Drabbles for bethyl!baby prompts! Feel free to send them in! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated!
Prompt One: Beth gives birth to a son with Daryl's assistance while reflecting on her past
The world is a different place than it once was. She knows that. Despite how she wishes she were still naive. Still locked back at the farm, her father and sister both alive, she knows that such will never occur again.
There's fear in the air, the smell musk and sweltering, as she lies reclined in a bed of hay. Her fingers quiver, digging into the flesh of his palm as he murmurs whatever damn words of encouragement he can think of. She knows he's trying his best, but it still hurts like hell.
"I can't," she pants, the pain crippling as it comes wave after wave, riddling her body incapacitated. "I can't!"
"That ain't the Beth I know," he coaches, not pulling his hand back as her nails dig into his skin, cutting the sensitive layer. "Keep goin'. You're so close. So close."
So close. She remembers her father uttering those words as their cow, Bessie, lay heaving on the ground, the feet of her offspring extended from underneath her tail. The long night he spent out there, coaching and watching the animal deliver its young. It seemed so primitive then, but now here she was. The situation so similar in many ways.
"Daryl," she whimpers, gasping as another contraction rips through her muscles, contorting them into unrecognizable shapes. "Make it stop!"
"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his mouth pressed to her sweaty forhead. "Kid's almost here."
She can feel its body as it slips from her, Daryl's hand leaving her side as he goes to catch the squirming being before it has a chance to touch the sacred ground. It writhes, coughing as its wet, bloody form whines and curses from its father's hands. Frightened and angry at the cold world it has entered.
"A boy," Daryl laughs, his voice filled with exhaustion. "It's a boy!"
She can feel the tears spilling down her cheeks as he gingerly places him on her chest. He looks up at her, head squashed, eyes too large for his face. He's so beautiful. The most beautiful creature she's ever seen in the world. And of everything she thinks and wishes she can tell him, all she can utter is one word.
"Hello," she whispers, fingers caressing the thick, dark mess of hair on the tiny head.
"Pulled through it, Half Pint," croons the archer. "He's a Dixon for sure."
She smiles, genuinely for the first time in a long time. And unlike most days, faith really did seem to be here. Right in this moment. Nestled in hay and bare breast. He nurses, eyes closed as his wet skin heats her own. This is happiness. He was hope.