that followed her saying it out loud. It was the first time she had consciously spoken out loud.
"I'm dead!" she repeated, louder and more emphatically.
Daryl paused and looked around, his fingers tightened on the crossbow.
Another bolt of sensation tore up Beth's body. "Daryl?" she called, louder than was wise.
He didn't react. Daryl stared straight past her, body expectant.
Beth's shoulders slumped and she lingered in disappointed silence while Daryl determined it was safe to go on.
She traced tentative fingers across her forehead. Half of her expected to find the gunshot wound but her skin was smooth and perfect. Her vision ran briefly, a dusky cacophony of colour and movement. A migraine roared into life and Beth hissed her discomfort.
"Ok. Don't think about getting shot then. I get it." The pain didn't abate with those words and Beth felt slightly abashed to be talking out loud but then promptly realised that embarrassment was also ridiculous.
"I'm dead," she said for a third time, as if scolding herself.
Daryl took a long time to meet up with the group but when he did finally catch them up, a smile spilled across her face. Her heart raced when she caught sight of Maggie across the group. How could she have a pulse if she was dead? It might be an illusion or a trick of the mind but that didn't matter right now.
Maggie was dirty and withdrawn. She registered Daryl's arrival but not much more. Beth's moved to her side, careful not to touch anyone. Daryl hadn't been affected by her hands on his but she maintained that space all the same until she reached Maggie. The obvious sadness that radiated from her, from her eyes to the set of her shoulders, had Beth reaching out to her sister. Her fingers curled around her wrist. For a second there was no reaction and then Maggie's eyes flicked downwards. She careful shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable without knowing why, and took an uneasy step to the side.
Beth let her wrist slide out of her grasp. Maggie had sensed her! From what Beth saw, it seemed like Maggie had picked up her presence the same way a person would get a shiver down their spine.
This was entirely outside Beth's realm of knowledge. Until she had died, she hadn't even thought ghosts were real and yet here she was. Was the world littered with the souls of the departed? Could she see other ghosts? Or was she here by herself and if so why her? Her mind churned as each new question sprung up.
She shook her head, trying to quiet her brain. She needed to think of one thing at a time and not get carried away. To Beth, the most important thing seemed to be that Maggie had felt her touch in some capacity. Glenn had gone up to his wife having noticed her skittish behaviour and was murmuring reassuring words. Beth moved back a respectful distance. They didn't need an audience for their private whispers.
She was desperate to know if that was something she could develop or if this was as good as it got. Daryl filled her vision on the outskirts of the group, lonely and broken. He angled himself away from everyone. It steeled her. He reminded her sharply of a Daryl Dixon she thought was long gone. Cagey and wary and totally isolated. He had been like this following Merle's death and even her father's. Daryl carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and maybe now he had burdened himself with the blame for her death.
Beth watched him with a tilted head and engrossed fascination. She was to blame for her death. Her or Dawn but definitely not Daryl. He had done all he could to protect her and now he needed some protection of his own.
She didn't know what was going on but Beth was going to figure it out. Beth was going to haunt Daryl Dixon until he was happy again.
…
It wasn't long before Beth encountered her first problem. The first, tremendous crack of thunder vibrated her body down to her bones. She had never felt anything like that and she was no stranger to the wild power of a summer storm. It was the first sign something wasn't right. The flash of lightening that followed a few minutes later caused her skin to fizz as if it had absorbed the electricity itself.
Her friends and family barricaded themselves in a barn but Beth was outside. Unable to summon the substance to get inside and unable to walk through the walls like every ghost movie had indicated she would be able to do. She felt like pudding. Too solid to get through the walls but certainly not strong enough to affect physical change.
The storm was getting closer and the air was charged with impending calamity. Even amidst all the chaos and the howling winds, she still heard when a walker groan rent the air. Years of experience had kept her in tune with that chilling noise.
They broke the first line of trees suddenly between one shot of lightening and the next. One second there was nothing and the next a hoard of corpses were shambling towards the barn.
Beth started screaming, a soul-deep howl that came to close to matching the fury of nature. The lightening sparked again, so close that her skin burned and split apart. Beth was still screaming when the wind carried her away.
…
For a long time there was only a spinning nightmare of black, grey and the sound of wind. Beth half thought it was the loudest thing she had ever heard.
And just as suddenly as she had been swept away, it came to an abrupt stop and she was standing in a pristine white room. At least, she assumed it was a room – Beth couldn't actually see the ceiling or any walls. The endless white made her squint and that hammering pain that started where she'd been shot started up again, resonating outwards.
"Look what the cat dragged in."
The drawling southern accent was familiar to her.
"Merle?" Bath spun to face the noise and almost succumbed to the dizzying sensation that followed.
The older man was standing in a relaxed fashion a little way off. He was comfortably lighting a cigarette and running his eyes over her. Beth took the opportunity his silence offered to quickly size him up. He had both his hands, no obvious injuries and the same careless grin that put her on edge.
He took a deep draw of his cigarette before waving it in her direction. "I know you, don't I?"
Beth nodded. Her voice had deserted her after so many weeks of disuse. Or maybe it was the storm. Beth could taste copper and acid at the back of her throat. Had she swallowed some lightening when she was screaming?
"You're the blonde girl who almost shot me."
Beth rubbed the back of her neck and shook her head at that inaccurate retelling. "I shot the roof to make you stop fighting."
Merle pursed his lips and glared at her as if her version was wildly offensive. "It's possible," he conceded after a moment. He inhaled another lungful of smoke that didn't make him cough before expelling it back out into the air. Beth eyed it distastefully.
Seeing her disdain, Merle smiled and offered her one.
"No thanks," Beth declined politely.
"Why? Worried they're gonna kill you?" His question was flat but his raised eyebrow hinted at some veiled mockery.
"So we are dead?" Beth was furious that her voice shook. She knew she had died weeks back but somehow, saying it to someone else made it different.
Merle gave a one shoulder shrug. "Seems to be the case. What happened to you?"
Beth's hand fluttered upwards before she managed to catch herself. Trying to mimic his air of nonchalance Beth said, "shot in the head."
Merle nodded as if impressed. "Respectable way to go out if you have to. What I mean is why you here? Here specifically?"
"I'm not sure where here even is?" Beth was exasperated now. Even in death Merle Dixon was a pain in the ass. She resisted asking him if this was heaven. Merle would have just laughed and if he was the only other person about then Beth could pretty safely bet this wasn't the paradise her daddy's bible had promised.
Merle appeared to be considering how much to give away. Beth had to bite her tongue not to swear at him. As much as she didn't want Merle to have the answers, he probably did. He'd been dead a good deal longer than her.
Merle dropped his cigarette and ground it out. The ash and stub was gone as if it had never existed when he moved his boot.
"Far as I can tell, we're in between."
"In between?" Beth repeated dumbly.
"You deaf girl? That's what I just said!"
"What do you mean 'in between'?"
Merle glanced around. "Well, in my uneducated opinion, seems to me that only folk with unfinished business or a dissatisfaction with how they went out seem to be here."
Beth processed his words, trying to not discount them on face value. It sounded insane. But just a few years back she would have said the same if someone had told her that dead people were going to be roaming the earth.
"It's not just us then?"
Merle snorted. "No, girlie. Not just us so that might make you breathe a little easier." Merle chuckled at his own joke but Beth was excited.
"Have you seen my dad?" she asked eagerly.
Merle must have taken pity on her because he didn't play his previous game of pretending to weigh up whether to tell her. "Nah, sorry."
Beth's exhaled sharply. Despite Merle's joke about her need to breathe, her body still seemed to be going through the motions. Her mind was a mess of thoughts chasing and snapping at each other as they fought for her attention. She tried to focus and think about what Merle had said about unfinished business and dissatisfaction. Would her father have fallen into those categories? He loved her and Maggie but he had made peace with the thought of dying. He knew that after he lost his leg he was living on borrowed time. And then when the disease had run rampant through the prison, he had risked his life to bring comfort to those sick. No, Beth concluded, her father wouldn't be here. She hoped his faith had steered him in the right direction and that he was somewhere comfortable and surrounded by people he loved. She prayed he didn't know she was dead yet.
"Who have you seen?" Beth asked, her voice husky with unshed tears.
"Most folks, I don't recognise. They're either lost and confused or panicking. Most don't know they're dead. You're the first sensible conversation I've had in a while."
Beth ran a hand through her hair. "You don't seem too worried about your situation," she observed and regrated her statement. She needed Merle's information and didn't want to make him angry.
If anything he seemed flattered. "Not many ways my story was gonna end. Less options still after the world ended. 'Sides, we all die at some point or another."
There was something oddly reassuring with his matter of fact approach. Talking to Merle felt perfectly normal and mundane.
"Have you seen people we know?"
"You remember Dale? He shows up from time to time. Less often these days than earlier."
"Dale!" Beth echoed. If she could just talk to Dale.
"Don't get too excited there. I haven't seen him a long while. I think whatever he was worried about when he first died is not so much an issue anymore."
Beth cast her mind back. When Dale had died, they had just decided to kill Randal and he was frightened that the group was losing their humanity to this dystopic new world. After the prison, maybe they had restored his faith. Beth hoped so anyway. They had still done terrible things but they had struggled to balance the bad with the good.
"I've seen Lori few times too. She seems to be most concerned with her kids."
"They're fine," Beth quickly offered. At least they had been before Beth had gotten blown away.
Merle smiled crookedly. "She knows, she's seen them."
"So you can go back?"
"Figured that's where you came from just now."
Beth nodded before adding, "got blown away by a storm."
Merle laughed outright at that. His genuine amusement earning her a deep belly laugh. Beth didn't know what was so funny. If anything it just proved how ineffectual she was. A wraith and not much more.
"Oh don't pout, girlie. You can probably go back again. It's different for everyone."
That caught Beth's attention. "What do you mean?"
"I ain't no expert," Merle caveated.
"You are literally my only option," Beth stated.
"That's real flattering," Merle drawled.
"Stop being difficult and talk or…" Beth trailed off.
"Hard to threaten a dead man, isn't it?"
"Can you go back?" Beth demanded.
Merle's face wrinkled like he'd sucked on a lemon. "No." He spat the word at her.
"I can tell you how Daryl is. Tell me how to get back and I'll keep an eye on Daryl for you." Beth didn't feel it was necessary to tell Merle that she would have checked on him regardless, that Daryl meant something to her now. If Merle couldn't go back then he didn't know how they'd spent time together. Beth was secretly and cruelly glad that Merle was separated from his brother. The idea of him spying on those moments they had shared made her skin crawl. He was a judgemental, mean spirited man whose only redeeming quality was the depth of his love for his brother but even that was conditional.
Beth stood her ground and waited while Merle mulled over his options.
"Fine. It's like I said, everyone's different. Some people must be on the ground full time and others are stuck here. Like me. Most people seem to move on completely. And some people can go between the two places."
"And you think the people who haven't moved on still have issues they need to resolve?"
"I think that plays a part for some people. Like Lori, wanting to make sure her children are well and good. Others are just mad as hell to be dead but they seem too caught up in their anger to do much more than lurk at the peripheral. The Governor goes past like a wailing banshee every so often but he doesn't stop to chat and as you can understand, I don't try and persuade him to take tea with me."
"The Governor," she hissed out. She had forgotten about him. Fear and resentment flooded her system.
"Careful. Don't make him your reason to be here. He becomes your unfinished business, you'll be stuck here and not able to go back."
"He killed my father." Thoughts of vengeance swam before her. She didn't know what she could do to a dead man but she could try to even the score.
"He killed lots of folk's fathers, I suspect. I wouldn't worry too much about him, he's plenty miserable here on his own. If you didn't remember him until just then, then he ain't your anchor."
"Anchor?" Beth was starting to feel like all she could do was parrot Merle like an idiot.
"That's what Dale called it. Seemed as good a word as any. It's what keeps you tethered to the land of the living. Your sister is still alive I suppose. Unless you got a boy since I last was around."
"A boy?" Beth spluttered unconvincingly. It was too close to the truth. It was a boy, though she would never claim him as her own. It didn't even occur to her that Maggie might have been what kept her linked to her old life. Maggie had Glenn to take care of her. Daryl needed his own guardian angel.
Merle's eyes narrowed and Beth wondered if he was as perceptive as Daryl.
"Your business is your own. Just as long as you tell me how Daryl is getting along."
"I'll tell you anything you want to know about him if you get me back."
"And if you can't get back here again, I want you to watch out for him."
"I can do that," Beth was able to say with absolute sincerity. "Now tell me the rules of this ghost business. Can I touch things? Can they see me?"
"Sit down, girlie. This might take a while."
AN: Hello everyone. Another foray into the world of Daryl and Beth – I couldn't leave the fandom alone. My contribution to this fandom are my stories and without them I feel kind of obsolete.
I anticipate this is going to be a shorter story and I will update when I get time. I know it has started off in a dark place but I hope to have some lightness, happiness and laughter in this story. Thanks to Adele for helping me naming this song and putting me absolutely in the right frame to begin this new story. Please send me any songs that make you think of Bethyl. I haven't had a chance to go through any other stories since Beth died so this might be similar to other stories out there, and it is completely unintentional.
Please let me know what you think.
MD666