AN: Shippers, please be excellent to each other! I have nothing against Beth, but this will ultimately be a Caryl fic, so if that's not your cup of tea, just please don't read or post nasty reviews. It just shows a lack of good manners. There's room for all of us in the TWD fandom. Thank you! DD1
1: "It's not easy being Green(e)"
Begins shortly after the prison group is forced to flee their home, S4 Mid-season Finale, "Too Far Gone."
"Beth—Beth you have to hang on." Daryl said as he felt the girl dip dangerously away from him as they rounded the curve. When she didn't immediately tighten her hold on his waist he slowed the big Triumph and pulled off the side of the road at the remains of a gas station, its pumps long since exploded and burned. He put the kick stand down and went from tip toes to flat footed, balancing the bike against the pull of her body, which suddenly slumped to the left, boneless. Turning quickly, he caught her before she hit the pavement, out cold.
"Shit!" Daryl bit out as the bike tipped, overbalanced by both of their weight. He was able to cushion Beth, protecting her from the heavy metal crashing down on them, but felt something tear in his left knee as he tried to twist out of the way.
"Mother fuck!" Daryl yelled. Not only were they in hostile territory ten or so miles out from the ruins of the prison, with only the bike and the few meagre provisions he always kept in the saddle bags, but he had apparently just totally fucked up his knee. He muscled his way out from under the bike and checked Beth for injuries as she lay across his lap, biting the inside of his lower lip to keep from releasing the torrent of profanity that bubbled up from inside his chest.
They were so screwed. He wasn't sure yet if he even knew how totally screwed they were—the last time the girl in his arms had lost a parent she'd gone catatonic for days, kept alive by an IV and her father's intervention. He felt his throat close up and uncharacteristic tears pricked his eyes as he thought of the old vet; Hershel had been one tough som-bitch all the way to the end. When that cock sucker Blake had hauled him and Michonne in front of the fence in an execution pose, on their knees, he'd felt the acid burn of fear and the burning desire to destroy every single one of the group arrayed in front of the tank. And how the fuck had the sentries not heard a fucking tank roll up anyhow? Were there even any sentries on duty? Without Carol there to organize the watch...
Shit. Carol. Could his world be any shittier?
When Rick had quietly told him that Carol had been left behind after she and Rick had gone on a run the day before, at first he couldn't process it. And when the hell had Rick started deciding anything like dealing out life and death? Wasn't that what they'd created the council to do?
"You couldn't wait 'til we got back?" Daryl had asked, working harder than he wanted to control his rage. It was Merle all over again—the all mighty Rick Grimes deciding the fate of someone he cared about.
A shuffling sound off to his left broke Daryl's reverie and he turned towards the—god damn it—walker. Beth was dead weight, his bow was strapped to the back of the bike, and he'd left his knife imbedded in the skull of the walker he'd used to shield himself from the gun fire of the people surrounding the tank. He looked around for something to use as a weapon and saw that his quiver had spilled out onto the pavement. Stretching around the girl he was able to snag one bolt and then shifted Beth behind him as he waited for the thing to get close enough to use it. He turned and scanned around 360, making sure no others were sneaking up on them—when there was one there were often others—but this one seemed to be a lone wolf, which right about now was what Daryl was wishing he'd remained.
He didn't want to be responsible for anyone else anymore. It always went to shit, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried. His mother, Merle, Sophia...Carol...anyone he cared about and tried to help and got close to ended up leaving him, hurting him.
"Just tired of losin' people." that's what he'd said to Beth only a few days ago. And now they were all gone—Carol, Hershel, Rick, Carl, lil'ass kicker, Maggie and Glenn, Michonne—the core of his family—everyone except Beth Greene, the girl who'd told him she didn't cry anymore, didn't say goodbye anymore because she'd seen too much death and then had hugged him, sweetly trying to show him she understood his guilt over the loss of her boyfriend Zack on a mission he'd led. She'd kept holding on and unsure of the rules about hugs, Daryl had let his hand rest on her soft arm, trying to take the comfort she seemed compelled to give.
She'd held it together as they ran from the front of the prison to the back, where he'd stashed his motorcycle, always ready for a quick bug out. The herd of walkers was flooding through the broken fences in a torrent, drawn by all of the gun fire and explosions, blocking their way to follow the prearranged path of the big bus carrying the majority of the surviving Woodbury residents and those still recovering from the illness. They didn't know who else had made it out, hadn't found the kids or Judith, the reason Beth had gotten off the bus, they just knew they had to get out, get away from the remains of what had been their home for the last year.
The walker stumbled closer and Daryl saw that like so many of the creatures its lips had been eaten away so it wore a permanent jack-o-lantern expression—a sort of feral leer—that made its snapping gnashing teeth all the more horrifying. And its smell...they were all pretty much used to the usual carrion stench but this one smelled like—like—Gasoline. It was a crispy critter—must've gotten caught in the gas pump explosion and reanimated, hair, eyelids, face partially melted off, clothes melted to its body...aw damn it, one more unwanted image to haunt his nightmares. As it lurched closer Daryl caught some slight movement behind it and reached for a second bolt, but as he blindly reached back, his attention focused on the burnt man, his hand collided with something round and soft, and his fingers tangled in stretchy cloth.
"Daryl?" he heard Beth say in surprise, distracting his attention. He looked back at her and saw that she was awake and had shifted position so that his hand was caught against her left breast, held there by the folds of her loose over shirt. His eyes rose to her face and she was gazing at him wide eyed. Then Daryl heard the loud solid thunk of metal through bone behind him and turned back towards the walker, watching it drop, a brass knuckle long knife imbedded it its porcelain thin skull, almost cleaving it in half.
"Daryl?" Carol Peletier said in breathless shock when she was revealed standing behind the now re-dead southern fried walker as it fell. In a quick assessing gaze she took in his position relative to Beth's, leaned down to pull her knife from the walker's charred skull and then stood, her arms crossed in front of her.
"Hey Carol." Daryl said with a small joyful smile of relief, as both beautiful brave women pursed their lips, cocked their heads to the side and gave him almost identical considering, raised eyebrow stares.
More to come, not sure exactly when... My Muse doesn't exactly listen to reason. I have 2 other WIPs to work on & it's also the end of the semester grading time & getting close to holiday time, so please be patient with me, LOL!
Thanks for reading & reviewing!