So typically I try to stick to AU fics but this one was buzzing around in my head for a while, so I'm giving it a whirl. I'm not sure how long it's gonna be and heads up, it's not necessarily a "traditional" story structure.
Hopefully you enjoy it!
Sleep was a rare commodity. It came and went in fragments; twenty minutes naps spurred on by complete and utter exhaustion, or nights wasted tossing and turning, senses on high alert for snapping tree branches or the crunching of leaves underfoot. Sleep was precious and Daryl hated sleep. He'd never sleep if he could, he'd spend all his hours and days awake, searching and making up ground, trying to find some place they could settle and make into their home. Not a home, home was an ill-fitting word, but a safe place. It never proved to work in the past, setting up shop and letting themselves get too comfortable. Lives were always lost in the process and whatever hope they had managed to kindle and build up was always doused out. It was tiresome.
But not tiresome enough for sleep, not for Daryl. He took watch more than anyone; the others used to object but fatigue wore down their concern rather quickly.
"I got it," Rick told him one night, nudging at the other man with his elbow. "Go rest."
"'m fine." The look Rick gave him was anything but accepting and maybe if the trek out of Terminus hadn't been so difficult and rocky, Daryl would've stood his ground. But he knew that he was no good to the group if he was sluggish and didn't take proper care of himself (the best he could anyway), so he reluctantly respected the request.
Sleep was rare and sleep was scary because during the day, Daryl could push thoughts from his mind and focus on other things. But when he slept, he had no control over what his mind conjured up.
He'd know this place anywhere. The peeling white paint, the creaking screen door... something hits his gut and his mind screams, 'Home, this is home', but it's really not. Far too good, too nice of a place for him to be able to call his home.
Daryl equates the Greene farmhouse with a castle.
"You're supposed to say, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'"
He stands only a couple of yards from the porch, wind whipping across his face. His own hair is longer than he remembers it being the last time he saw this place. Looking up at the voice, he spots her leaning out of the second story window. The wind rushes past her, strands of blonde whirling around, framing her glowing face.
"What's that about?"
"You can climb up it to get to me."
He knows the story, at least the gist of it. Rapunzel is trapped in a tower and the prince climbs up her hair to get to her. He peers in the main level window but all he sees through squinted eyes is bright, white light.
"Why don't you just on down here?" He thinks he sees movement inside, but he can't be sure.
"I can't," she calls down, voice laced with heartbreak. He hears his own heart, deep within his chest, crack in half. "I would, but I can't."
Waking suddenly, Daryl's body jostled and then tensed all at once. He didn't recognize his surroundings, not until he spotted Carl and Michonne leaned against a tree asleep, Glenn and Maggie awake, holding hands as they sat huddled near the dying fire. The rest of the group, his family, were around too. Everyone except Beth.
Daryl didn't dream much before everything happened. His childhood was plagued with a lot of nightmares, far too many, and as he got older, they phased out for the most part. They still reared their ugly head once in a blue moon, but it was nothing like the awful nights he experienced as a kid. Pleasant dreams were even rarer, and when he did recall them, he almost hated them. They were the biggest tease, a depressing reminder. Nothing like having a good dream crushed by shitty reality.
That's how Daryl felt when he awoke. Annoyed, confused. He didn't know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare, the array of emotions that hit him ranged from joy to concern to sorrow. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to commit dream-Beth to his memory, worried if he forgot how she looked then, he'd somehow forget her altogether.
But that proved to be a bit of a waste of time, considering how often after that she snuck her way into his dreams, good or bad. Every time he closed his eyes, it seemed like she was on the other side of his eyelids, patiently waiting for him.
When sleeping, his subconscious took over and it was always the same thing, in different variations. He always saw her. Sometimes he woke up with the heavy weight of guilt in his stomach and other times, it was as though a small fire had lit and spread throughout his chest. It changed, it differed. But it was still scary for him, how much she haunted him.
"Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play..." Beth giggles. "I can't remember the rest of the words." Her laughter falls away as her face contorts, deep in thought, twirling her knife in her hand so fluidly, like she was born gripping the thing. They're in the woods, somewhere, but not on the move, not running. Just... meandering.
"Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day," he finishes, though there's no melody attached to his words.
"Oh, right!" She laughs again, all airy and light. "That's a nice thought."
"Hm?"
"Discouraging words are seldom heard and the skies aren't always cloudy."
"Don't mind clouds."
"Me neither. I used to like trying to find shapes in them." At this, he looks up at the chunks of blue peaking through the trees above. He squints at the clouds, but all he sees are puffs and streaks of white. A moment of silence passes as he studies them and she continues on strolling. He's not all that imaginative, but there's a small blob of fluffy white that somewhat resembles four legs and a tail. Somewhat.
"Dog, I think." Her breath catches in her throat as she whips around and Daryl instinctively goes to grab his crossbow off his shoulder. But it isn't there, it's nowhere in sight.
"Where?!" Her eyes are bright and lit up by the smile tugging at her lips
"What?"
"Daryl, you said there was a dog." He notices then that the knife she was wielding is gone and he has no weapons on him at all either.
"The cloud," he explains, pointing up at the sky. Her face falls a bit but she follows his finger anyway, and there's that sweet laugh again, causing the back of his neck to prickle in the best possible way. This time, he can't help but laugh too.
"That's a real funny lookin' dog."
Once Daryl found a moment alone with Maggie, he didn't know what to say. There weren't any words he could muster up to convey the remorse and longing that consumed him. They'd been on the road almost a week now and she hadn't mentioned her sister's name, at least not while Daryl had been in earshot. And how he wished she would, that she would ask about her, what happened to her, had anyone seen Beth? There was a far off look in her eyes he had caught before, when she wasn't focused on any job at hand, when she believed no one was looking, when Glenn wasn't at her side. But Daryl had seen it, and he knew he had that look sometimes himself.
"We're gonna find her," he blurted out as Maggie gathered up stray pieces of firewood. Her whole body stilled and she didn't look up at him, but she didn't have to for Daryl to know that someone had told her, that she knew he was the last one with her. "I... I went after her, I searched for-"
"I know." Her arms curled around the branches in her grasp as she stood and took a few slow strides towards him. There was a sad smile on her lips that didn't reach her eyes. "I know you did. And I hope we find her."
"We're gonna. She's strong, she's smart. She's out there." Daryl heard his own voice break, forcing himself to look away from the older Greene sister. His heart felt lodged in his throat and it only tightened when Maggie laid her head briefly against his turned shoulder.
"Wake up, Daryl."
It's not even a whisper. His ears barely pick up the sound but they do all same. He knows that voice anywhere.
The grass is soft and dewy beneath his body, causing him to shiver involuntarily as he sits up. His bones ache and his heading is pounding, but he forces himself to stand. The farmhouse fills his line of vision, consumed with darkness. He staggers towards it.
"Beth!" he calls out, his voice rough and hoarse. He makes his way up the porch steps, teetering unsteadily with his hands gripping the rail. He wonders about the bright light he saw before and presses his face to the window, but there's nothing there. Just black and emptiness.
His legs don't want to move but he forces himself to the edge of the porch and leans over the railing, nearly toppling over in his dire need to see the second story window. Her window.
"Beth!" His cheeks are wet and he can't bear to stand anymore, allowing his knees to give way and his body to crumple against the chipped white balusters. She's so clear in his mind, her shiny blue eyes and contagious smile; the way her arms curled and clutched around him, so much force and emotion from such a small body.
He squeezes his eyes shut over and over, staring up at the window, willing her to appear. But she never does.
