Author's Note: Hello! So this story will be set out with interweaving chapters of the past and present, so that we can learn more about the events that lead up to Beth being reunited with the group after so long. My OC is not a love interest of Daryl, but I'm not opposed to her having some romance in her life if the story unfolds in that way. This will be a Bethyl story - and an emotional one at that.
If you have any questions, do feel free to message me.
All reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated!
CHAPTER ONE: THE PAST
In the aftermath of what had occurred, the world was deafly quiet.
The utter disbelief of the events of the evening had numbed him to his very core, and his mind was trying to protect him from the true horror of what had happened: of what a man wanting vengeance can do in the heat of the moment, of what a man could do to another human being when his authority was questioned. The sound of the bat whooshing through the air radiated throughout his head repeatedly until his brain conjured up the sound of the bat connecting with his friends' heads. He closed his eyes and let out an inaudible sob.
His mind was screaming but he remained still, or as still as his ragged and pained breathing would allow him. His senses returned to him in stages.
The sound of the sobs coming from his remaining friends that surrounding him, settled in heaps with all life deflated from them as they processed the laughter coming from the man who they only knew by name as he waved the bat around carelessly.
The feeling of the blood flicking in their direction and marking his skin, staining him forever in guilt and heartache.
The sight of his friends as they lay on their fronts - still and lifeless – and degraded in such a way by a man who didn't bother to know their names before bludgeoning them to death.
The heavy scent of blood and vomit filling the air around him.
The taste of bile rising and sitting heavily at the back of his throat – tangy and offensive to him.
The voice of Merle echoed in his mind in that moment. Don't show him weakness, brother.
"And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen, the main event has come to an end," Negan began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That is what I like to call the 'ultimate Negan experience'. Not one but two of your friends felt the wrath of my girl, Lucille."
The world was still silent, except for the stifled laughter coming from the hordes of men surrounding them. Negan stepped closer to them, placing the bad just a few inches away from their faces, showing off his handiwork. As it reached Daryl, the bile rose further into his mouth, and the sound of his brothers' voice grew louder and sterner.
Don't show him weakness, brother. I raised ya to be a man.
His head felt heavy with dizziness and he couldn't truly comprehend what was happening. It all happened all at once. Negan moved backwards, raising the bat upwards.
"Lucille: seen by many, felt by few," Negan said, as he brought it downwards with force, but stopping just an inch away from Daryl's head. The movement, the action, the look of amusement on Negan's face, and the closeness of death was overwhelming. The little contents of his stomach seemed to warrant an escape and he allowed his body to take over as it convulsed as he vomited in front of Negan.
"Ooh, look here," Negan continued, taking a step backwards in disgust. "We have someone who can't handle a little joke."
Daryl felt his skin become hot from the gazes of the men upon him, all now watching as he showed his more vulnerable side. The chortles came in waves to him and he kept his head down. The aroma of vomit hit him. And he cast a glance towards Negan who was visibly repulsed by him.
"I don't know what's riper," Negan said. "That right there or smell of your friends bashed in brains."
Anger coursed through Daryl, and despite his sickened condition and the injury to his shoulder, he leapt forward, his good shoulder swinging a fist in Negan's direction. He felt Glenn and Abraham's presence for a moment as his fist connected with the man's face. Negan fell backwards, taking Daryl with him, and they crashed to the ground hard. The sound of Negan's men jumping to defend their leader could be heard as they all collectively aimed their weapons in his direction. He pulled himself up from the ground, in time for Rick to grab hold of him.
Rick's gaze was intense, and his eyes burned into his soul. He whispered quietly. "Can't lose you, too."
It was all Daryl needed to calm himself down. As Negan hollered behind him and found his feet again, Daryl returned to where he had been slumped on the ground, like a dog ordered to his crate. He bowed his head, ashamed of his outburst. Negan's obscenities were being thrown in his direction, and Daryl's actions had angered the man more.
Negan closed the gap between them. Daryl watched as he dropped Lucille onto the ground and pulled Daryl up by the scruff of his collar. His eyes burned into him angrily, a stark contrast to that of Rick.
"Give me one good reason why you shouldn't end up like your friends," Negan seethed, bitterly. Blood seeped from his nose and ran along the curve of his lips.
Daryl narrowed his gaze at him, careful of his injured shoulder as the man pulled at him harshly. "Ain't got one," was all Daryl could say. Negan furrowed his brow at him before giving him a pitiful look and releasing him from his grip. Daryl stumbled to ground, pulling his shoulder as he tried to steady himself. He turned his back on the hunter.
"As lovely as this introduction has been," Negan began. "I'm bored. And I don't know about any of you but I am beat. I could do with a nap. I hope you all learned your lesson of the day. Don't mess with the big dogs because we bite back. Got that? Good."
He motioned for his men to disperse and to prepare for the journey back to the compound. He stopped for a moment before pointing a finger in Daryl's direction. The hunter felt the stares of his remaining friends fall on him.
"I'm gonna take this guy as payment," he continued. "You try anything again and he'll be returned to you in pieces. Don't think you can afford another person in your group to die. Got that, Rick?"
Rick nodded, his head cast downwards. Two men pulled Daryl from the ground, ignoring the groans of pain as they pulled at his wounded shoulder. They lead him into the back of the truck and bound his hands together. He looked at his friends one last time and hoped that it wouldn't truly be the last time he saw their faces.
He woke a few hours later.
His head was heavy, and a piercing pain shot through his head like a flare hurtling into the night sky and sending a warning signal. He held onto the wall, the rough concrete grazing against his calloused hands. His face was sore and it was only when he reached up and tenderly touched his face that he realised he'd been beaten. His nose was bloody and dislodged. He pressed down on it – mostly to feel something.
As he sat against the wall, the coldness of the stone sending shockwaves throughout his bare and naked body, he groaned in pain as he righted his broken nose. A stifled moan escaped him.
"You're awake," a soft voice came from the darkness.
His eyes searched the darkness but she was hidden by the cloak of night that had descended upon them.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said after a moment. "They already did a good enough job of that."
"Who are ya? Ya one of them?"
A scoff bounced off the walls. "I'm a prisoner, like you."
"I ain't a prisoner," he growled, the pain his head intensifying.
"I'm Callie."
After a beat, he spoke. "Daryl."
"Why are you here?"
"He killed my friends. I punched him."
She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Daryl said. "Don't need ya sympathy."
"Here," she said. He felt something land at his feet. "You need to keep warm."
He reached for it and found it to be a blanket; scratchy material with holes worn through the fabric. He muttered his thanks to her, and they remained in silence for the rest of the night. As dawn crept over them slowly, taking away the last remaining dredges of night with it, it was the first time he was able to see her face.
She had her eyes closed and the slow rise and fall of her bare chest indicated that she had succumbed to her tiredness. She, too, was naked like he was except for the blanket that was wrapped around her, albeit lacking in length. He moved his gaze away from her respectfully but the state of her face burned in his mind.
Bruises and cuts adorned her face: a busted and bloody lip, a broken and split cheekbone, a broken nose and a bruised eye socket. All that seemed to match his own.
