Dear fellow Bethylers,
I didn't cry after the MSF aired. I was too busy being angry and in shock and disappointed and cursing Scott Gimple for making us care about Beth only to take her away from us like that. I didn't buy it. Stabbing Dawn made no freakin' sense at all-neither in terms of character development nor in story telling. It was a stupid move and I still have a hard time struggling to understand why on earth Beth did what she did. Her family was right there for crying out loud! Also that Bethyl reunion: seriously?! A touch on her arm? No one can tell me that a man who moved heaven and hell to get her back, and a girl who was never afraid to show her affections with hugs and small kisses, would reunite LIKE THAT!
I guess it was bound to happen eventually that I joined Team Delusional/Denial. I think Beth survived this gun shot (in the comics both Carl and Andrea did after all, right?) or dream or whatever they have planned with all the coda meaning/symbolism that's going on. Somehow I would both be pissed and relieved if they mess with time and somehow along 5B they just jump back and show us what really happened. I'm crossing my fingers that Beth will be back in 5x10 or that we at least get a sign that she's still alive. I started watching TWD because of Beth. One day I came across season 4 on TV and then started a TWD marathon to close up to the recent episodes. Scott Gimple and Co. have till 5x16 to explain the mess they made.
I'm still not sure where I want to go with this story. Maybe it stays a one-shot, maybe I'm working out some of all those brilliant theories on tumblr. I figured if Beth really doesn't come back, the least they could do is give us a flashback or Daryl hallucinating her. This is how I would want that to play out.
~oOo~
You and me were always with each other
Before we knew the other was ever there
'you and me' by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green
~oOo~
He had been traveling in darkness for what seemed like weeks.
It didn't matter that it had only been days. Three days after―and everything he did, everything he said, felt like someone else's deeds and words. Daryl was on autopilot. When the group moved, he moved. When the group fought, he fought. When the group rested, he rested. No one talked to him about it. Everyone knew. He wasn't there with them―not really. And they let him―Rick, Carol. They let him replay everything in his head over and over again, and every time Daryl added and changed things―things he didn't get to say, things he should have done, things that might have been.
He had almost had her. She was right there. There could have been something good in his life, something real. Daryl hadn't realized how much he had yearned for someone like her until everything had started to be about her. She had been just as open before him as he had been before her, like a good book that first touches the mind, then something much more deeper and in the end you hold on to it inseparably.
"Never seen ya so upset because of some pretty face before, Darylena."
Daryl froze in his tracks at the drawl, crossbow slowly lowering to his side. No, just no. He wouldn't―no.
"Sweetass went out with a bang," Merle went on and though he chuckled slightly, his voice lacked any kind of real mockery. "Pity. I liked 'er. She had fire. Ta much for ya ta handle anyway."
"Not now, Merle," Daryl whispered, refusing to turn around and acknowledge whatever was going wrong with him right now. He plainly remembered the last time this had happened. If he weren't hurting so much, he would say he was only one step from the edge of death. Just a slight push and the door would open. Right now each sting, each wave of guilt, of dull pain engraved the words "you are still alive" into his brain. It was the only thing that convinced Daryl that he was still standing on this side.
Merle snorted; his steps drew closer. "C'mon now, baby brotha! Don't like things bein' taken from ya?" He stopped right behind him, watching his words slowly sink in with an appraising look. "Well, maybe ya shoulda have fought harder for 'em."
Daryl released a couple of shaky breaths.
He had to hold on. In all honesty, he didn't know for whom or what for. He already felt like a vase carelessly shattered by some random trespasser who didn't pay attention to where he was going. He was like all those tiny, sharp pieces scattered all around the floor―and Beth, Beth was the missing key piece. A picture of her squealing in surprise as he scooped her up unexpectedly into his arms, flashed in his mind. That lighthearted giggle had been following him around ever since―sometimes in rays of sunlight tickling his nose, sometimes on the back of the wind teasingly dancing around him.
Daryl clenched his teeth. "Shut up."
A few heartbeats passed by without another word. Then: "Was she yer woman?"
Daryl shuddered. The question seemed harmless enough but the meaning implied was not. Apparently Merle was set to expose him. He was afraid to face it.
He didn't know what―
If he admitted it―
How could he …?
Merle smirked. "Look at this: lil' Miss Sunshine meant more ta ya than ole Merle ever did, didn't she?"
Daryl shook his head. "Jus' wanted 'er back."
Merle snorted again. "Don't ya remember anythin' I taught ya? We protect the ones we love, sweet brotha."
"She said, she could take care of herself." What was he doing? What was he waiting for? For time to be ceased? For the world to change back? He acted like he hadn't known her at all. Maybe he really hadn't―she was the one good at reading people, reading him.
"Y'know, she never promised yer nothing. Ya shoulda have just flung 'er small ass over yer shoulder an' carried 'er out of that god damn shit hole of a hospital! Good Lord, boy!" Merle was practically yelling by now but there was also something else in his voice―something that made Daryl's stomach cringe, "What the hell was wrong with ya, huh?! Letting 'er go near that police bitch like that! Easily the biggest dumbass move ya've ever made."
Daryl winced. It would have done less damage, if Merle just had settled for hitting him. His crossbow slipped away from his fingers and landed with a loud thud on the forest floor. It was the kind of punch―so low, so deserved that for a long, terrible moment Daryl couldn't stand himself anymore. He let Beth down, exactly at that one time when she had needed him the most. He should have protected her―even from herself.
Another picture flickered in his head: Beth playing the piano, a voice like a place to come home to. Daryl couldn't remember the last time he had felt so utterly relaxed in his life the way he had when she had done him the favor and kept on singing. Laying there in that coffin and listening to her creating dreams and images in his head, Daryl recalled it as the moment he had acknowledged things for the first time. He had looked at her then―really had looked at her―his stomach writhing with some sort of nervousness he wasn't used to and although he couldn't understand even half of what was going on, one thing he hadn't been able to ignore: in her presence all the burdens life had thrown his way seemed to be magically gone as if he had never had to face them to begin with. It wasn't that he forgot about them―it was more like as if Beth had made him finally able to experience true peace. In her presence this feeling had made perfectly sense―without her not at all.
"There ain't gonna be no one like 'er no more," Merle said softly, watching him intently with his steel-blue eyes, "Not for ya."
Daryl nodded almost frantically, lips trembling like leaves in autumn. He took a deep, easy breath but it didn't stop―not even for a second, not even for a little bit. That was what Merle has always been good at: appearing out of nowhere like some freakin' storm, destroying everything on his way and then leave him behind to clean up the mess―always a disaster waiting to happen.
"I never wanted that for ya," Merle suddenly said, catching Daryl off guard. His voice was heart wrenching close now. He seemed to struggle, though, probably rubbing his neck nervously and shifting his gaze back and forth. Maybe if things had been different, Merle would have placed a hand on his shoulder now. Maybe if both of them had been less damaged and they had been born somewhere else, somewhere happier, they would have accepted the natural bond of closeness only siblings shared without question. Merle had never let anyone get too close―and Daryl had hated the feeling of helplessness and self-loathing when none of the things he did, had been able to reach him. For years the only happiness Daryl had dared to wish for was his brother: unscathed, back with him by his side. To him it has seemed to be so little to ask for, yet it obviously had been too much. It has always been him and Merle but far too often it had only been Daryl and his sorry ass.
"Couldn't make ya happy," Merle admitted with a hiss laced with bitterness Daryl had never heard him use before," But, hell, that girl did."
His brother had never apologized to him. Never. Not even once. This was as close as it would ever get.
Daryl exhaled slowly. "I miss 'er."
Merle burst into laughter and Daryl almost expected him to shuffle his hair roughly the way he had done sometimes when they were kids.
"'Course ya do. Jus' look at ya: walkin' around with 'er hunting knife on yer belt like the two of ya had already been married or somethin'."
It was suddenly right there.
Daryl could picture it―something he had never dared to picture before, not with Beth nor any other woman. It was clearer than a memory and so much more real than any dream: he walked through the woods, a buck draped over his back. It was past dawn, the sun already up in the sky shining brighter and brighter with each passing minute―another hot midsummer day was rising. He stepped out off the lines of trees, careful not to slip on the dew covered grass and moos underneath his feet. There was a cabin ahead, small, ordinary, a truck and Merle's motorcycle parked right in front of it. A little in the back a deep blue lake sparkled promising in the young sunlight. The fresh smell of wet wood and leaves and cold earth mixed with burned stone and smoke. His eyes scanned the area until they found what they were looking for.
A soft smile tugged on the corner of his lips. There, not too far off, was Beth, crouched down next to a fire trying to feed the flames until they were big enough. He walked up to her as swiftly as the deer on his back allowed him to, a fluttering feeling forming in his belly the closer he got. Beth didn't notice him at first. Occupied with the task at hand, she hadn't noticed either that her shirt had slipped down a little bit from her shoulder. Her braid was adorned over her right side, revealing the flawless, creamy skin of her neck. Daryl swallowed, trying to fight the slight heat threatening to creep up his neck. Before he even realized that he was starring, she cast a glance over her shoulder. The moment her clear blue eyes locked with his', the most heartwarming smile enlightened all of her face. There was a certain something in these blue orbs and once again he was left with the uncertainty of what it was―the only thing he knew for sure was that it was impossible warm and good and way too precious to be directed at him.
Daryl cleared his throat. Nope. No chance to play casual here. She seemed to know all too well.
Beth got up and Daryl shrugged the buck from his shoulders, all the while trying to figure out how on earth he was supposed to do what he wanted to do. Beth just stood there waiting. She was patient with him―always had been. He had planned this for so long but the longer he had dragged it out, the more ridiculous he had started to feel. It was nothing, hardly anything and yet screwing it up was no option.
He hesitated for a few seconds longer, then he moved on instinct.
Beth didn't retreat. She also didn't look away when his fingers, tanned and covered in dirt and deer blood, ran over the scar that went from the hairline close to her ear down to her mouth. Daryl took his time to study her, still hopelessly amazed that she let him. They were close, too close, not close enough. Beth titled her head, leaning into his touch until the whole of his hand cupped the side of her face. She closed her eyes, a blissful sigh on her lips.
It was all he wanted, all he would ever need―she was everything.
"Don't do this to yourself."
Daryl blinked. His chest tightened as his heart skipped more than one beat. A whimper escaped his lips. He did not dare to move, to think, to admit. He didn't dare to look and see that she wasn't really there. Here. With him. Right now.
"Don't wonder what it might have been like," her voice warned, sounding sad and gentle at the same time. "Just don't."
"Beth?"
"I'm right here, Daryl." Out of nowhere delicate fingers brushed against his hand, carefully awaiting his reaction. He tensed. "I said, I wouldn't leave you." Her hand slid into his. "I won't."
Daryl shuddered at the contact. He tried not to but ended up intertwining their fingers. It felt too real.
He scoffed kindheartedly. "Ya gonna haunting me?"
Beth didn't answer right away. "I'm here because you're hurting and you're hurting because you're strong. You are not going to give up―you can't."
"It shoulda've been me," Daryl muttered, fighting to keep the image of Beth's lifeless body in his arms out of his mind. The shot. The blood. Beth didn't cry out, she didn't stumble―she just fell. "Not you."
"One day you'll be able to smile again. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for a while but one day you'll remember everything: the good, the bad―those who survived and those who didn't. And you will be fine."
Daryl shook his head. He didn't want to hear. "I don't wanna be the last man standing, Beth. I don't want everyone dying on me."
No human being could endure something like that―not without closing off, not without losing their humanity. Rick, Carol, Carl, Judith, Michonne―he couldn't bear the thought. He would be ruthless, alone, shattered―he would turn into a second god damn Governor. It was a fate worse than death. Beth shouldn't demand this from him, she couldn't possibly want this for him.
"I still have hope."
"There was no hope to begin with." His words sounded shallow even to his own ears. The moment he said them, he knew he didn't believe them―and Beth didn't either.
"You don't get it," she grumbled in her 'don't give me that bullshit' tone, "Hope is not the believe that something is going to be just fine in the end―it's the believe that something was worth it, no matter how it ends."
"I cradled you against my chest," Daryl forced out. His voice trembled when the memory came back crashing down on him. "Was always afraid ta feel a foreign heartbeat so close ta my own but that time, it scared me more ta not feel it. Somethin' in my head started screaming."
His voice broke. He needed to focus. He wanted her to understand.
Beth leaned closer but didn't rest against him. A trace of her scent got caught up in his senses, shattering all the willpower he had gathered into pieces: a meadow in spring. There was sun, there was sweetness, there was life. Everything was bursting with new hope―the winter was gone. That's what Beth smelled like.
"I―," he tried again but failed. Everything and everyone had already left―why would words of all care to stay?
"I know."
Daryl heard the soft mumble but just nodded dismissively.
"Daryl," Beth insisted, forcing him to look at her.
He did.
He turned around and was overwhelmed to find a well-known pair of clear blue eyes looking straight back at him.
"I know."
Daryl didn't realize he was crying until he noticed the glazed shine in Beth's eyes.
"The time we had," she but whispered, smiling up at him, "That's what matters. It went bad but I'm not sorry." She laughed and it sounded nervous. "How could I? How could anyone ever be sorry for a life that had gotten them you? You were one of the things that mattered, Daryl. You still are."
Daryl followed the movement with his eyes but before he could do or say anything, Beth had lifted their interlocked hands already to her lips. She didn't break eye contact. She didn't hesitate. She kissed him. A feather lightly declaration on the back of his hand—not long enough to frighten him but strong enough to make him see what she saw.
At once his blood started humming in his ears but the clench around his heart tightened.
"Thank you," she breathed against the battered skin, sending little shudders up his spine.
"Don't thank me."
"I never would have made it that far without you. You taught me well."
"Not well enough," he replied gruffly.
A last rustle of breath, a last twitching of her finger against his' and then―silence. Beth stilled, taking in what he just said and what he didn't say. It was like breathing ice.
„It wasn't about killing Dawn," she clarified after a while and it sounded way too freaking calm, „I was certain she wouldn't go against me―she was weak. I wanted them to see that. I wanted them all to leave."
"Ya were certain?!" Daryl's pulse hitched. He tore his hand away from her and watched her slightly flinch at his sudden roughness. "Damn it, girl! I was right 'ere with ya―we all were! We coulda have made it out! We woulda have been fine! But you, " he pointed his forefinger at her, "You threw it all away like it didn't matter! Like you didn't matter!" He was snarling now. Anger and sorrow taking over. "Ya don't get ta make people care an' then pull such a dumbass stunt! Did ya―even for one single fucked up moment―think about whatcha doin' ta ya family, huh?! You screwed it up!"
"Then why do you still think it's on you?!" she yelled back, meeting his rage with nothing less than ferocity.
She knew no boundaries when it came down to Daryl. It frightened him just as much as it fascinated him―this ability: no matter how carefully he had set up his walls, no matter how vigilant he had graded them―all it had taken for Beth was to call him out on his bullshit. He had given in. She had assured him that it was okay to allow himself to open up―that she could handle everything he threw her way, that it was okay to care, to want something because she wasn't going to hurt him.
Something must have shown on his face because Beth suddenly stepped closer again, not once letting her eyes stray away from his'. No, Beth didn't had the decency to look away, to back down, to leave him alone.
Daryl cursed under his breath and turned his back on her. Like a caged animal he circled around for a few more heartbeats feeling it creeping up on him with every step. He had turned around from the door. Now he was on the edge. It was not the fall that scared him―it was knowing that this time he wouldn't be able to put himself back together afterwards.
"I trusted ya," Daryl whimpered, a dreadful cry backing against his throat, "I trusted ya ta not do anythin' stupid! An' you―"
It hit him then. A storm of ice and fire. He didn't know what to do with all the agony.
He screamed. He cried. His feet kicked dirt and earth and leaves―more than once almost making him lose his balance. Then he came to halt in front of a tree. It happened fast. No second thought was able to still his hand. Daryl hissed as his knuckles made contact. Liquid fire spread from his hand right into his system. He did it again and again and again, until there was no pain left. The nails of his other hand dug into the bark as he waited for the storm to decline. Traces of blood emerged from the bruised skin. He panted, the sting sinking deeper the more he tried to gain control. Both of his hands were shaking now.
"Daryl."
Immediately his deep blue eyes shot around to meet her soulfull blue ones. They seemed pained with his suffering but at the same time harbored this well-known warmth, she only seemed to have reserved for him. It was almost the same look she had given him in the funeral home. One small something was different, though—like a sunset was different from a sunrise or the light of winter different from the light of summer. It was enough to lose it.
Daryl sank down―suddenly as weak from the outside as he felt in the inside. It was breaking over him.
"We could've been something, " he rasped, eyes wandering to the sunlight shining through the green of the leaves above. Why was it that he didn't get to keep anyone in his life? Why was it that all the good things always came to an end before he really got to know them?
There was no time to feel alone, to feel empty, to feel as if there was nothing left worth staying for. Beth wouldn't let him.
Daryl tensed for a split second when he felt her come up behind him. She started on his back, with every heartbeat drawing closer and closer until the only thing he felt was her. Ever so cautiously Beth placed her head in the crook of his neck, tightening her arms around his shoulders. He shuddered when he finally found himself pressed up against her, wrapped in warmth and this particular scent that was only her and her alone. Something unbelievable soft cautiously touched his skin. One shaky breath later he noticed it not for what it was but for what it meant. Daryl closed his eyes.
"We were," Beth mumbled against his neck, soothingly caressing his chest with the tips of her fingers, making the tightness go away.
Daryl brought one hand up and found her arm. She trembled as well―not as apparent as him but the feeling was there nonetheless.
"I wish," his voice gave in, "I wish 'ere would've been more time."
She smiled. "Me too."
He held on to it for now. He had to. There was no going back, no hiding. It was so hard. His thumb started to draw small circles on her skin. And after a while the trembling stopped.
A sweet chuckle escaped her lips that couldn't conceal the sadness underneath. "Don't give up on me," she said, her voice full of emotions, "You never have―not even when everyone else had. Don't start now. You need it."
Daryl couldn't tell any longer whether he was alive or dead. He was somewhere in-between, he guessed. Somewhere, anywhere and nowhere―the place between sleep and wake. That's where he had found her. That's where Daryl hoped, he could stay. He squeezed her arm lightly.
"I need you."
And just like that he felt her slip from his mind like she slipped from his side. Daryl reached out for her intending to stop her but a blow against the back of his head made him freeze. It was dull but strong enough to jerk his head forward.
Beth paused―he could still feel her presence brushing protectively over his back.
"I want you to be sad." She was irritated. "I want you to be angry, to scream at the world and to lose your track. But don't you dare, Daryl Dixon" she raised her voice," Don't you dare to break!"
Daryl did not move, didn't say anything for a very long time.
There was his own breath, there was the song of a blackbird somewhere near and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Then he nodded―tears once again threatening to blur his vision. When they started dropping Daryl let them. Beth was gone―for good. He wouldn't allow her to come back―not like this.
He couldn't live a life with or without her.
The wind caught up on him, tracing ghostly across his face. Daryl felt the tears dry on his cheek. This time his eyes followed the dance of the leaves on the ground. A shiver ran down his spine. There, clearly visible in the soft mud, was a track. He looked closer, brow furrowed.
Steps.
Human steps.
Not a walker.
Daryl titled his head, eyes scanning the ground for more. Considering seize and distance between each step and how deep the foot sank into the mud, Daryl could tell the stranger must have been male. No signs of injuries. Daryl dug his fingers in the ground, rubbing the wet earth between his fingertips. There had been heavy rain two nights ago. The track wasn't blurred. Whoever came through here must have done so after the rain had stopped which meant the person most likely was still somewhere in this area. The thought didn't sit well with Daryl. He was too close to the group and judging from the direction he came from, it seemed as he was following them. If he was right―
Something else caught Daryl's eyes. In an instant he was on his feet, his heart dropping with each step. By the time he reached it, he was almost too afraid to touch it, a mixture of denial and anger stirring up within him.
Daryl kneeled down, hesitantly picking up the small object hanging from a narrow bush. It didn't vanish. It felt real. He starred at the petite form, the tiny silver chains and the single cross made from wood.
The realization hit. There was no way he was mistaken.
Suddenly his fist clenched around the object, eyes once again focusing on the footprints.
Rick needed to know. Hell, the whole group needed to know.
There would be a hunt.
He was going to track this person, this man, down and for his sake, Daryl hoped he better had a damn good explanation of how he got a hold on Beth's bracelet.