When You Care

A Bethyl Story

Chapter 2 - I'm a Workin Man

Warning(s): Masturbating scene, mentions of child abuse, self abuse

Beth hummed gently as she sat on the porch waiting, plucking at an old, beat-up guitar that was becoming alarmingly out of tune. However, it didn't stop her from singing, her voice sweet and clear like a meadowlark, soft but quite strong and confident. She was typically a shy, young lady, somewhat prude and still unaware of the true evils of men, but when she sang...it was as if someone else took over.

This was what Daryl felt as he slowly approached her after having talked with Hershel about his pay. The man had showed him the barn, which was in better shape than Daryl had expected. There was more hay than he originally would like, but it had a bed and a fan. Hell, there was even an old television set, and the hay was only in the stalls, not really in the old office/tack room where he would be staying.

When Merle was off, either gone in a haze of drug use, or locked up like he was this time, Daryl could usually find the odd job here or there. He sometimes lucked out and got into mom n' pop mechanic shops that never questioned his background or schooling. He'd usually find a crap hole of a fleabag motel, or even sleep in his truck for days at a time in a parking lot if worst came to worst. It could go on like this for days, months even. Then out of the blue, Merle would somehow find him and then Daryl be off with his older brother: the two of them against the world.

The cycle was endless and sometimes beyond frustrating. There had been once or twice over the last few years where he felt he could begin a life, but his brother always made sure to wreck and burn any possible bridges.

The farm was beautiful, the family nice enough. Daryl focused on Beth's singing, an older song, sounded like the Beatles.

"Why she had to go I don't know she wouldn't say." Her voice was so clear and it was so peaceful, peaceful for the first time in a long time for Daryl.

Maybe he could stay here, awhile at least. He might just let his brother figure out his own shit for once, instead of wrecking what he tried to make of his life. It might be easier that way.

Just for a little while.

Please don't come anytime soon Merle.

"Oh, I believe in yest….erday…" Beth trailed off as she noticed Daryl staring at her, hands shoved into his pockets, quiet and still as ever. She blushed bright red, quickly putting the guitar back in its case and setting it aside. "Sorry. Didn't see ya there." Quick as the little songbird she was, she was up and off the porch past him, that nervous energy trilling through her veins. "Daddy get everything straightened out wit you?"

"Mmm'hmmm," was Daryl's reply.

"What?" Her brow furrowed slightly as she turned around, the question genuine, no malice in her voice whatsoever. She had merely heard a strange rumbling from him, very soft to where she picked up the barest trace of sound.

"M'Yes," he bit out more harshly than intended, eyes downcast slightly in the closest thing to an apology.

Beth nodded and gulped, the clear blue eyes bright and wet like shining glass. Fuck, she looked vulnerable, and Daryl wasn't sure if he felt pissed off or guilty. Maybe it was a little bit of both, part of him wanted to backpedal and comfort her until she didn't look so frail, the other part wanted to lash out and toughen her up a bit. He wasn't always nice, but he was a hell of a lot nicer and with better intentions than most.

Perhaps she seemed to catch his thoughts, because Beth suddenly got a little red in the cheeks, puffing her chest out and straightening her back to hold her head high instead of the awful clenching that made her retreat on herself. Her eyes turned hard to steel and she motioned towards his pickup.

"You gonna start driving then?" Her tone was somewhat icy and Daryl found himself nodding slightly in approval at the sudden change into a spitfire attitude. She took the nod as a yes and they both clambered in, Beth bouncing up and down a little in the passenger seat, engulfed by the old cloth and vinyl interior. Daryl had the old beater started and put the clutch in to shift to second gear, Beth then saying, "Let's go back out to the main road and I'll show you the furthest field we got. It's west of here just a few miles, over by Shawn's place. That's my brother," she threw that over her shoulder, almost coyly, feet kicking up and down in those scuffed boots. "I got an older sister too. Her name's Maggie, but she's off in college right now doing Lord knows what. You got any brothers 'er sisters?"

Daryl grunted and nodded. "Mm'yea. Brotha. Older. Name's Merle."

"Oh yea, I think Daddy said something about you having a brother. Where's he at?"

"Away." The answer gave no room for more questions pertaining to the subject, and Daryl caught Beth out of the corner of his eye all nervous and frail again, hands clenching at the seat, frame tightening up in a natural response. He found himself gnashing his teeth together at the anger/guilt that coursed through him, as if he had hit her! The nerve! "Girl ya keep clenchin' like that an you gon' go an break yer bones."

That was his brother and daddy in him talking, but Merle had a way of getting to best or the worst out of people.

That seemed to snap her out of it, eyes flaring back to life.

Looked like it might be the best for her.

"You turn left to get to the next gate," was her response, huffy and full of energy.

Unfortunately, that was as far as they got for anything considered real conversation. The rest turned to work: the Greene farm was a fairly small operation. It was nothing like it used to be, most the land having been sold when Hershel's alcoholism took a turn for the worse after losing his first wife. Farming had been a supplement over all, so now they were down to just the two or three fields that they grew corn on, and then they'd rent land to hay for their two dairy cows that provided milk and cheese for them. There was a small roost of chickens, but nothing too terribly impressive, and Beth had taken a shine to gardening since the 8th grade. Her thumb wasn't the greenest, but with freezing and canning that Annette did, they normally made enough food in the summer to avoid the high cost of buying too many groceries in the off months. Small town prices were always notoriously higher, and they avoided the big box stores like they were sin incarnate for the most part, only making trips maybe every quarter to the big city to stock up.

Beth would teach Daryl how to till and plant the corn (she made a mention Shawn would help out more with that), and then show him how to use Shawn's combine for when harvesting came around, though with his mechanical background, he hopefully wouldn't need to be taught much. Other than that, their tractor wasn't doing the best and could use some repairs, but until the ground got warm enough and stayed thawed, it was mild maintenance around the farm. He'd be put in charge of milking the cows and taking care of the chickens since Annette was starting to have a hard time with it, and Beth was still stuck with schooling. She'd help him with it the first week or two until she was sure he got the hang of it. Beth had made a mention that they used to get a hog that they'd raise for slaughter, but after the last one had destroyed her garden two years ago, they hadn't gotten one since.

They had a few horses, but nothing special. Out here, a lot of people had 'nothing special' horses, just something to ride and that was about it. The competition stables and rich folk were quite a few miles away, to the south and north of them, and Beth was fine with that. She had her few friends (more like forced because of class time), but she was still quiet and spent a lot of time plucking at the piano and strumming the guitar when alone, or just helping out at the farm, which was more often than she cared to admit.

Daryl was shown the rest of the land on foot. They had parked back at the house and trekked past the well and out and over the fence and went out towards the woods.

"You hunt at all?" she asked. She had warmed up a little to him several hours later, but there was still that wary skitter to her body, a rabbit posed to run away at a moments notice. "Daddy's not big on guns though. He's got a rifle or two, but that's mostly for defendin and show. He wouldn't appreciate ya usin' a gun on his land without askin'."

"Naw'," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Got a crossbow tho." She stopped a moment to look at him. The day was in the low 50's, high 40's, and she had a jacket and hat on to stop the cold. Daryl had just a flannel and an old leather jacket that had seen better days, but the cold didn't seem to bother him. "May be I cud ask 'em if it's okay ta use that?"

"Don't see why not." There was the look again, wanting to ask more, very curious, but Beth was too timid to outright ask him. She walked ahead some more, mindful of the slopes and change in terrain. "We got a creek that runs through here. Gets a little swampy sometimes. Just be careful cause we get some steep slopes. If you go over a few miles thataway," she pointed north, "then you'll see the highway." A cold gust of wind came through, bringing the chill of the frost, the sun's warmth hidden from the tree canopy. "Guess it's time to head back. Ever milk a cow before?"

Daryl had not, in fact, milked a cow before, and he found himself increasingly frustrated by his lack of knowledge with the subject. The only thing he was thankful for was that Beth was a patient teacher, one who did not sneer or giggle at his incompetence. Unfortunately, Daryl was not one to maintain his temper and within the first ten minutes he had cursed profusely, kicked the bucket and stool over, scaring the cow into nearly kicking him, and caused Beth to clench for what was most likely the sixth time that first day (in less than five hours, no less).

Livestock was not his thing, but a job was a job, and that was the only thing preventing him from storming away right that minute.

After most of the anger had dissipated, they stood there in the other part of the barn, bucket overturned and to a rest. It was very quiet except for the gentle, perturbed mooing of the milk cow (affectionately dubbed George).

"I ain't no goddamn milk maid," Daryl muttered.

"Daryl, don't worry, it's fine," Beth said. She placed the stool back by George and grabbed hold of the bucket and rinsed it out at the hydrant. She came back and sat down, looking at him expectantly. She took on an almost maternal role, not batting an eye at the very much temper tantrum he had thrown, showing only compassion. "But this is your job. You've agreed ta this. I'm going to help you out with this and it will be okay. There's plenty for you to do that you're good at around here, but this is just a small part of the job, and it has to be done." He walked over to her and she got up, motioning for him to sit on the stool. He did and she leaned down by him to show him what should be done. "We don't always get to choose what we get to do, we just make the best of it."

It seemed to calm him down and he placed his hands on George's teets like Beth had shown him before, and this time he allowed her to gently placed her hands over his. The gentle pressure of her hands told him when and where to squeeze. It took a few tries, but he soon was getting long streams of milk into the bucket, surprised at the fact he had to do things like clean the udder and use a lubricant.

Beth made a mention that they invested in a milking machine several years ago, but it had broken down and Hershel did not have the time nor want to fix it, saying that they could go back to the way things were instead of wasting time on a blasted piece of machinery. It had been put away in storage, only to collect dust. Daryl made a mental note to find it and see if he could tinker with it. While it was a personal little victory to be able to milk a cow the old fashioned way, he'd rather get the tiresome chore over and done with, especially if he was getting stuck with it in the mornings.

Another twenty minutes went by before they were completely done with that, giving Annette the full bucket, being told that they would need to wash up because it was time for lunch. Beth showed Daryl the bathroom to wash up and she left to take her shoes off, letting him know the sandwiches were ready in the kitchen when he stepped out.

He was greeted with decadent BLT's, potato salad, and some of the best sweet tea he had in ages. Annette scoffed and said it was merely a simple lunch, but to a man that spent his life living off beer and gas station food, along with bar pretzels, it was damn near considered a feast. Daryl was through his first sandwich and just starting his second one when Beth sat down next to him at the table, eyeing his bad manners of lips smacking and finger sucking. He noticed the slight judgement in her eyes and for good measure, made sure to turn slightly to her, taking a long draw of the mayonnaise that had dribbled onto his thumb. Her cheeks reddened slightly and she quickly looked down to her plate, grabbing hold of her own sandwich and furiously taking a bite so as not having to focus on him.

He turned his lips into the tiniest of smirks, even though he knew it was childish. He didn't really care. This girl made him feel too many different things and she was too hard to read with what her thinking was. Most people were easy to peg, but between the skittish nature and cutting gaze, he found himself offput and on the heels of his feet, so to speak.

Lunch was quiet for the most part, Annette prattling on about this and that, flitting about the kitchen as she cleaned and put leftovers away. Beth barely said anything, all doe-eyed and meekness at its finest.

He asked her if there was maybe anything else that needed attending to immediately besides the tractor, and she shook her head. With that, he excused himself from the table and politely informed them that he was going to unpack if that was alright with them, then take a look at the intimidating machinery first thing in the morning.

"Supper will be at six," Annette had stated matter of factly.

"Wouldn't miss it," and Daryl was stepping out of the farmhouse and into the Georgia sun that was battling the last bit of winter.

He went out to his pickup, pulling a few duffel bags out of the back, sneaking a look at the house before grabbing the case of beer as well. In moments, he was in the back of the barn/office/converted room, up in the loft portion above the animals. The bed already had linens and a worn, but comfortable looking quilt. Hershel had explained that once a week he was to give Annette the linens and if he was okay with it, Daryl could also give her the rest of his laundry to do.

"We treat any help we've hired in the past like family," Hershel had told him, "so long as they respect us like good family back."

The comment had contained a threatening undertone that Daryl was no stranger to. With Merle gone, he was perfectly happy to remain quiet and save some money up. Merle had unfortunately busted into his last stash, so nearly all his savings (no matter how pathetic) had been wiped clean.

After unpacking his few bags (an old vest with angel wings, various wife beaters and shirts, an extra pair of riding boots), he fell onto the bed with a thump, grabbing hold of the television remote to turn the old set in front of him on. It clicked to life easily, a bit fuzzy because it was an older model, but something he lived with all his life. The news was on, looked to be something about a new deadly virus that was becoming associated with feral cannibalism in West Africa. Scientists feared it was a severe mutation of the Ebola virus outbreak that had yet to be contained as symptoms of fever, skin rash, bleeding, among headaches and whatnot were common with the new strain. Travel was restricted and they were currently working on contacting all travelers that had been through the last month to confirm health, blah blah bl-click!

Daryl changed the channel and let himself be content with some no-name sitcom he wasn't aware of. He never stayed caught up with current shows anyways, but the noise and light from the T.V. was comforting. He found it was a nice alternative to drinking himself into oblivion though, or trying to stop potentially lethal fights from breaking out.

Speaking of drinking…

He looked to the case of beer he had snuck in, suddenly feeling parched. Hershel had let it be known from the get-go that drinking on the property would not be tolerated, as the old patriarch battled and struggled with years of alcoholism before allowing the grace of God back into his life. Hershel had said he didn't care if Daryl went to the bar in town for a few drinks, but he would not allow liquor anywhere near his home, nor have someone who was a drunken slob close to his family.

Daryl couldn't blame the old man for that rule. His own father had been a strong alcoholic (along with some drug issues), and had a mean streak wider than the whole side of the barn, prone to physical violence as the answer above all else.

He would know that violence, having been on the receiving end many times. His back, littered with marks from such fits,

However, even with the threat of being kicked out, Daryl cracked open a beer, minding to not make a mess, and threw the empty bottle into one of his moving boxes when done. He was mindful to at least dispose of the evidence in a safer place later.

The pleasant feel of alcohol coursed through his veins, just enough to take the edge off after downing three beers within twenty minutes. Out the window, he could see the light of the Greene family farm house and make out the shapes of its occupants. It appeared that Annette and Hershel were downstairs, lights on and two figures visible through the large living room window. Upstairs, in what must have been Beth's room, was another light. If Daryl squinted hard enough, he could see her lithe figure.

Then suddenly, that figure began to strip out of her clothes.

While the obvious details were not available, the swell of pert breasts and a firm, rounded ass could be made out. She must have been standing in front of a mirror, for Daryl could see the impression of hands wandering over flesh, exploring and curious. Hands gripped her breasts, and he could see the tension in her body as she explored herself.

He looked away, feeling mildly shameful, a telltale stirring in his jeans. However, looking back to the window, it appeared that the light was off and Beth was nowhere to be seen; but, the painful erection straining against his jeans now refused to be ignored.

What wasn't known wouldn't hurt.

He downed another beer, his inhibitions lowering. A few minutes later, and there was the unmistakable sound of his belt hitting the floor, jeans opened and pulled down to the thighs with his boxer briefs. His cock practically sprang up, hard and throbbing. He hissed in a pleasure pain as he gripped himself. It was then he settled into the old practice of a somewhat fast pace, just enough to extend the pleasure, but fast enough to finish in a reasonable amount of time.

He allowed his mind to wander to prolong the pleasure. He imagined Beth climbing onto the bed, her soft lips on his flesh. He imagined the sounds she'd make as his rough hands would gently caress the small, pert breasts he had seen earlier, nipples pointed and sensitive to a man's touch in the best way. She'd probably arch into his touch, grinding against him for release, and he'd be slow to take her, make sure to treat her right. He could imagine the taste of her skin, how she'd taste down there, and before he could get any further, he felt the tightening of his balls and he came onto his bare stomach.

However, the orgasmic release was not enough to quell the shame, and his mood soured quickly. Angrily, he grabbed at the spare roll of toilet paper by his bedside and wiped up the mess, carefully disposing of his filthiness into the moving box with the empty beer bottles.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself. And suddenly, because old habits died hard (even if the old habit wasn't technically alive anymore), he slapped himself upside the head. It was angry, fast, and hard. His old man had done that often, whenever Daryl was caught doing something like peeking on the neighbor girl in the shower, or stealing a beer. His sperm donor of a father pretty much looked for any excuse to hit him. "Fuckin' sick." He spat out the last word, a long string of beer and saliva splashing onto the floor, hitting himself once more hard, and for good emphasis.

He looked over to the clock, seeing it was already close to six. He made sure he looked respectable and that there was no smell of beer or semen on him before he went back out, making sure to put the empty beer bottles and wadded up tissue in the moving box discreetly into the back of his truck before going to the main house.

Daryl knocked at the door, not sure at what he was allowed to do at the main home concerning comings and goings. Annette answered the door with a smile, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist.

"Oh Daryl," she chided affectionately, "there's no need to knock. You just let yourself right on in. After all, you're family here. G'on an make yourself at home."

Though the ridiculously quick acceptance of a stranger in their lives was confusing to him, he nodded in affirmation, stepping in as she went back to the kitchen to finish supper. Hershel was in the living room, reading the Holy Bible intently, making notes in a notepad on the side table next to his chair. Beth was nowhere to be seen, and Daryl was slightly thankful for that, not sure if he'd be able to face her after the thoughts that went through his head about her not even an hour earlier.

"Bethy!" Annette called from the kitchen. "I need your help finishing up and setting the table!"

"Just a second, Mama!" called Beth from upstairs. Moments later, Daryl heard that light stepping of shoes as she gracefully ran down the stairs and went to the kitchen, changed into a new set of clothes for the evening. She caught sight of Daryl, who happened to awkwardly be standing between the living room and kitchen and she gave a nervous smile.

He felt like a total shit.

"Hey." Her voice was soft. "How about you come help me bring tha stuff out to the dinner table? If that's okay with you?"

"Mhm," he replied and motioned for her to take the lead.

Uncertainty laced her actions as she slowly went to the kitchen with him trailing her, but it was soon replaced with practiced routines. She handed Daryl the dinner plates and silverware, indicating to just go ahead and set them at the table, while she grabbed a basket of rolls and a butter dish. Never having really sat down for a home cooked meal, he set the table the best way he thought, though he waited to see if Beth or someone would correct what he figured to be a wrong placement. However, Beth did no such thing, only having him follow her back into the kitchen to grab the rest of the food that Annette had ready.

Tonight was short ribs, sitting in a pan and swirled tantalizingly with its juices, along with an over sized bowl of mashed potatoes, some green beans, and cottage cheese. He could hardly believe his eyes, mouth salivating at the aromas as he sat down with the rest of the family. Because Hershel was at the head of the table, Annette sat to his left, Beth on the other side, and Daryl ended up sitting right next to Beth, uncomfortable with the fact he could catch a whiff of her shampoo every now and then. It was vanilla and peaches, light and fruity with a tangy-ness that was purely female.

Hershel held out his hands so that Beth and Annette grabbed them as he settled his head down in prayer. Beth offered her other hand to Daryl, looking to him expectantly. Hesitant, he finally took hold of her hand, not all surprised at the delicacy it possessed and feeling some unknown emotion when she smiled at him again before bowing her head down for prayer. Daryl had never prayed before, and merely looked down and staying silent as Hershel began.

"Lord, we thank you for this bountiful harvest you have given us, and for enriching our lives. Thank you, for giving me a beautiful wife that feeds my family every day. Thank you for my lovely daughters, may you have mercy on Maggie's wandering soul, and please watch over Daryl as he navigates his way through this life. Please watch over Otis and Patricia so that Otis may heal quickly and they return to us in safety. Please watch over my son, Shawn, and make sure he continues his good work. Lastly, thank you for our health, we will serve you always. Amen."

Beth and Annette murmured an 'Amen' after, though Daryl pulled his hand away quickly from Beth's and immediately went for the bowl of mashed potatoes, heaping enough onto his plate to fill up nearly half of the available space. He waited a moment, trying to see what he should do next, and gave an internal sigh of relief when Beth motioned at him to hand her the bowl so she could serve herself as well. Annette handed him the bowl of green beans after serving herself and he dug out a hearty portion with gusto, cottage cheese and short rib portions in plenty after, covering everything in the homemade gravy.

Taking large bites of the mashed potatoes, Daryl couldn't help but reflect on how normal the whole situation was.

It was strange.

End Chapter 2

Author Note (warnings explanation): Someone in their review had mentioned Beth looking down her nose at Daryl for no good reason. However, we must remember that Daryl and Beth were VERY different people we first met compared to how they last were in season 4 and 5 and she didn't like him when they first met. Also, rape-Beth scenario...I'm not one using rape for shock value. However, almost sexual abuse, men trying to take advantage, violence...things that progress a story, are very different. I'm going to focus on the more savage side of things. Beth will turn into a strong woman, but she's not exactly the most self-reliant in the beginning. Again, we must remember that these two are not like how we last saw them, changed and for the better with the apocalypse. Them meeting ahead of time definitely changes things, and I hope I'm not too OOC. There's a blend I'm trying to find, which is interesting and a challenge.

Now, onto the masturbation bit and hitting himself...Daryl was a sonofabitch in the first season. He was a total jackass, remember? A hot jackass, but just a bastard nonetheless. It took time being away from Merle to better himself and become his own man. Now, masturbating because of Beth, I could see happening. During the ZA, he didn't have time to notice women (brother searching and surviving), but now, he's safe and able to notice things. I think Daryl would have totally noticed Beth earlier on, especially with one-on-one interaction, so just keep that in mind. The hitting himself bit: kids that have been abused in the past can be stuck in that and self-abuse when their abuser is no longer around. I chose to keep this particularly troubling bit because surviving child abuse for Daryl is still mentioned and his old man obviously affected him and scarred him not only physically, but mentally. With Beth, he had started to heal from that, and maybe some of that can happen earlier in this tale ;)

Sorry for the long-ass notes. I'm long-winded and I want to give you, the reader, the justification of a character action as I have seen. Sometimes, that's not present in the story immediately and can be off-putting to some. Also, this chapter clocked in like 1000 more words. I just couldn't end it much sooner without it being weird for me. The line breaks present in the chapter are just scene changes for me. What I do is write like 6+ pages until I get bored and then highlight a decent amount immediately after the last chapter posting, until I find a spot I feel is good to leave off, and put an End Chapter note before the line break. It helps me to go through one document and do a quick search to try and keep things smooth. No updates next week, just a FYI. I am going on my long overdue honeymoon the on 22nd for a week (Harry Potter World! Tally-ho!) - we got married in September! Gah! So that's why a longer chapter, longer notes, all that jazz. Chapter 3 is like 2000+ words in already and I'll be writing on it the rest of the day for catch-up, but the rest of this week will be spent on Blackbird Singing for my small, but very strong, and loyal peeps there. I suggest you check it out! Way more lighthearted and fluffy :D

Ciao