Beth had been given a strict Christian upbringing, but the world had changed. She couldn't remember seeing anything more beautiful than the crossbow bolt sprouting out of the watcher's neck. He subsequently dropped to the ground futilely grasping at the instrument of his impending death. In the next instant, Daryl appeared, yanking the scalp of her attacker, barring his neck and fluidly opening his throat, leaving a red smile from ear to ear. Daryl was like an artist in his prime. No...more like an avenging angel set from God who put not only precision but passion into his work. The blood sprayed her face and chest as Daryl threw the convulsing body off of her, but she didn't flinch from it. She had been granted life. Daryl reached down and pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Get behind me and stay there!" He spat out, taking his free arm and pushing her directly behind him. His other hand retained its deadly grasp on his bloody hunting knife.

The man who had brutally pinned her arms to the ground stood with his hands spread wide, palms up in a placating manner. His gun laid on the ground a few feet from him, but he appeared as frozen as Beth had been when her assailants first came upon her.

"Dude...Whoa...wait..." the last attacker standing managed as Daryl lethally changed grips on his knife. "We can work something out. We didn't know that she belonged to anyone...not anyone like you..." he attempted to plead his case.


...didn't know that she belonged to anyone...not anyone like you..."

The words and their meaning made him snap. He had never shied away from violence when it was called for, but he had never seen red...until now. Before he realized what had happened, Daryl found himself plunging his knife into the ruin of his victims chest again and again and again. The purpose of the stabbing had long ago faded as life had left the body beneath him, but it still sated his need to defeat the human evils that ran rampant in their fucked up world. When he finally came to his senses, he remained perched over the mush that had been a man, and in one final act of retribution, he sent his knife crunching through the skull. It was necessary, but it sure in the hell did feel good too. When he went to wipe the blood from his face with the back of his hand, it was no good. He was covered from the waist up, but he was able to wipe his blade on the side of his thigh where his jeans were still clean.

Standing and looking back, he saw that Beth was exactly where he had told her to stay.

A little late for that...

His first instinct was to put her in her place for not listening to him when he told her to stay in the cabin, but seeing her standing there covered in another man's blood returned him to protect mode.

"You okay?" He questioned softly, approaching her slowly, not knowing if she was as calm as she appeared.

She nodded her head in an affirmative.

"Any of the blood yours?"

"I...no...all theirs I think." Beth's voice was quavering. He knew that once the adrenaline ran out, she would be a total mess.

"Looks like some's yours..." he had closed the distance and reached out to examine her split lip. Beth winced at his touch. This realization that she was feeling pain landed her back into reality. She reached up and found her cheek swollen as well.

"You good a minute?...then we'll get you back and clean you up." Daryl didn't wait for an answer but went to work making sure everyone who was dead would stay dead before Beth turned into an emotional wreck. He grabbed up the guns and precious ammo the dead had carried. God knows they needed the fire power after having lost everything except what they carried when the prison fell.


Did he save me...I'm okay, right? Beth hoped this was real, that she had been sparred the horrible fate of the day. Sometimes everything seemed so unreal. If she could just wake up from this nightmare, everything would be okay...she would be at home with Maggie, and Mom and Shawn would be there too...and Daddy...

Beth reached up, touching her lip. The pain was real. She pulled her fingers away from her face seeing the crimson liquid that stained them. The blood was real.

And Daddy's dead...

Beth watched Daryl finish the dead men and collect the guns and extra magazines that could be their salvation...at least until they weren't. Daryl was so good at this, so strong...she wasn't. In some of the more "depressed" moments of her early teens, she had come to what she believed was a genius conclusion about life. Life was simply a slow march toward death. Lately, the pace of that march had picked up beyond comprehension. She just wanted it to stop...it had to slow down. How was Daryl so strong?

Daddy is dead...

Beth sank down to the ground.


Sure as sunrise, Beth had broken. When Daryl turned around, he found her sitting on the ground, arms tight around her knees, face buried in her thighs. She was literally a ball of emotion. Now feeling secure and heavily armed, Daryl could attempt to offer Beth what little comfort he could, putting aside any thought of scolding her for not listening, at least in her current state. He went to his knees in front of her, reaching out and gently touching her shoulder. She barely responded.

"You okay?"

No answer.

"You're gonna be okay...I promise."

Shit, did he just say that. He never made promises he couldn't keep.

Looks like I'm just gonna have to keep this one.

"I promise Beth...I'll keep you safe until I die..."

Beth finally looked up and him, bloody and puffy from tears. She threw herself at him so hard that he was sent back on his heels by the force and forced to brace himself with a hand on the ground behind him. Once he had righted the both of them, he put an arm around her in comfort and with the other gently stroked her hair. He wasn't used to being close to others, but he realized they needed one another, and giving comfort was part of that equation. And he never realized someone so small could hold someone so hard.

"Please don't die..." Beth managed just above a whisper, face buried in his chest.

"I promise, I'll stay alive as long as I can." He had realized a long time ago that a man was only as good as his word, and he intended to be a good man.