AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Beth was never shot. Instead, in the heat of the moment, the dirty police officers shove Beth into a walker they bring up under Dawn's orders. Beth gets bit, but wakes up after. Is she immune, or is it a slow death? No one's really too sure.
I stopped watching TWD after season 5 ended because of Beth's death, to be honest. I will pepper in newer season content where relevant, but this will be a complete divergence pretty much after Coda.
I've had this idea in my head for a while with my own OC, but I though, "what if?" And this story was born. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: These wings are her own.
Sunrise poked through the spaces between the trees Beth faced. A blend of all the shades she'd adored back on her family farm stretched along the abbreviated horizon. Silence swept through the hollowed clearing she claimed for camp – just outside a comfortable distance from Alexandria's walls. Only one hunter came out this far for the usual hunt –him. Her hammock in the trees hid her from view, and he had hardly any reason to look up into the trees when most of his prey ran along the forest floor.
Beth needed to know it was safe for her to return. For now, she watched, learned and waited for the group to earn their place in the safe zone. Something happened last night – a priest appearing to favor suicide killed both a dying man and the walker who bit him instead of accepting a bite for himself. She'd trailed him until he walked back into the compound, leaving the gate open. When his footsteps cut off, she felt her heart pound twice, almost painfully.
Walkers.
So close. She walked the gate closed and stood outside of it, quietly moving from one walker to the next to stab them in their heads. What kind a' monster willingly leaves the main entrance wide open?
The walkers had left her forgotten – as usual. A small herd gathered around the gate, but Beth moved one-by-one until the lot of em' were gone. Footsteps approached.
"What the…" a familiar, masculine voice uttered. Rick. He was by the gate – likely noticing the lock was off.
Beth needed cover, knowing he could handle the last four walkers with ease if they got too close. His steps rushed closer to the gate, but she moved behind a car close to the white chapel just outside of the walls.
"Fuck," he said, grappling his gun to the ready. He'd seen the dead walkers. Better them than me. What happened tonight would determine her safety back into the group. She couldn't risk the compound lighting up a battle that would end in more death at her expense. Not anymore.
"Hello?" he shouted as she heard him grunt just before the sound of a body hit the hard Earth.
One, she counted.
He groaned before another body fell. Two. A snarl sounded…and another; however, two more thumps were easily heard. Four.
Although his footsteps were light, the heels of his shoes made a specific noise she easily tracked. He moved opposite of her hiding spot. "Who did this?"
Beth didn't stick around to find out. The last thing she heard was a woman's scream near the center of the homestead. She'd helped enough.
Today, Beth knew she needed to make contact either way. Her fingers itched to hold him again after endless months of being on her own.
You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.
Her throat tightened as her heart constricted. Heavy, glossy eyes looked up, seeing a skyline of treetops in place of the big open blue expanse. She'd leave her cache in her large green duffle bag in the treetops in case she needed backup.
She swung from the hammock to the large trunk, slowly sinking to sit on a nearby branch. She withdrew some jerky from her cargo pants and fought with the stale piece of cardboard until it conceded into her mouth. She chewed the wretched piece, the sound louder than she'd usually allow. The jerky swirled around her tongue a few times before she swallowed the flavorless crap. Eye twitching, she glanced to her left and to her right, seeing no one.
Amongst the whispering trees, chatty, distant birds, and occasional grasshopper chirp, Beth was very, very alone.
These people lived like the damn apocalypse wasn't around. No doors she encountered were locked. A tree just a bit taller than the large compound wall was overlooked – even as she swung down into Alexandria. Beth knew a good number of people lived here, but hardly anyone patrolled the place. Signs led her to believe something last-minute called together the general population and was occurring as she crept low to the ground. She kept quiet behind houses, waited until a few stragglers passed before she followed them.
She climbed up the side of a house in order to leverage its height to watch from afar what was going on. Rick stood behind a man, his knife drawn. He shared words with an older woman for a good few minutes, occasionally looking out to the population present.
An execution, she gathered. And a great distraction.
She withdrew her binoculars from her small pack between her shoulders, searching for only one face. However, he was nowhere to be found. Sighing, she whipped the pack around and found her 18-inch cleaver strapped outside the pack. Opening it, she tossed the binoculars back in and reached around, feeling a small handgun with precisely three bullets, the rest of the jerky, and a small water bottle nearly empty. Grabbing none of those, she felt a bit more for her target: the seven-inch straight edge knife. She procured it from the pack and placed it sharp side out between her teeth as she readjusted herself before climbing back down.
When her feet lightly touched the ground, she placed her back against the white exterior house wall and glanced in every direction. Due three streets up and seven houses to the right was the house Daryl crashed at. He wasn't hunting today, but that didn't mean he would stick to his usual routine. After all, someone was being killed this morning. That hadn't happened – at least over the last eleven days of watching this place work.
Staying low and close to the houses, Beth maneuvered through the compound until she stood at the back door of the group's main house. She was home. Finally.
She quietly turned the knob and opened the door in a fluid motion, thankful for no squeaking. Mercy, for once. Almost as soon as she entered through the kitchen, she heard two distinct, different, and familiar voices – shouting? They were muffled and came from upstairs. Beth's hand trailed along the hard, clean granite countertop in awe. How long had it been since she'd seen a clean kitchen?
Had it really been since the family farm?
Beth's bright blue eyes shifted across the room, admiring the lovely fixtures and décor staged around the space. The only clutter was a few loose guns, spare bullets, and a recipe book. She'd entered into an alternative timeline.
A piece of her loosened up, relaxing. Creature comforts no longer familiar starting to come into her mind again, Beth's mouth curled upward. She closed her eyes, swearing she could taste freshly baked cookies in the air, lingerin' pleasantly in her nostrils.
Loud footsteps pounded toward the staircase, snapping Beth out of her temporary bliss. In a rush, she glanced around her, fingers stretchin' as she rushed away from the kitchen and into a nearby hallway. She quickly shifted into a nearby coat closet and curled her hand, realizing her knife remained on the counter. Drat!
As she closed the door silently, a gruff, deep voice shouted, "You ain't trying to help me, woman!"
"Daryl," a woman said, sighing. Carol? "You've put yourself in danger and even hurt yourself at the expense of Beth's memory!"
Struggling sounded when bodies pounded the walls just outside the closet, closer to the living room part of the house. "Don't say that name!"
"Beth's gone, Daryl…" Carol said, voice quiet and strained.
"Don't!" Daryl uttered. Beth heard a loud bang against an adjacent wall. "Don't say her name…"
Beth heard their breathing from within the dark closet. She could almost see his shoulder raise and lower while his body shook. She'd seen him once like that. His voice sounded as it did now.
"What do you want from me, Carol?" he whispered. Their exhales were getting louder – almost panting.
Beth's eyes watered. She covered her mouth with a shaky hand as she shook her head and closed her eyes.
"I've always only wanted to help you," she replied breathlessly. She sucked in a hissin' breath and moaned quietly. "You know what I want, Dixon. What I've wanted."
A frozen moment haunted the house, only disturbed by racing, loud pants and an avalanche held in place by only a strand of thread. Something shoved against the closet door and she heard Daryl grumble incoherent things as he groaned against Carol's loud moans.
The base of her throat burned from a propelling force erupting from her stomach. The force jerked her back against the wall, but the noise had no effect on the two against the door. The door stopped rattling when she heard one pair of footsteps walk toward the living room. Something slammed down onto the couch as sounds of ripping fabric infiltrated Beth's ringing ears.
She was defenseless, drifting. No weapons, no food, no water…no life left in her. The bite mark on her shoulder ached like the devil done poured lava on it. Her whole body was sheathed in thick, beading layers of sweat. Her clothes were drenched.
The herd was faster than her. They'd catch her with no trouble. Her knees wobbled, buckling. She opened her vocal chords, trying to release the staggerin' pain in her knees and elbows, but her swollen throat sealed it all in tight. Lifting her head, she bear crawled a few paces until she bowed her head in defeat.
"Daryl," Carol chanted. Over. And. Over. Again.
With every bit of strength she had left, she flipped onto her back and sobbed. One name brushed her lips, but her vocal chords sliced at her throat, causing her to wince back. The herd's snarls approached.
This was how Beth Greene would die. Not by a walker's bite, not by the fever, not trying to save Daryl or her family. Certainly not with another soul.
Alone. Chased. Deserted.
Beth withdrew her cleaver from her pack's side, unlatching the snaps and holding the long blade unsteadily in her shaking hands. She needed to get far away from here. The aged bite mark left on her shoulder scorched, and her vision went fuzzy despite being drenched in darkness.
They stepped on her, walked over her, ignored her.
Beth turned the knob and shoved the door open, eyes settling on a stiff-backed Daryl covering Carol's naked chest. His eyes met hers when his head snapped toward the closet. Through his long bangs, she saw his deeper blue hues despite the distance. She'd gone and done plastered to nearly every corner in her mind.
His shirt was torn in half, but still on. She was in the arms that had once anchored her into this messy, horrific reality.
Alone. Chased. Deserted.
A shiver broke through her spine. A distant snarl echoed in her mind. A walker was nearby – inside the compound.
Ignored her.
She don't have time to dwell on things of her past. With the snarl comes a cry for help, the noise eroded and crumbling in her brain. She held her cleaver out to Daryl as she backed into the kitchen. He remained motionless. His lips moved again and again, but the words were silenced by shouting – cries for help.
Near the back door, Beth grasped the knife left on the counter and held up her cleaver in front of her. She moved until two large arms grappled her from behind. She bent her knees and shoved her body off the floor, trying to catch him off balance, but he held her steady. When he reached for her blades, she fumbled with the straight-edged small knife and jabbed it into his outer thigh.
Steeled arms fumbled and she quickly turned around, seeing a large, red-haired tank of a man stumble out of the back door. She jerked the handle of her cleaver into his forehead and kicked his stomach, shoving his ass backward onto the grass outside. She knelt down and collected her small knife from him and rushed down the small hill toward the shouting, knowing the ringing would only grow louder the closer she got to wherever the walker stalked.
Flashes of the walker's viewpoint spiked a sharp pain at her forehead. She buckled over and held her fists by her temples, shouting but not hearing a sound. People walked past the monster – out of its path.
It was hunting her now. The connection pulled it toward her.
"…drain you of every last drop. You are the cure, but you won't live to see another pretty sunrise…"
Dirty, filthy, damaged. She caused all this madness. If only she'd left that woman to die. This man wouldn't be hurting…torturing her right now. She got too comfortable.
Alone! She needed to be alone!
How on God's green Earth could she turn this off? She didn't ask for this – any of it.
Someone caught her from behind, lifting her off the ground. Her lips moved, but her ears couldn't quite hear anything. A wash of heat poured over her skin, sweat dewing over her flesh – thin, but quick. Each muscle in her body swelled, sinking her body's weight further into the depths of hell.
The change!
Beth needed to kill the walker before she lost herself to all the sorrow, the agony, the heat.
She stumbled, somehow freeing herself from the person's grip. A face flashed in front of her – her vision. Not the walker's this time. She tilted her head straight back and jammed her head into the person's before her.
The ringing intensified, but so did the fever. Her hands landed in the dirt. Crawling – she was crawling now, but fighting to stay standing. She felt the cleaver's weight in her hand, which coiled tighter against the handle. Breathing turned problematic, the air the weight of hardened steel traveling down her throat.
The walker's view flashed, replacing her vision. She saw herself in the distance, leaning against an iron fence and using it to help her walk. Familiar faces trailed behind her. Rick and Carl entered off from the side. They were still pretty far away, though. Strides long and swift, Daryl emerged from a house obstructing him from the walker's eyes. He was so close.
Daryl grabbed her, but she didn't feel his hands on her body. She felt nothing.
No one saw the walker. All eyes remained on her commotion. Daryl tried stopping her from behind, turning her and lifting her chin higher. Beth yearned to feel his warmth again, but all she saw was him step away from her, causing her to fall on her ass.
I ain't a walker! All I gotta do is wake up!
Rick turned his head the moment Beth extended her arm toward the walker. Rushing toward her…the walker, rather, the pain washed away and she filled her lungs with the biggest, most painful inhale of her life.
Beth coughed a bit, dropping her cleaver on the ground to her side. She weakly rolled over, catching the open blue sky in her eyes. Despite some of the worst aches she nursed in a while, she smiled softly as her eyes released warm tears.
She was home, but she was hardly happy. Her pack arched her back awkwardly, causing her breathes to be sharper than normal. She groaned when hands coiled around her tiny wrists, dragging her up. The ringing gone, she clearly heard her yelp. Her side hurt.
"BETH!" Maggie shouted too closely to her ear. Her hands trembled against Beth's cheek as she steadied Beth's face to look at her older sister.
She was as good as dead to her sister. Those signs ain't said nothing bout no Beth.
Too tired to fight for now…
"How are you here?" Maggie said, sobbing and nearly hyperventilating. "They saw you die!"
"Bit…fell…left behind," she replied, straining against her unused vocal chords. It had been weeks since she'd spoken anything above a whisper. Either way, those four words summarized what happened quite nicely.
Her eyes closed, and the endless darkness shrouded her.
"How are you still alive?" Maggie repeated from the opposite side of the cell. Beth sat in the furthest corner from the light. "You're bit!"
Beth remained silent. She hand't one nice thing to say to her sister. Daddy always said you couldn't ever take words back.
Maggie threw herself on the ground and crawled to the side of the cell, hands fisting the bars tightly. "That ain't possible…"
She was safe, for now. Ain't no connection starin' unless her emotions flared beyond her control. To Beth, Maggie made herself clear back in Georgia. Daddy beheaded and prison overrun, she didn't stop for one minute to try.
No one thought about Beth. They all had ignored her – written her off to take care of Judith.
Judith!
For months, Beth thought of the sweet baby girl. Never hers, but always hers. She prayed the baby was safe.
Maggie leaned her forehead against the bars, the noise bouncing around the small space. She just sat there and cried. Her older sister forced her to watch her break down – as if it mattered much anymore. Beth wasn't affected, though. She'd hardened her heart a long time ago – probably the moonshine night or somewhere around then.
The door opened, Glenn emerging from the corridor outside. He collected Maggie, who tried fighting him off, but ultimately gave into him. Her brother-in-law left the door open.
"Rick…I just need to see her," Daryl said loud enough for her to hear plainly. She felt her heart rush a bit, but she closed her eyes and exhaled. She couldn't think about what she saw. Not right now.
"That ain't gonna be possible till we know for sure what's going on," she heard Rick gently say before he entered the room and shut the door behind him.
Rick looked clean, looked good considering the looming apocalypse. Daddy trusted him through the end. Beth respected the hell outta him, too. He'd kept her alive plenty a' times to have her respect. Beth just didn't know if she could ever be loyal to the family again.
He grabbed the chair, flipping it around so that his arms crossed over the back of it casually. He tilted his head down and eased in with a smile. "I have a lotta questions, Beth."
"Let's start with the basics, then," Beth politely said, her voice rough slightly.
Clearing his throat, Rick nodded. "How many walkers have you killed?"
"Hundreds." She paused, considering her answer. "Perhaps closer to a thousand by now."
"How many people have you killed?" he questioned almost immediately.
Although she'd expected this question, the truth horrified her. Steeling her heart, Beth exhaled calmly. "Too many."
"Why?"
She looked him square in the eye. "I woke up after I got bit. Met a few groups along the way here. Plenty of 'em thought they could hurt me to benefit their group in one way or another."
Rick swallowed. "And the ones who didn't want to hurt you?"
"They either died in the crosshairs of my escape or I didn't give them the chance to hurt me. I always moved at night, often in herds. I learned it was best if I kept to my own."
"You moved in herds?"
Beth nodded. "No one would think to approach them."
"No, my question was…"
"I know what you meant," she said, firmly.
The sheriff drew his brows together, staring at her.
"Walkers only know I exist when the connection opens."
"The connection?"
Beth looked away. "I've gathered I'm vulnerable when my emotions are unstable."
Rick stood up, shoving the chair away from him. After a small while, he knelt down on the ground and met her on her level. "How many times you been bit?"
"Twice," she said, swallowing. "The connection triggers a stronger fever the more I'm bit. It's harder to pull away from."
"How long ago?"
"Over three weeks."
His breathing slowed. Reaching around to his backside, he withdrew the cell door key. "You ain't turnin', Beth." When she shook her head in reply, he smiled somewhat sadly. "You're daddy would've had our heads for locking you away like this."
When he started to unlock the cell, she quickly moved, grabbing the opening door and pulling it closed. "Why are you lettin' me go?"
Rick's eyes warmed, never letting go of her gaze. "You're family, and you saved a lot of people last night."