A/N: It's been awhile since I've written anything in TWD universe, so if It's a little rusty, I apologize! If you enjoy this, be sure to leave a review! In this AU, Daryl wasn't present at Grady when Beth was "shot," so he's stuck believing she's dead. Prepare for the feels.
"Keep goin'," Daryl requested.
"I thought my singing annoyed you," Beth laughed.
There was an ache in Daryl's chest as he continued to walk away from Grady Memorial. His hand still gripped the pistol that he used to kill the person that kept Beth away from him, the person that took her life away. He wasn't suppose to be left with only memories. Her singing wasn't suppose to be the last song that he heard. They were suppose to have endless nights together in that little house. He was content staying there with her and no one else.
"Beth...she's...I'm sorry, Daryl…" Carol had told him.
"What do ya mean? Where is she?" But he heard exactly what she meant.
The group tried to stop him from going inside; they knew what he was capable of. Rick tried to stop him from leaving when he came back outside, but there was no use. Blood was splattered on his clothes, but it wasn't his. Daryl shoved his way past the group. The tugs at his arms and clothing only made his blood boil more.
"Daryl, please. Don't leave." Carol pleaded, pulling at his arm. But Daryl yanked his arm away, giving her a cold, hard stare. It was enough to make the woman step back out of a newfound fear.
Good, he thought.
He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted all of them to be afraid. Instilling fear in his friends would push them away - or so he hoped. Everyone that he ever allowed to get close to him only ended up hurt or, worse, dead. Why it took so long for him to realize it, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the fact that maybe he cared more about her than he let on.
"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."
The words haunted him. Not once from the moment she uttered those words did he believe he would ever have to miss her. She was far too pure. He thought no harm could ever come to her. But it did.
And he missed her so fucking much.
He could feel the ache in his heart worsening the farther he walked away. Rick began calling after him, but not even he could get him to turn back around. Daryl couldn't be around them. He needed to get out his aggression in some way. But even after that he wasn't sure he could ever go back to the group. As long as he was around, they were in danger. Death followed in his wake.
Merle's death still kept him awake at night. The only family he had left was gone and never coming back. In some ways, Daryl blamed himself. He kept entertaining the thought that it was his fault that his brother died, but deep down he knew it wasn't. They had the same blood coursing through their veins, so perhaps it was a Dixon curse. A curse that took away the only happiness he had known since the apocalypse began.
His feet shuffled along the asphalt. The groans of the corpses around him echoed in his ear. He tried to block out the sound, but his attempts were poor. Instead, it only antagonized him. Never had he felt a rage such as this before. There had to be a way to take out his frustrations.
And then his feet came to a halt and he turned his head slowly to look at a zombie sluggishly moving towards him. Then, just as it was about to get close enough to him to hurt him, a scream erupted from his throat as he lunged one of his arrows into its forehead. His scream attracted more attention, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
This was going to be how he made himself feel better and if he died, then that was that. He wasn't going to fight death. If he was meant to live past this, that was up to whoever the puppet master was in this sick world.
Daryl pushed forward, now gripping his hunting knife tightly as he took out more and more of the undead. "Come at me! I'm fuckin' ready for ya!" He screamed. There were far too many for him to take them all. His mind kept telling him he was ready to accept this fate, but his heart told him something else.
He wasn't ready to die.
His feet began to carry him backwards, away from the danger. The adrenaline had washed away and fear for his life was beginning to settle in. He broke into a sprint, but not back towards the group. He still didn't want to go back to them. All that he could think about was that house.
"I'm glad I didn't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes."
Daryl hated goodbyes just as much as she did, but he hated them more when he would never have the chance to. Resentment for himself began to fester inside him the more he thought about the things he didn't do. He knew she was capable of taking care of herself but he couldn't shake the thought that he could have done more. He should have done more.
Days had passed and he still hadn't found the house again. There was no sense of direction. The only thing Daryl knew was that he needed to find shelter or else he really wasn't going to make it another day. He was tired and starving. He could feel his body weakening significantly. Beth had taught him how to have faith that things would work out, but that died with her.
And then he saw it - the house.
And as if that was all it took for him to keep the faith, he wasn't tired anymore. His heart began to pound in his chest as he ran as fast as his body would allow. A small smile had crept its way on his face. He may have lost Beth, but now he had this house.
His footsteps echoed on the wooden porch steps as he trudged up them, but he stopped just outside the door. His eyes flickered down to the doorknob and, for a moment, his heart stopped. He knew very well that Beth wasn't going to be waiting for him on the other side. That didn't stop him from hoping that maybe she made her way back, that she was okay. That she was alive.
The door creaked as he finally pushed it open. Silence danced in the air, shutting down his fantasy. He didn't want to call out in fear of waking any possible neighbors he might have. Shutting the door behind him, he shuffled further inside, carefully peeking around every corner. The back door was still wide open from when Beth ran out to get to supposed safety and a shiver ran down Daryl's spine. He sent her to her death.
A lump formed in his throat the more he thought about it and shut the door in an attempt to stop the memories, but they only continued. When he came across the room with the piano and the casket, he started hearing her singing once more.
The smile that had fallen returned once more.
He wanted to keep hearing her. It remedied the pain. He climbed into the casket like he had that fateful night and laid back, reminiscing on the good times. The more he allowed himself to replay her singing in his head, the heavier his eyelids grew. Somehow he found comfort. Peace, even.
Sleep came easily. The music stopped, but he kept dreaming of her blonde hair, her blue eyes. The way she always had a twinkle in her eye and the way her smile could light the darkest path. But his sleep ended just as abruptly when the sounds of piano keys bounced off the walls.
His eyes shot open and he sat up just as quickly to see the cause of the noise. Through the dark, all he could see was blonde hair thrown into a messy ponytail and a familiar grey sweater. His heart stopped again as he stared. Had he wanted her so bad that he was imagining her? Did he get bitten and this was the hallucination?
"Beth?" Daryl spoke softly as he got out of the casket, reaching out to place a hand on the person in front of him if they were really there.
And then the figure began to turn around and he saw her blue eyes. Her face was adorned with cuts and there were dark circles under her eyes. The smile he knew wasn't there. But from the moment his hand touched her shoulder, he knew she was really there.
She was alive.