"Stand down!" the woman officer said.

The adrenaline had him on fire. He could barely breathe, trying to choke back the tears.

Beth.

His hands were cemented around the gun handle. He knew he'd just mowed down the cop, and he didn't give two fucks what the consequences were.

Beth!

He wanted to drop to his knees, put his fingers to her slender neck and find it thrumming with life. But he couldn't. He knew he'd feel nothing and then it would be final. His own heart felt like it was barely beating. He couldn't swallow. His lips curled, thick with thirst.

"Daryl. Daryl!" Rick's face swam in front of him, looking as ragged and shocked as he felt. Splattered blood ringed his neck and dotted his face in a gruesome reminder of what had just happened. "Daryl. Give me the gun. Give it to me. It's over."

Daryl surprised himself by being able to spit out, "ain't over!" He spun around until his eyes focused on the tall, thin man in the white coat. His breath hitched. "You! You're a doctor, ain't ya? Come'n check her out."

The man grew pale. The officers slowly parted and the doctor made his way to the front, carefully stepping around his fallen leader and the oozing pool that outlined Beth's head. "It's, uh, unlikely…" he started, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Daryl waved the gun in his face. "Just check her!" He was aware he was acting like a madman. He felt like one, burning coals and bile, a snake waiting to strike. As the man knelt down, Daryl felt a small hand grip his own shoulder. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Carol, nor did shrug her off as he might've done once. Instead, his eyes settled on that cop he'd blown away-Dawn-and stared at the neat, round hole that pierced her forehead. It reminded him of the ring of bracelets that encircled Beth's wrists, hiding the angry, jagged scar, the one she'd made with the mirror shard so long ago when she questioned whether she wanted to live. In comparison to what Beth had done to herself, Daryl's work was that of a precision surgeon.

What's yer little filly gone 'n done to herself this time, baby brother? She ain't comin' back from this one. This ain't no teenage cry for attention. She ASKED to have her pretty little self laid out for the preacher. "Shut yer damn piehole, Merle," he mumbled under his breath to his vision of Merle and what the man might've said, had he not made himself walker bait.

When the doctor finally pulled aside Beth's matted hair to get to her skin, the hallway seemed to tilt at an angle, as if gravity itself no longer had to obey the rules. Black cobwebs tugged at the edges of his vision. He swayed. Carol's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Daryl." It was Rick's voice again, equal parts alarm and grief. Daryl tried to blink away the cobwebs and focus on Rick, whose hand was outstretched, fingers curling inward with encouragement. He looked down at the pistol in his own hands and back up at the man he'd come to think of as his brother. Rick nodded with approval, and something shifted inside of him. He felt himself surrendering the gun. Carol's hand slipped from him, replaced by Rick's, who firmly clamped him on the shoulder. "Good man,"Rick said, softly. Daryl didn't respond, watching Beth's white-blond hair slowly turning a sickeningly shade of pink from the river of red.

The doctor felt one place with the pads of his fingers, then moved his hands to another. When he looked up, his eyes were wide. "Good God!" he said. "She...has a pulse!"

Daryl heard a series of gasps. Maybe one even escaped his own lips; he wasn't sure. He stumbled back as the hallway turned into a beehive of activity. The cops shouted and barked orders, making him feel even more out of sorts. He watched, almost out-of-body, as Beth was lifted gently onto a gurney and sped down the hall.

Merle's voice wormed its way into his mind again, as if on cue: "Pansy-ass Darlene, gonna pass out like a little swooning girl, huh? Speakin' of girl, couldn't keep your own little Tootsie Roll safe could ya? Teeny, young sweet thang like that. How you ever think you could take care of a real woman, brother?"

"Sit," someone commanded him. It was Tyreese. His large face was uncomfortably close to Daryl's as he was shoved, hard, into a chair. He'd never let anyone push him like that before and get away with it, but he was actually thankful someone had forced him down before he crumbled on his own. "Try to breathe more slowly," Tyreese said, "before you keel over, man."

He heard Noah's voice swimming in the distance. "I'm… I'm… sorry. I...I... didn't mean for her to…I'll go and see..." Daryl blinked away the blackness just in time to see Sasha quiet Noah with a look. The young man shook his head, turned and limped down the hallway after the caravan.

Daryl stood so quickly the chair fell backward. "Not without me, you ain't," he growled. He jogged the few steps to catch up to Noah and ignored Tyresee's pleas to sit back down.

"Bullet went clean through. Missed her brain by a hairs' breadth. It was the trajectory of the bullet that saved her. Missed her major blood vessels. Her eye's gone, obviously. Her skull's a mess, but we patched it up the best we could."

"So…she'll live?" Noah asked, clutching the bedrail with white knuckles.

"Noah," said Dr. Edwards impatiently. "You know as well as I do that there's no way to know. Only time will tell. We'll do the best we can for her."

"You'll do more'n that," Daryl croaked menancingly. "You'll figure it out 'cause ya owe it to her. Y'all do." He stood by the door, Rick close at his side.

"She'll live," Rick nodded in agreement, head tilted to one side. "She'll live."

Daryl knew the doctor was scared shitless of them. He could see in his eyes the look he and his brother Merle got countless times. Now, he was glad of it. He pushed further inside the room, dragging a chair to her bedside. He made it a point to sideswipe the doctor, making him practically jump out of his skin and out of the way.

"She, um, needs to rest," the doctor declared weakly.

Daryl plopped down in the seat and glared up at him. He stretched his legs to mark even more territory as his own. "She'll rest just fine with me sittin' here. Ain't leavin' her alone with you people, not after what ya done."

He shook the hair out of his eyes and gave a quick glance to confirm with Rick, who drawled in confirmation, "that's right."

The four of them stared at Beth, saying nothing. The entire side right side of her head was swathed in a red-tinged bandage, wrapped so she looked like a teen heading out on Halloween night as a mummy. The machine hummed beside her, the little blip that was her pulse casting shadows on her face.

The lightbulb buzzed and dimmed, then glowed full-force. Rick cleared his throat. "How long 'til she wakes up," he asked, breaking the long silence.

"Should be soon now," the doctor replied, lifting her eyelids and examining her pupils. "But she might not remember the accident." He checked the machines and muttered, "trauma's a funny thing."

"Ain't nothin' funny about it," Daryl shot back. "And ain't no accident." On instinct, he reached and took Beth's soft hand in his calloused one, remembering back to the time where she'd intertwined her fingers with his by the gravestone. He felt, rather than saw, Rick's gaze settle on how his hand was pressed to hers. At least the man has enough sense not to say anything, he thought, unlike like my own real asshole brother would've.

Rick cleared his throat again. "Let's go," he said. "Only one of us needs to be here when she wakes up. Will be too overwhelming, otherwise. Daryl—" he bent down to be near Daryl's ear,"you call us, soon as she stirs, y'hear?"

He grunted in return, not letting her hand go, not looking up, either. He didn't want any questions. Not now, not ever.

Daryl had fallen asleep, Beth's hand still enclosed in his thick paw. It wasn't a deep sleep, more like a drunken stupor. He'd slid in and out of consciousness, wondering what was real and what he'd dreamt. Images of Dawn's head snapping back as he put her down. Beth's cast peeking through her sweater sleeve. The feel his hand on the Beth's back when she was released to the group. Holding her in his arms, smelling her hair, telling her he did miss her when she was gone. That defiant sound in her voice when she said, "I get it," right before she stabbed Dawn.

As soon as her fingers twitched, however, his eyes flew open and he knew exactly what was going on, what was real and what wasn't. And it stung, bad. He itched to tell her what he didn't get a chance to before, that yes, goddamn it, he missed her, annoying singing, ridiculous optimism and all.

"Doc! Get in here!" He hollered, more out of panic than anything else. He was afraid maybe she'd have a seizure or something and he wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do. The doctor must've been sitting outside the door, because he was in the room within seconds. He worked around Daryl, checking machines and looking into her eyes with a little flashlight.

"What's happening?" Daryl demanded.

The man didn't answer at first, mumbling to himself as he continued his examination. Finally he said, "looks like she's waking up, is all. I have to warn you, she…I mean, I think she might…"

"Ya just keep your thoughts to yerself." Daryl interrupted.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," he sighed, shaking his head as he headed toward the door.

Daryl stared at her for what seemed like hours. When her one eye began to flutter open, his heart seized. "Beth. Ya hear me? I found ya. We all did. We're all here with ya. S'ok now."

"What… what happened?" Her voice sounded small and scared, like a child's. Her lips were cracked and swollen, and she had trouble bending them to form the words.

Daryl tried to force himself to speak, but whenever he started, he felt hot needles prick the back of his eyeballs and the lump grew larger in his throat.

" 'Scuse me?" she said, turning her head slightly in his direction. She moaned. Her other hand started to find its way up to her head, and he stopped her by placing his free hand gently over her roving one. "I… don't…" she began. "Mister… where am I?"

Daryl gaped at her, not knowing how to respond. He turned toward the door and shouted, "Rick!" He dropped his hands from hers, worried that his touch had somehow triggered something bad. "Doc!"

The two men, plus Noah, Carol and Sasha came barreling into the room. Their faces were twisted at first, as if they had expected the worst. But when they saw Beth's single bright blue eye staring at them, they all broke out into relieved smiles.

"Beth!" Carol exclaimed, running up to her bedside and kissing her cheek.

"Welcome back, honey," said Rick, his voice breaking, leaning over the bed. Sasha was beside him, her rifle slung over her shoulder, her hands clasped together almost as if in prayer.

Only Noah and Dr. Edwards hung back, watching her reaction. Her one eye scanned one person and then another, eventually sliding back again to the first. "Something's not right," the young man whispered to the doctor.

Daryl overheard and roughly pulled the doctor to the side. "Damn straight something ain't right," he whispered back. "She don't remember who I am."

Despite their lowered voices, the room was small, and Rick and the others heard the conversation. Carol was the first to react. She sat gently on the side of the bed, holding Beth's hand. "Beth, honey. You know who I am?"

Beth smiled weakly. "'Fraid I don't, ma'am. But you know me, seems." Her face brightened for a moment. "You know my daddy?"

Carol looked crestfallen. She glanced at Rick, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Sure," she replied. "I know Hershel. I love Hershel."

Beth sighed. "Oh, thank the Lord. I was beginin' to think I was in here all alone. Where is he? Where's daddy?" She tried to push herself up, but Carol patted her back down. "Hush. You get some rest first. We'll tell you more after you've had a nap. You're safe."

"I… I guess I am a little sleepy, and my head hurts somethin' awful." She yawned. "You got an aspirin or somethin'? Miss… what'd you say your name was?"

Carol patted her hand. "Carol. My name's Carol. This here is Rick," she motioned toward the ex-sheriff. "And beside him is Sasha. That's Noah and Doctor Stephen Edwards- we call him Doc Stephen- -by the machines, there. And over there…" she said, nodding toward the man who had slid back into the corner. "That's Daryl. You don't remember just yet, but you're old friends. We're all old friends."

"Daryl," she mouthed, turning toward him. "Old friends." He risked a glance at her eye, sorry he did. There was zero recognition. She yawned again. "I'm just so...tired…" She let her lid droop shut and Daryl stiffened as Doc Stephen drew something in a syringe. Without hesitation he thrust himself between the tall man and the bedridden girl.

"What's that for? What're puttin' in her?"

"It's just a sedative. Help her sleep better. What she needs most right now." The doctor turned his attention from Daryl and eyed Carol. Daryl followed suit, his narrowing icy eyes settling on Carol's honest, gray ones.

"It's okay, Daryl," she soothed. He winced as he watched the doctor slide the needle into the girl's arm. Carol rose from the bed and she and Rick together motioned to Daryl.

"Come on, brother." Rick said. "She needs rest. She'll be more herself when she wakes up. Ya can wait right outside if ya like, I'll sit with ya."

"Ain't leavin' her alone," Daryl growled angrily. "Don't none of ya' tell me to leave her alone, EVER." He checked himself and stopped. "Just want 'er to be...safe," he added in a more even tone.

He caught Carol smiling sadly at Rick as she said, "You go ahead, Rick…Noah. Get some rest. I'll stay with them. Sasha, keep watch outside the door?" Daryl swore Rick and Carol exchanged a knowing glance of sorts, which pissed him off even more.

They don't know nothin', he thought bitterly.

Doc Stephen followed the others out of the room, and Daryl kept his mouth shut, throwing himself back down in the chair. To her credit, Carol didn't say much at first. After a while, though, she started making small talk about how Beth looked good, considering, and that from what she knew it wasn't unusual for people to have some temporary memory loss after such an injury. Daryl understood the woman was trying to make him feel better, but the chatter sounded like a jackhammer in his brain. He wanted quiet. Needed it.

"Ya promise ta stay with her?" Daryl asked suddenly, after not having said a word the entire time Carol spoke.

"'Course."

"Goin' for a smoke," he grumbled. He stood up, stretched his arms over his head, and left the room, not daring to look back. One glance at Beth's face, all peaceful, almost deathly, might send him over the edge, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna go cryin' again in front of Carol… he wasn't going to cry again in front of any of them. And he wasn't no pansy-ass, though Merle would have been right about one thing. He did a piss-poor job of keeping his girl safe.

His girl. He sneered to himself. She weren't my girl, never was gonna be. Nearly twice her age and three times as dumb. He sauntered down the hall, wondering if Rick and the others had taken rooms in which to sleep for the night. How anyone could close their eyes he didn't know, not with Beth in there more than half dead, eye shot out, no memory of any of them, in this insane asylum of a hospital.

And where the hell is Maggie? He cursed Beth's older sister, leaving for DC like that, wondering if her presence here could be the magic pill; after all, Beth remembered her daddy. Certainly she'd remember Maggie, too, even though she didn't seem to give a rat's ass about her baby sister. Selfish bitch only cared 'bout herself and her damn man. At least my dumbass brother cared about me...in his own jackass way, he thought to himself. He walked briskly to the end of the hall where two of the cops were stationed near the doors. They eyed him warily, but didn't put their hands anywhere near their weapons. Daryl pushed open the double doors with one hand, saying, "goin' for a smoke." They didn't try to stop him.

In the outer hallway, he leaned up against the wall, one boot crossed over the other. He pulled out a cigarette and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with his scratched up silver Bic. After a long drag, he let out a slow stream of smoke. As he took a second draw, he heard footsteps approaching. Instinct had his hand on his knife handle, his feet in fighting stance.

The door swung open and Sasha stood in front of him. She looked tired, almost sickly and certainly surprised to see him there. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying, which she probably had. He'd noticed ever since Bob died she'd steal away and come back a while later looking all bloodshot and drained. No one, not even her brother Tyreese would go after her. She made it clear she didn't want anyone near, something Daryl understood all too well.

"S'thing wrong?" He asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

She shook her head no. "Everything's ok. Just needed a break. Tyreese is taking watch." She looked toward the elevator shaft and shuddered. "Can I?" she asked, reaching for the cigarette. He shrugged, handing it over to her. He was a bit taken aback as she took an experienced puff. He watched her from the corner of his eye, sucking in the smoke and allowing the tendrils to drift evenly, almost elegantly, out of her nostrils and mouth.

He expected her to start prying any second, but she didn't. She just shook her head and simply said, "at least she's alive, Daryl. Right now, that's gotta be enough." She took one last drag and handed the burning butt back to him.

He felt bad not knowing what to say to her, seeing her all ripped up and raw from Bob's death, but all he could muster was, "Damn shame, what those assholes did to him."

Sasha nodded. "Thanks."

They stood there in silence for a moment or two more, finishing another cigarette together. Then Daryl, feeling steadier after the smoke, motioned for her to go back down the hallway. Together they went through the doors, ignoring the sentries again. At the end of the hall Daryl turned left toward Beth's room. Sasha reached out and stopped him before he got far. "Don't you go flying off the handle at that doctor, Daryl. He's all Beth has right now, her only chance to pull out of this ok."

"She ain't gonna be ok, ever," he groused. "But that doctor best pray he does it right, whatever the hell he learned with that fancy college education, to make it so she can get out of this damned hellhole, a'least."

He continued down the hallway alone until he reached Beth's door. Tyreese cocked his head toward the opening. "Go on in. Beth's still out cold'." Daryl walked through, his boots clicking on the linoleum floor, and settled back in the chair beside the bed. Carol looked exhausted but smiled at his return. "Welcome back."

"How's..." he inclined his head toward the bed, not wanting to say her name.

"Same. Sleeping." She slowly rolled up one of her shirt sleeves and then the other. "Daryl…" she started, after a time.

"Uh huh?"

"She's not Sophia."

Daryl glared at her, hard. "No, she ain't."

"I mean, she's not gonna die. She's gonna pull through. She's strong."

"The hell? I know that," he replied, kicking the bed frame lightly, not knowing what to do with his limbs. He risked a peek at Beth's face, still slack with slumber. His eyes softened and he longed to pick up her hand again, but didn't. Couldn't. In fact, he pushed his chair a fraction further away from the bedside. Carol looked from him to Beth and back again. Daryl, sensing that she was guessing at something, couldn't bite back the groan that escaped from his lips.

"Daryl?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. He suspected what was coming and cut it off before it could start.

"Nothin'," he replied forcefully to her unspoken question. "We survived. S'all."