A/N: Hi everyone! This is an AU plot that I've fallen in love with centered around my OTP Beth and Daryl. I'm having fun just writing it on the privacy of my computer, but it's something that I think a lot of people might enjoy, so here's me, sharing, lol. I'm really, really excited about it! This will be updated more slowly than 'Feral', since I plan on writing longer chapters and there's been a heavy amount of research involved (which is still ongoing), but I'm shooting for a chapter a week.

Please leave a review and let me know what you guys think! All favs and follows are also enthusiastically welcomed with open arms! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, so help me gremlins. Except for the plot itself, everything else belongs to AMC, the lucky bastards.


May 21, 1977

The old truck, a faded 1941 GMC that her daddy had bought right before enlisting and had never had the heart to sell, rumbled into the poorly paved parking lot. Long pale fingers wrapped tightly around the gearshift and hauled it forward with a wrenched jerk, loose blonde hair flying as the truck shuddered to a stop.

"Son of a-"

The words were cut off as wide blue eyes snapped tightly closed, the cab of the truck suddenly deathly quiet as a deep breath was slowly inhaled. When they opened again, it was to look into the cracked rear view mirror, and the unfamiliar face that were staring back. How long had it been since she'd really looked in a mirror? She couldn't remember.

"You looked tired, girl," she told her reflection, unsurprised at how blankly the words were received.

Beth Greene was tired. Exhausted, actually. Even in at the end of spring, when the world seemed to sigh and relax in the muggy Georgia heat, she just didn't seem to have enough time. And her face showed it. Fine lines pulled at her mouth, hardening her features as her lips seemed to be pressed in a permanent line. The skin beneath her eyes was darkly smudged, the eyes themselves sunken. She looked so much older than her eighteen years. She'd kept her mama's blonde hair, but the features that had always been compared, that the ladies in church had always hemmed and hawed about as the spitting image of her mother...no, those features had already worn away, leaving her with eyes almost too big for her face, too thin lips and cheekbones that jutted out, leaving her with a seemingly permanent harsh expression. Now, she thought with a wry twist of her mouth, there could be no doubt that she was her father's daughter.

With that in mind, she yanked on the stubborn door handle and hopped down, smoothing down her sunny yellow dress. Daddy loved her in this dress. She tried to wear it for him nearly every time she visited. Beth tipped her head back to look up at the hospital, its windows stretching so far up that she had to squint and shade her eyes with her free hand as the other slammed the truck door closed. Grady Memorial was the best hospital in a hundred miles. Old Doc Forrester hadn't had enough accolades to throw on the staff and their facility. Even knowing that, guilt curled like a cold lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She knew he hated it here, but he needed those treatments. He breathed better, his fever broke...if he hadn't been so stubborn about that lung infection, it wouldn't have progressed as far as it had. He knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let something like that sit and fester. Not that she could ever openly tell him that. He'd tune her out. Selective hearing, that's what Mama had called it.

Letting out a quiet breath, Beth tucked her keys in her small purse and started up the sidewalk. In all honesty, she hated the hospital just as much as he did. The walls were that putrid, sickly green that many medical offices preferred, claiming the color to be soothing. In reality, it was just a reminder of where you were. Everything was sterile and cold, even the paintings hung on the walls to bring a little life into the place. The staff were impersonal, lacking the warmth of more genuine interactions when they spoke with anyone, even each other. It was all clinical, aloof, so unlike home in every aspect that it unnerved Beth to walk through the doors.

Straightening her shoulders, she strode down the corridor towards the elevator, her low heels clicking mutedly on the white tile floor. With relief, she slipped into an empty one, ducking her head so that she couldn't see anyone in case they wanted to ride up as well. She pressed the button for the fifth floor and waited, tapping her foot in time to the music wafting in through the speaker in the ceiling. When the doors slid open again, she breezed through them, past the nurses' station and hung a left. Daddy's room was at the end of the hall, facing west, which was really one of the few redeemable qualities to be found. At least he was out of the sun until well into the afternoon, keeping the room pleasantly cool most of the day. But in fairness, it was atrocious, even if it was clean.

Rapping her knuckles against the door, she peeked around its edge.

"Hey, Daddy," she said, her smile bright as a copper penny.

Hershel Greene sat propped up in his bed, his blanket tucked neatly across his legs and the Bible in his lap. His reading glasses were perched on the end of his crooked nose, not a hair out of place on his white crown, and he was freshly shaved. The look he gave her was warm as he marked his place with a thick fingertip.

"I was hoping you'd come today, Bethy."

"I always come on Sundays." Beth scooted the single chair in the room close to the edge of the bed, tucking her legs to the side as she sat down and leaned forward to take her father's hand in both of hers with a teasing grin. "You're on your best behavior."

Silver brows raised simultaneously. "I didn't realize I was so difficult to deal with that you could only come one day out of the week."

Her smile faded. "Daddy, I-"

"You're looking after things, I know," he interrupted her, gently squeezing her fingers. "I don't begrudge you that, sweetheart, not when you're doing it all by your lonesome."

Her relief turned to trepidation in the space of a heartbeat. "I'm doin' just fine, and Shawn's promised that he'll be home, just as soon as he gets bus fare."

Hershel's weathered features softened for a moment as he was reminded of his stepson, finishing his business degree at Duke up in North Carolina. He had a good head on his shoulders, and with a little luck, he was well on his way to setting himself up for a right nice future. But then the old man's features fell and Beth knew without him asking that her sister had crossed his mind. Gently, she cleared her throat.

"I got a call from Maggie last week," she assured him. "She's somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, she said, doin' fine. Even met a nice young man from here in Atlanta up there."

Hershel looked down at his youngest, his demeanor suddenly weary. "She won't be coming home."

It wasn't a question, but Beth still felt compelled to answer him, her heart sinking. "I don't think so, Daddy."

He rubbed his fingertips across his brow, falling quiet for a while. Beth stayed quiet too, letting his hand go and gently taking the Bible from him and setting it on the bedside table as he mulled over what she'd told him. Maggie'd been gone longer than Shawn. Ever since they were little, her older sister had a restlessness about her, never satisfied for long with anything; not games, not school, not relationships, not even home...nothing seemed to have a hold on her. Her eyes were always focused on the lane that led away from their sprawling farmhouse. How many evenings had Beth found her leaning against one of the thick white columns, her arms folded as she stared off where the sky and the earth met, like she was straining to see what was just beyond it.

The ink on her high school diploma had barely dried before she'd packed a duffle bag and was off, sneaking out into the night without a word. It'd broke her parents' hearts, but she'd suspected that they'd known it was coming. And Shawn had followed right after her. They were only a year apart, but instead of taking off for God knew where, he'd sat down with them and explained, in his steady, soft-spoken way, that he wanted more than acres of farmland and cattle. He wanted to build his own life, a fire in his dark blue eyes that Beth had never seen before. That was the last time she saw her brother for years until Mama's funeral last fall. He'd come home for that. Maggie, it seemed like, couldn't be bothered.

Beth fought to keep the wince of her face; the bitterness was a hard thing to let go of.

Hershel's dry, strained chuckle pulled her from her thoughts.

"She always was something of a free spirit," he admitted, the light words belying the heaviness in his expression.

Beth stood to lean over the bed and kiss his cheek. "Yes, she is. And I'm doin' fine, I promise."

It was a mantra she repeated every week. Everything was fine. Everyone was fine. There was nothing for him to worry about. She didn't doubt that he knew the lie for what it was, but he never called her on it. He worried, but he trusted too, and she loved him for it. Hershel gave her a small smile as she smoothed her hand over his hair.

"Did you bring me your book of figures like I asked?"

"Yes I did." She sat back down and opened her bag, pulling out a small red book with a pen clipped to its cover.

Beth handed it to him as Hershel adjusted his glasses, glancing down the neatly written columns his youngest daughter had penciled on the narrow pages. He hummed under his breath as his bright blue eyes scanned up and down, an old hymn that tickled Beth's memory. Pushing her hair back over her shoulder as she sat back, she hummed with him and that seemed to make him conscious of it. He looked up with a faint smile, the lines in his face deepening.

"I don't think I've heard that since your mother was alive."

She canted her head. "Which one is that, Daddy?"

Hershel made another humming sound, dipping his head back towards the little notebook. "Hmm, I believe 'There Will Be Peace in the Valley'. It was one of your grandmother's favorites."

Beth laughed softly, her eyes lighting up. "I didn't know you and Grandma had anythin' in common."

"Probably more than either one of us would have liked to admit," he replied, glancing at her over the rim of his glasses before tapping a fingertip against the open book. "Now, tell me about this."

She craned her neck to see what her father was pointing at as he held the book out to her. It was a small column, the numbers meager even in her large, bold handwriting.

"I called and spoke to Earl Sharpton, but he couldn't offer me a better price for those heifers." She pointed to the column to the left. "Here's their weights, 'ccordin' to his scale, and that first column there was the price he was offering per pound per cow."

Her father's bushy white brows rose. "Fifteen cents a pound? I was selling cattle for more than that in 1932."

Beth lifted both her slender shoulders. "He said it was the best he could do."

Hershel started muttering under his breath, a deep set of furrows appearing on his forehead. "Call a man a friend for thirty years and he can't even give a decent...named his grandson after me, for the love of...ridiculous...pig-headed...last time I ever give one of his horses…"

"Daddy," she said gently, calling his attention back to her and feeling relieved when his dark expression cleared a little as she indicated another page. "Look at what I sold the eggs for. Mr. Johnson down at the grocery store said he was more than happy to buy four dozen a week as long as the hens kept laying."

Speaking in nearly identical soft tones, they slowly worked through the book. It was nearly three in the afternoon before Hershel slipped it closed with a quiet sigh.

"We just might make it this year, Bethy. The good Lord's watching out for us, I do believe"

Beth smiled, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt, and squeezed his weathered hand. "Of course we will. We always have."

He covered her hand with his, his face showing signs of fatigue. "I just wish-"

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," she murmured, leaning up to kiss her father's temple. "You always told me that, and it's still true."

He chuckled raspily. "I suppose it is." He glanced out of the window. "You should start home, Bethy. It's a long ride."

Beth nodded sadly, her heart tight and heavy in her chest. She stood and hugged him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, refusing to allow the stinging in her eyes to give. "I love you, Daddy."

"I know. Humor the old man and call the room when you get to the house."

Reluctantly, she let him go, bending down to retrieve her bag from beside the chair. "I promise. I'll be back next Sunday, alright?"

He snagged her hand and gave it one more squeeze. "Be careful."

She looked down at him with a bright smile that she didn't feel. "I always am."

With a last, fond look, she crossed the room and closed the door behind her. It wasn't until she got back in the truck that she allowed herself one hiccupping sob. Her head flopped back against the seat, her fingers clenching around the small book in her purse. God, how could she lie to him like that?

She angled her head to look down at her lap, blinking hard and swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. She had to. He was sick. It wouldn't do him any good to know. She'd promised.

What choice did she have?

Exhaling harshly, she shoved the bag down and started the engine, the ancient truck shuddering and choking as she jerked it into reverse.

She spared a glance at the red cover visible on the seat next to her. She hadn't lied. The figures were as accurate as she could make them. Provided that prices held and they had a good tobacco crop come fall, they'd come out even by the end of the year. And if she could get the back field cleared by the end of the summer, they'd come out maybe even a little better than decent. They'd make ends meet.

But it wouldn't be enough.

Beth resisted the urge to drop her head onto the wheel as she pulled out onto the highway, instead bracing her elbow on the door and cradling the side of her head in her palm, driving with one hand. Her father owed the bank more than he could possibly pay back even if they had several exemplary years in a row. Between the back taxes and the mortgage, not to mention the debts incurred to some of the local businesses and the line of credit she'd had to take out at the tractor company, there just wasn't enough money or enough farm to go around. Her father had an excellent practice as a vet. Well known and respected, he was the first emergency contact for numerous farmers across the county. But he also had a big heart, under all that gruffness. He felt with his whole being that he had been blessed with a gift. He worked for the good of the community, as he believed was his duty.

To charge people for doing the good Lord's work was tantamount to blasphemy, and Hershel Greene was a God-fearing man.

She rubbed her fingertips across her forehead. Her Daddy was a good man. He'd done the best he could by his family, living off what they hadn't needed to sell and raising his children in a far kinder way than his father had. He had taught them what he could, and those were lessons that Beth had taken to heart. Her parents had possessed a very clear definition of right and wrong, and there were few gray areas in the world as they saw it. Mama and Maggie had butted heads on more than one occasion over their differing opinions on that subject.

Secretly, Beth had more often than not agreed with her rebellious sister. Her mother had been a sweet, loving, good woman, but she'd preferred her rose colored glasses to the frequently unpleasant realities the family had faced. Her children never wanted, but it was because they recognized that it would have been asking for more than she could give. Their table had never lacked for laughter and warm conversation, but it had never been full. The fields and pastures that stretched for acres in every direction had been beautiful, but not very fertile. Hershel was a successful man, but the little money he did make was spent before it had even settled in his hands.

These were things Mama had never allowed herself to really see. Her children had not felt they could afford that luxury. All three of them had taken jobs in town as soon as they were big enough to see over a counter. And it had led to more than just paychecks. Mr. Johnson had adored Maggie and her quick smile for his customers. As long as she worked there, they never had to pay dime for anything. Shawn might not have gotten that scholarship if he hadn't been putting time in at the bank as a clerk. It'd looked great as community service, and Mr. Kiely had been willing to look the other way several times when payments were late. And as friendly as Doc Forrester was with her father, he probably still would have charged them something for Mama's care if Beth hadn't been looking after for his grandchildren, the old coot.

Small town politics, she thought with a wry smile. You scratch their back, they scratch yours. It was all about who you knew. Mama would never have admitted that was the case. People were just kind and charitable, just like good Christian folks were supposed to be.

The farm was dark when she pulled into the yard. Beth blinked. Had she been that far in her own head, she hadn't even noticed the sun going down? She cut the engine and slid out of the truck. The porch had never looked so empty to her. The swing swayed forlornly at its end, the rocking chairs creaking softly in the warm breeze that blew westward. And the house…

She tipped her head back to gaze up at the beloved, white-washed shutters, the twin brick chimneys that jutted out proudly from the roof. She'd finally managed to repair the back side. Daddy would have had a stroke to know she'd been up there by herself, but the leaks were getting bad. Mama's beautiful hardwood floors were starting to warp from the moisture, and if the ceiling took any more water damage, well-

Beth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. There wasn't anything left to hire anyone with. There just hadn't been anyone else to do the job. And her patch job seemed to be holding, for now. She'd have to get to work on the front soon, before the next big storm blew in. She'd have to keep sidestepping buckets in the kitchen and living room for a while longer, though. As she started up the wide steps, she glanced to the barn that was still proudly perched on its hill beside the house. It looked bad, even in the daylight, dilapidated and worn. Chunks of wood were missing from the walls, holes scattered across the tar blackened roof. If she didn't get to fixing that soon, she was going to have no where to put the horses. That was an infinitely more pressing concern than damp floors. As long as she put down towels, she could make the house's roof keep.

A pounding was starting behind her eyes and Beth reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. There was so much that needed her attention. Wearily, she dropped her bag and keys on the stoop and toed off her shoes, walking barefoot across the yard. She might as well check on Nelly and Moon while she was outside. The grass was thick and cool underfoot as she padded towards the building, grabbing the thick beam that ran across the doors and heaving it up. Her thin arms shook with the effort as she struggled to set it to the side, leaning it up against the side of the barn. Red paint peeled off and stuck to her hands as she hauled one door open and slipped inside, groping along the wall for the simple light switch. It clicked on, filling the barn with alternating patches of yellow light and deep shadow.

Whickering came from the other end and Beth felt her lips curl slightly as twin pink noses poked out of the two stalls that stood side by side. Nelly, a red roan with matching mane and tail, pawed at the ground while Moon, as milky white as his namesake, shivered and tossed his head. Stretching her hands up as she stopped in front of their stalls, Beth scratched behind flickering ears.

"Hey there," she cooed. "Still got plenty in there?" She stood on tiptoe as she asked the question, leaning left then right as she glanced around their large bodies, checking their water and feed. "Good."

She stood there for a while, stroking their faces a bit before letting her arms drop and turning to lean back against the post between them. Her arms folded as she stared at the straw on the floor, not really seeing it. What were they going to do?

She gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes roving up to land on a closed door to the right on the other side. Her brow furrowed. When was the last time she'd looked in the old tack room? She couldn't remember. Probably last year, when she was moving things around. She kept most of the riding equipment close to the stalls now, where the roof was still intact. Aside from a few rusting odds and ends, she didn't recall there being anything else really. Well, aside from the old-

Beth stiffened suddenly. Was that still in there? She certainly hadn't bothered it. As far as she knew, the damned thing hadn't even been touched since she was a little girl. Driven by a sudden surge of curiosity, she pushed herself away from the post and crossed the narrow aisle to the door. When she turned the knob and pushed, it held firm. Growling, she put her shoulder against it. With difficulty, she shoved it open, the planks screeching over the hard packed floor. She bent to the side and flicked on the light.

The room was musty, the scent of dust and rotting oath lingering sweet and thick in the air. Cobwebs hung in fat, gray ropes from the beams of the ceiling, moonlight streaming through the large holes that had been eaten away in great, gaping patches. At the very back, rising and falling in a series of odd shaped lumps, was a massive tarp, its original color long lost under a light grey coating of grime. Checking under her feet for corn snakes, Beth carefully stepped into the room, mindful of any nails as well. She really needed to sweep the whole barn. Maybe she could clean, but good, in the next few weeks. It could use an airing out. With careful hands, she grabbed the tarp and hauled it up and off. Dust rose and danced into the air, making her cough.

Cracking open one eye as she waved a hand in front of her face, trying to ward off the worst of it, she was surprised to see that everything was in relatively good shape.

"Granddaddy's still," she murmured, glancing over it with a crooked smile. "Well, ain't you a piece of history." Beth swallowed past her dry throat and ran her fingers over the curling copper tubing that ran from one squat barrel to the furnace lined with heavy stone. "Wonder what kinda stories you could tell, huh? I doubt I heard even half of 'em."

She drummed her fingers on top of the barrel. The copper needed replacing, but at first glance, it looked fine. Her eyes lit up. Maybe-

Guilt followed fast on the heels of her nostalgia. Daddy would kill her for even considering it. He'd made it very clear, even when she was a child, that the Greene family's days of bootlegging were well behind them, nothing but stories of glory days long dead. She stroked a hand over one of the stones. It was understandable. Temptation. He'd fought long and hard to overcome his need for a bottle, and had instilled in his children a fierce predisposition against it. Not that they'd listened very well, she thought with another smile tickling her lips. She and her siblings had experimented. They weren't as innocent as they liked Hershel to believe, but as far as she knew, all three of them had only flirted with that line. None of them would have dared to come home with anything resembling alcohol on her breath. Beth had rarely seen her father angry, but that would have incurred a wrath that not even Job could have likely weathered.

Not to mention, she admitted silently, she didn't know the first thing about making moonshine, much less selling it. The county was dry, so it wasn't like she wouldn't have buyers, but that wouldn't last long when they keeled over from alcohol poisoning. No, it was a stupid, desperate idea. Beth set the tarp back over the old equipment and turned on her heel, shutting the door to the old tack room firmly behind her.

They'd make do. They always did.