When his fist collides with the boy's cheekbone, he doesn't hear him cry out. Nor does he catch the gush of air that falls out of the asshole when his knee connects with his stomach, sending him into a spiral towards the ground. The only sound that reaches past the roar inside his head is the splintering scream coming from the girl – Brandy – as she cries out.

"You fuckin' prick," Daryl bites out, his lower lip bloody from when the boy got his first – and only – shot at him moments after Daryl had found him holding Brandy down in his tent, his fingers wrapped around her red hair like snakes. The boy had turned towards the sound of the tent flap opening and tried to shove the girl away, only to be pulled backwards by his boots out of the tent. Daryl had gotten a sick thrill at knowing that the boy's dick had probably still been out when he was dragged across the camp.

From behind him, he could feel arms trying to hold him back, but he hadn't spent most of his life carrying deer carcasses around for nothing. He easily shoved whoever it was away, jumping forward and shoving his right boot into the boy's ribs over and over, his body hunched inwards to protect himself. He brought his boot up and rested it on the boy's neck, pushing down with his heel until the boy's face was red, his eyes bugging out and looking at nothing in particular.

Daryl looked up. He could see Rick standing in front of him, his left hand on his holster. He was saying stop or wait or hold up. Same with Maggie and Tyreese and Carol, who were all standing and breathing heavily around him. His friends' pleas were stretching themselves across the dull roar in his head, and he slowly began to lift his foot. Only when he found Beth in the crowd did he still. Because she was looking up from the ground where she was holding Brandy, and she wasn't saying stop. She wasn't saying anything. She just sat, her arms around the girl and her eyes focused on the asshole on the ground with a hatred that he'd never seen on her face before. The revulsion simmering out of her face – he almost didn't recognize her.

Suddenly she looked up and noticed him staring. The disgust fell from her face and she glanced away quickly, a red tint cradling her cheeks. It was then that Daryl felt Rick's hand fall heavily on his shoulder and push him backwards, his boot lifting from the boy, who took several fitful gulps of breath in response.

"We got it from here. Walk it off."

Daryl heeded Rick's advice, but not before leaning down and grabbing the boy's shirt collar, lifting him off of the ground and bringing his face very close.

"Y' do that again, we take y' right back to your Termite friends. Serve y' up like they wanted t' for' we saved your ass." Daryl drew his knife, pressing it into the soft skin of the boy's belly. "Y' got tha' cupcake?"

The boy nodded his head quickly, shifting his feet fitfully in an attempt to get away from the knife. Daryl dropped him back to the ground, sheathing the weapon as he turned and walked away. From behind him, he could hear Rick questioning the boy – Mike something, apparently – and Daryl was sure his friend would know the right way to handle this. Daryl wanted to talk to Beth, but she was still back with the others holding onto Brandy, who would need to tell them at least a little of what had happened. He wasn't sure what he would to Beth say anyway. Wasn't real clear why Beth had looked that way, the rage shooting out of her skin like heat waves on a sidewalk.

Or perhaps he was sure. He'd seen that look on his own face, after all. Had felt a burning rage in his body after his dad had done something to deserve it, when the only action he wanted to take was a physical one. When there wasn't any room for forgiveness or words. Just the deep satisfaction of hurting someone who hurt you.

But to see that look on Beth's face was unsettling, and not because he knew her as the optimistic one (isn't that beautiful?), the forgiving one (you gotta put it away), the good people left in the world. He had known from the second she had stepped back into camp that she was more than that, had made herself be more than that out of survival.

No, he decided, picking up his crossbow and lumbering into the woods. It's because a stupid, sick part of him wanted to see that look on her face. That thirst for blood, like a dog catching that first scent in the night. That look – it's what he understood, what he had lived with his whole life. It was somehow easier that way, to divide the world into the hunted and the hunter. To offer life or death, with no in between.

He'd wanted to kill that scumbag. Bury him into the ground and leave him for the walkers. And for one horrible second – when he had seen the revulsion in Beth's eyes, not for him but for the asshole himself – he'd wanted to make her proud. Make her smile up at him in a way that said you did it. You did it for me and I liked it. Thank you. Thank you.

It isn't until he gets deep into the woods that he throws up. Over the snot and the tears and the hacking of his own throat he thinks he sees blue eyes from somewhere far off, only they are tainted with iron, like contaminated water. Like a blue marker that's bled into grey.

AN: A shorter chapter, I know. But an important one that will have repercussions throughout the story. As you may have guessed, this story will be a bit darker than many of the other stories in the canon. Beth is returning from somewhere very traumatic, and thus she is not the same person she was when she was taken. We'll find out more about that journey, and I hope I can do her - and Daryl - justice. He's going to help her re-establish herself within the camp, but it's not going to be as easy as other fics have witnessed. Slow burn, people. Slow burn. As always, thank you for reading!

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