Bonus chapter for the lovely reviewers who thought it would be a good idea- shout-out to Captain Kraken and Jj! 3 Here's a prediction/speculation chapter for how Daryl might find Beth if Joe and them hadn't shown up, and when he finds Beth.

"You're gonna be the last man standing," Her words haunted him, as any ghost would. That entire night haunts him, sitting on the porch of the shitty redneck home that reminded him so much of his past life, a bitter reminder, no doubt. Although sitting across from the doe-eyed, drunk Beth Greene had been an addition to the scene that Daryl was glad for. If he was there alone, maybe he would have relived those terrible memories- but she grounded him, brought him back. It had been the first time he let her in, something he realized he should have done a long time ago. But he had been angry. Angry at the Governor, angry at the weak fortitude of the prison, angry at himself- because ultimately the guilt of the situation fell on him, even if it was his fault or not. He was always like that, from since he can remember. He had felt guilty about his father, about the abuse his mother got, even about the abuse he suffered. Now he sees it wasn't his fault, but Daryl Dixon had been born a victim, made into a victim, and had to pull himself out of the fire himself. No one saved Daryl Dixon, he saved himself. The only important lesson his father ever taught him. Merle hadn't been much help. His older brother, as much as he loved him, had done nothing but pull Daryl into trouble. And then when Merle went off to the army, left Daryl alone with his drunk of a father and his broken shell of a woman mother... he pulled himself up off the floor and did what he had to do.

But, Beth Greene... before this apocalypse Daryl wouldn't have given her a second glance, he would have probably been strung behind Merle, heading towards some drug dealer's house, and he could have glanced at her while she was in a shop. He could have bumped shoulders with her brother Shawn and looked at her as he passed, smirking playfully at the petite blonde, who would no doubt not make eye contact. No, no pretty blondes with older protective brothers and farmer fathers ever did make eye contact with him. She would have been nothing to him, a shadow of a person he didn't have to trouble himself with, maybe he'd think about her again, maybe see her face in a quick dream- but Daryl had seen so many faces, bumped into so many people... it wasn't likely. If someone had told him, that in four years he'd be killing dead people and worrying himself to death about an eighteen year old with a farmer father and a dead family he would have scoffed and told them to take another puff. But here he was.

He traced his fingers over the hot asphalt, blue eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he looked at the road. The leaves were recently pushed to the side, he could see that, but the roads could be so deceiving. It could have been the wind, or even a car from another group, like Glenn with the truck... but the chances that it was a another car wasn't likely. He had to make a choice, although it was hard for him to. If he went the wrong way it would just take him farther and farther away from her, and Daryl was so afraid of being alone... He couldn't afford to take the wrong turn, but he had to leave it up to his instincts. And his instincts were telling him to go straight.

So he did. He looked at the road and up, then at the other path, and decided that he had no choice but to follow his instincts. Heart stuck in his throat he took off at the speed had had in the beginning before his collapse on the ground. He had to find her. There was nothing else in this mind other than finding her, and killing the people that took her.

It was just when he had admitted there was a good people still in the world that she was snatched right from under him. Those Walkers... there was no way he had let them gather like that, they had to be released at his door. It must have been a drawn out ploy, from the very beginning. The clean and perfect house, the orderly food, Daryl knew that soda was too good to be fucking true- he had been a fool. It's his fault. He let her out of his sight, and now she's God knows where... with God knows who... doing God knows what with her. The thought infuriated him. And that thought was the fuel that drove him to continue forward in pursuit of Beth. The only petite blonde that had ever looked him in the eyes and didn't shy away.

He ate charred mud-snakes mid-day at a shitty little camp he made in two seconds, letting himself only rest thirty minutes at a time before he was up again, walking. He checked every building he passed, looked into every room and killed any Walker in his path. He didn't have time to hesitate or dilly-dally- his concern was Beth. And he wasn't going to abandon her. He wasn't going to be Merle. He pledged that a long time ago, but in this moment he felt it the strongest.

The town was a little one-hundred population shithole Daryl had passed a thousand times before on runs. He recognized the area, scouting out with Michonne- knowing the little shops and the one ominous warehouse he had always had strange feelings about. This time the feelings were changed, instead of a slight uneasiness about what could be in the darkened building there was an intense rage, a fire that he had been stroking and feeding for the few days that he had been simply following his instincts, praying that they'd lead him back to her. That black car, the little black sedan that had zoomed away from him with Beth- it sat in front of the warehouse, pitch black except for the Georgia dirt that speckled its sides, darkened and smudged it's windshield.

Daryl lifted his crossbow, moving cautiously and slowly to the car, eyes looking at the car and taking in it's details, making sure although he knew he didn't have to, and looking up at the warehouse. Its sides were gray and rusted, a line of big windows on the second story half of the warehouse, most of the glass broken. There had been a fire in it, Daryl assumed from the beginning of the outbreak, because he could see the old streaks of black where the fires had licked up the side of the metal, the reason the windows were void of glass. Unfortunately they were boarded up, so there could be no way for Daryl to find his way to an opening of one of those windows and look in to see how many there were, and what the best way to kill all of them would be. Although, it was also good. Those motherfuckers wouldn't see him coming.

He glanced at the main door of the building and frowned, eyes narrowed in calculation as he held the crossbow up to his eye-line, placing one of his large calloused hands against the metal to slowly ease it open. It wasn't locked. Although the door squealed slightly as he slowly pushed it, he wasn't entirely worried about being incognito forever. He was going to kill them all.

The building had dim lighting, the smell of hot metal and mold met his nose and he moved carefully and slowly into the building. There were rows of shelves with burned equipment, looking untouched for the four or so years that the sickness has raged on, and Daryl moved carefully in between them, eyes searching for any signs of life.

He found it. Against one of the walls was a table set up, an overhead light illuminated the table and the people that sat around it. Three men sat with cards in their hands, smoking up a storm as they laughed and talked with each other at the table. Daryl narrowed his eyes slightly in calculation. Where was Beth? He could feel it in his gut that these men were behind her kidnapping, they seemed the type. And the car out in front was irrefutable evidence against them.

"You're lyin'," One of he men laughed around a cigarette in his mouth, the stick bouncing with the movement of his lips and sending ashes floating gently down. A plume of smoke followed his statement, and then men around him chuckled at his statement.

"I ain't lyin'." It was a younger man that spoke, reminding Daryl of kids he'd seen in his previous life, young dogs willing to do anything to prove themselves. The young man's tone showed that he was offended by the older man's comment, puffing his chest in a macho manner. Not much has changed in the world, apparently. "I'm tellin' the truth, that bitch won't cry."

"You know how much Chaz hates that." Muttered the third, shaking his head at his cards.

"You'd think every bitch would cry nowadays." Muttered the first man that had spoken. "Most do," he added, removing the cigarette from his mouth and tapping it into one of the ashtrays.

"They don't expect it," said the second man with a large, wolfish grin. Daryl suppressed a shudder, the expression reminding him of the look his father would give him before beating him. The rage was still a fire in his chest, he fed it slowly as he eased forward. "If you don't make that bitch cry, boy, Chaz ain't gonna be too happy."

"He has other girls."

"He wants that girl," defended the second man, placing his cards on the table. "I have to take a piss." He stood, and glared at the two of them with a threatening finger, "No cheating. I know the last time I took a piss you peeked, assholes."

The gruff, older man scoffed, "You're paranoid, Jack."

"Better paranoid than bein' cheated. I'll beat your ass if you peek."

With that the middle man walked away from the table, towards Daryl. He slid himself into the shadows, pressing his back against the charred wall of the building, eyes watching the man carefully. He tensed, preparing himself for what was to come.

As the man came closer Daryl leaned out and punched him, as hard as he could. As hard as his arm would allow, dazing him instantly before wrapping one of his strong tanned arms around his neck and pressing his crossbow to the back of his head.

"What the fuck!?" The man hissed, spraying blood from his bleeding nose that dripped over his lips. The man clutched Daryl's arm but couldn't released the strong grip he held on him.

"Keep quiet, asshole." Daryl growled, leading out of the shadows with his crossbow still pressed against the older man's head, leading them into the light for the other two to see.

"Jack!" Barked the gruff older gentleman, scrambling from the table and reaching for his gun.

"Don't fucking move or I'll put an arrow through his head," Daryl said, strangely calm with his crossbow securely pressed against one of the kidnapper's heads. The two looked terrified, and confused.

"Who the fuck are you, man?" Cried the younger man, glaring at Daryl with conviction.

"You took my friend. I want her back."

The man Daryl held scoffed, blood sprayed some more, splattering the floor in front of them. "She ain't the same, buddy boy. You lookin' for your girl, but she ain't the same." Daryl didn't respond to his taunt, clenching his jaw as he pressed the bow harder against the man's balding scalp.

"Where is she?" he growled instead.

"She ain't the same, she ain't the same..." mumbled the man locked in Daryl's grip. The two men didn't answer him, and he was seeing red. Daryl had never boasted himself as a smart man, but he knew, the way that he knew when his father was going to beat him, when he knew that Merle was going to leave- he knew what they did to Beth, an action he could never forgive. On a sick level he could forgive his father for losing his temper, he could forgive Merle for leaving, but he couldn't forgive anything involving the pain these men must have afflicted on Beth.

He didn't want to deal with this anymore. He didn't want to deal with them anymore. He'd find her himself.

He removed the crossbow from the back of Jack's head and without warning shot the younger man in the head, and knowing that in shock and retaliation the older man on the other end of the room would try and shoot at him. He used Jack as a human shield, ducking behind the shots as they came fast, hearing the soft entry of bullets into the man's flesh. He waited until the other man had to reload before he shot him, the battle quickly over as Daryl took his knife out of it's scabbard and shoved it into the ear of Jack, and letting his body hit the floor.

He stepped over Jack, his stress relieved once he realized that he had killed the men that had kidnapped Beth, all except one. Although he had to find Beth, killing the last one could wait until he had Beth in his arms.

"Beth?" His voice might have shook, but he didn't notice. He moved past the table, past the three bodies he had just put on the floor. There were a company of other rooms that led to charred storage rooms, some of the rooms had sleeping bags on the floor, looking unwashed and filthy. He looked over the lumpy sleeping-bags distantly, unseeing except for the sight that he craved the most. He repeated her name, hearing his voice echo in the dark corridors of the burnt warehouse building.

"Daryl?" was the weak response from the shadows, and he felt his stomach both turn and drop at the same time, quickly moving forward to retrieve her. There was a large box-like shape towards one of the back corners of the storage rooms, with a blanket over it. Daryl felt the anger returning when he realized it was a cage, the blanket covering the bars reminding him of a crate for a dog. He snatched the blanket off the top of the bars, and clenched his teeth as he saw Beth curled into one of the corners, covered in dirt and looking bruised.

When she looked up and saw him Daryl swallowed thickly at the bright smile that lit her face, "I knew you'd show up," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Let's get you out of here," he said simply, his voice gentle as he looked at the padlock that kept her trapped and frowned at it, "Stay back," he waved her back and took out of he pistol tucked in the back of his pants. He didn't waste time with searching for the keys, he only was worried about getting her out of there as quickly as possible.

He shot the lock and heard the satisfying sound of it hitting the cement.

"Daryl..." her voice was shaky, the small and quiet whine of a girl thankful to see him again. She crawled from the cage and stood on wobbly knees- he immediately rushed forward and embraced her, and was relieved to feel the returned pressure of her wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him back. Daryl remembered the young man's words, about how she didn't cry.

She was crying now, hard and silently into the crook of his neck, and he wasn't going to let her go. He wouldn't ever let her go again.