Beth sat on the couch with her hands dropped to her side, clutching the small white container laying beside her. Her face was twisted with her mouth slightly parted as she looked at the door in silence. She listened to the the gruff man while he walked away from her house, cursing to himself in the process. She sat in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell had happened and why. The television hummed in front of her, still spilling out a faint glow onto her confused face. She looked away from the door and onto the place that Daryl sat just minutes before, trying to figure out why he had left in such a hurry. Running a hand through her hair, she noticed something showing halfway underneath her pillow. Beth furrowed her brow before pulling the pillow away. It revealed a small baggy filled with a blue substance. She sat there for a second, staring as she rolled her eyes with a sigh. Beth wasn't surprised. Zach would always have the same stuff laying around or already used up by the time his drunken nights were done with; it was common around the neighbourhood.

Taking the bag into her hands and fumbling with it for a minute, Beth threw it onto the coffee table, not caring whether she-or anyone saw it. Her mind was elsewhere, searching for Daryl's face, trying to remember the blue eyes that had shown so much emotion to her in such a short amount of time. She remembered his long messy hair, reaching close to his jaw line as it covered the connection of the scruff crawling from the edge of his ear onto his face. He was a lot older than her-that should could tell by the aged lines near his eyes. She laid back down, covering herself with the red throw that lay limp where Daryl had sat. His scent lingered. She could smell a faint hint of woods, reminding her of her times out back behind her country home, hunting with her brother, Shaun, who since passed away in a fatal car accident in their teens. She closed her eyes, dosing off with the thought of the not so bloody man lingering into her dreams.

...

Daryl cursed to himself as he walked into his trashed home, blinded by the smell of smoke caught in the air. Empty beer cans scattered across the floor. He yelled out for his brother, still caught up in his own rage.

"Merle, 'the fuck are ya, Asshole?" His head fought back to his screams, making his body throb. He leaned onto the thin wall, trying to catch his senses while he looked around. The house smelt of stale beer and cigarettes-it looked just about the same also. He called out again, only to hear a muffled yell from the back room. Daryl didn't hesitate to barge into Merle's trashed room, finding him with his hands behind his head while his-what Merle called, "Lady friend" worked away at him. Daryl looked away sharply, groaning with disgust as the woman kept at it, even though he walked in.

"What's yer yellin' for? Gonna get the cops called on us again, lil brother," Merle took a swig of beer nonchalantly. He took his eye away from Daryl as he spilled a little onto the woman's head, making her slap his face in protest.

"Hey now, yer here for'a reason, best keep at it," His drunken laugh didn't amuse Daryl or the woman. She wiped her mouth before huffing and puffing out of the room. Daryl ran his hand through his hair out of embarrassment and frustration. This was a nightly occurrence it seemed and he was sick of his brother doing nothing but causing bullshit trouble.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Merle?" Daryl shouted at him, causing Merle to cock an eyebrow as he pulled his pants up, buckling himself in the process.

"She's just'a streetwalker, ain't nothin' wrong with tellin' her to keep at her job."

"That's not what I'm talkin' about," Daryl shook his head in disgust. He watched as his drunken brother swung his legs onto the side of the bed, shaking his finger at him. Merle chuckled drunkenly in the process.

"What's got yer panties in a bunch, huh? Ain't done nothin' wrong and yer treatin' me like I'm yer bitch or somethin'," Merle belched loudly, causing him to laugh at himself even more. This bastard's out of his damn mind. Daryl thought as he grabbed ahold of Merle's shirt, jerking him forward.

"Remember Caleb? The little prick you thought it'd be funny to piss around with and steal his shit? He decided to rip on me 'cause of your dumb ass," Daryl gripped his brother's shirt harder, pulling him closer to his face as Merle sat in intoxicated amusement, "Ain't gonna be funny when he comes around sometime knockin' on our door with his buddies!" He threw the drunk back onto the bed as he paced the room. Caleb had connections with bigger people. Higher people on the cartel chain who didn't take lightly to stolen drugs or money.

"Don't worry 'bout it, lil brother. I got the drugs and I got the money, now get your panties out of a bunch and calm the fuck down. Merle's got it covered." Daryl forced a laugh out, turning with seething anger.

"If you had everything under control my ass wouldn't have been jumped tonight!" He screamed at his brother as he fought the urge not to rip his face to shreds. He couldn't remember the last time Merle fucked up this bad, but he knew this wasn't his first time.

"Jumped? Hell, don't even look like there's barely a scratch on ya," Merle propped himself up with his elbows. His eyes glazed over with alcohol raging through his system. He studied his brother, looking at his washed up face with slight confusion.

"Yeah, well, got cleaned up." Daryl mumbled as his temper lowered with the thought of Beth wrapping his arm. He touched the cloth of his jacket, feeling the her tender work underneath. Merle watched his brother's face change as he felt his arm.

"Mhm, since when do ya ever 'clean up' after a fight? Ain't ever saw a Dixon do that before," He looked at his brother again before grabbing the halfway drunk beer on the nightstand, "Did ya get some hussy ta clean ya up after ya did the dirty with her, hm?" Merle laughed to himself as he fell back onto the bed, slowly falling out of consciousness. Daryl stood for a second, still thinking of Beth while listening to his brother speak nonsense.

"Ain't no hussy," Daryl grunted at Merle.

"Oh, looks like Romeo here's defendin' a good one? You were always the soft one I tell ya," His last words became mumbles as sleep hit him hard, bringing snores out loudly while he let the empty beer can fall out of his loosened grip. Daryl shook his head; he left his sleeping brother and entered his own room acrossed the hall. Sleep started to invade his mind, causing his body to ache. Gettin' too old for these damn fights. His thoughts slowed as he threw his clothes off, plopping onto the bed with a groan of pain and relief. Daryl closed his eyes as he looked at the soft gray eyes staring back at him with confusion and curiosity. He remembered her blonde hair falling out of her messy bun, signalling that she had just woken up. She was too young for him though. She would never look at him as more than a stranger who needed help after he got his ass handed to him.

His thoughts moved to Caleb, remembering how he walked up to Daryl, hand on his gun ready to pull it out and shoot as if Daryl was the one who did him wrong. He remembered the crazy look Caleb had as he screamed at him, asking for his "damn money". Everything after that was a blur. Daryl's adrenaline took care of his memory; he could only remember standing over the groaning man, taking everything out of his pockets and telling him to get the fuck away. He let his mind wander for a moment before snapping his eyes open. He flung himself off the bed as he grabbed the clothes he had just shed off and frantically searched through them, practically ripping them apart. His mind tried to figure out where it was while he emptied his pants and jacket pockets, only finding cigarettes and a few bucks.

"Fuck!" Daryl yelled to the small empty room as he sat back on the bed, still holding onto his jeans. His heart beat fast while he tried to figure out where he left the small bag of crank he took out of the drug dealer's pocket in spite. His mind came up with nothing until he realized where it may be. His sat there for a while, cursing himself for his stupidity as he realized he had to face Beth Greene one last time. He thought to himself at how stupid he'd look. Hi, Beth, I left my meth in your house, mind if I grab it? Oh how 'bout a cup of tea while we're at it? He rubbed his head in frustration. Why ya need to steal the asshole's drugs anyways? He laid back down as he replayed his stupid mistake repeatedly. His thoughts bothered him until he drifted off into a poor sleep, thinking about scenarios in his head of meeting the blonde girl once again.