Okay, first of all I am SO sorry for the late update! Shit happened, college classes started, I have WAY too much homework right now, but HERE IT IS! There will be more soon, I'm just not even going to give myself a time limit, it will be on here when it done. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, you're fabulous! Enjoy the update!


Chapter Seven:

Beth liked the cabin, if she was being completely honest. Even if she couldn't see that much of it because it was still dark out, what parts of the structure she coudl make out were pleasing to her eyes.

With how scary the whole situation had become, the little building tucked so gently in the back of the woods, with moss growing on the roof and an overgrown garden nestled against the front porch, it looked warm and comforting. Having a former military man by her side helped ease her worry too.

Everything had happened so quickly after that man broke in. Her father had called Sheriff Grimes, who had immediately come to the Greene farm at hearing the news, and talked with her father while she began packing what she considered necessities. This included a few trinkets she snuck into her bag, but only the ones she couldn't live without. A ring of her mothers, some earrings Maggie got her one year for her birthday, and her brothers dog tags.

Daryl had re-packed his things, and shoved both of their boxes and bags into the back. Beth was still in her pajamas when she hugged her father, kissing him on the cheek and watching as he and Daryl shook hands. Then Rick escorted them to the cabin after receiving directions from Daryl, who also gave them to Hershel, just in case.

They drove mostly in silence, not that it was uncomfortable or anything like that. She hummed a little melody, trying to get the intruders hungry eyes out of her head, and Daryl kept his keen eyes on the road, his mind whirling just as much as hers was.

Daryl felt responsible for what had happened. Not that he had any reason to feel that way, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it wasn't his fault. Nonetheless he felt it root itself inside, bubbling just under his skin.

Guilt was all he seemed to feel lately… Guilt and whatever it was that made his heart rate quicken when Beth Greene gave him a soft look with those gentle blue eyes of hers. Also confusion about all he was feeling. It was hard to figure the whole mess with the man who broke in when he was having such trouble decoding his own thoughts and emotions.

Even more unidentified emotion flooded through him when Beth gazed in affectionate awe at the house he had spent most of his young adult life despising. The one his family had moved into after his mother burnt down their former home. The one he had left his brother behind in screaming when he decided to serve in the U.S. army. When he left to attempt to redeem himself. Or at least die trying.

After Rick had made sure they would be safe, he gave Beth a hug, promising her personal safety, and he and Daryl shook hands. When Daryl went to let go, Rick held strong onto his hand, his eyes sharp in Daryl's own gaze as he said, "This house, what it represents. It's not you, Daryl."

The words hit Daryl's heart even if he couldn't bring himself to believe them, and he nodded slowly. With a pat on the back, and a nod to Beth, Rick left, the uplifted dirt trying to follow his vehicle, and settling in an almost melancholy way when it realized it couldn't.

The feelings he felt when he saw that house again were a strange mix of sentimentality, and hate. He felt like somehow, he was back at the start. Back under his father's sickening gaze. He rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the car, his back stinging in remembrance.

He hadn't thought twice about offering to bring Beth here when she was in danger. It was logical, in a sense. Only the Dixon family knew about the cabin, and it was located pretty deep in the woods. It was safe from intruders, yes, but not from the ghosts of his past.

Shockingly, he realized that he had forgotten about the skeletons in his closet. All that had mattered was that the petite blonde beside him was somewhere safe.

It was his job to take care of her. He had promised Shawn, and now he had promised Hershel. But in turn, he had risked the exposure of his secrets… Of his shame.

"It's so pretty out here!" Beth said, smiling at Daryl as she turned around in a slow circle, taking in the scene.

Daryl huffed, rushing inside after realizing just how long the cabin had been abandoned. It needed desperately to be cleaned. Not that he cared much, but he figured Beth would, what with how clean she and her Daddy kept their house. Part of Daryl wondered if part of that was the lack of inhabitants though. He imagined their house was probably more of a mess when Anette and Shawn were alive and when all of the Greene children lived there. But the cabin had a different kind of mess.

Just opening the door made Daryl go stiff, the memory of when he came home late one night from some party scratching at his insides.

He had stayed late because of this one girl, a pretty brunette with bright eyes and a warm smile. Not that he had actually talked to her, but he did glance her way every now and then. In the end, she had caught him staring, called him a creep, and he had trudged home, feeling like total shit. The icing on the cake was when he realized his father was home, and drunk. Not enough to just fall right to sleep though. He really suffered that night, as tall and strong as he had become, his father had fear on his side. He passed out from the beatings, and he wasn't sure if his father had even been hesitant to stop when he didn't have the strength to fight back anymore. He must've been fifteen then, because he didn't shed a single tear. Not even from the pain.

By the time he was thirteen, somewhere deep inside, he had accepted the cruel reality of what his life was, and the tears just dried up. Instead of crying every time his father raised a hand to him, he just died a little more inside. Somewhere during his teens years, he started believing he deserved it.

He was jerked out of the memory by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He whipped around to see Beth standing there with worry in her eyes, and hesitancy lining her features. "You alright?" she asked softly.

"Fine," Daryl grumbled back, forcing himself through the doorway.

"How long has it been since you lived here?" Beth asked, obviously aware of the thick layer of dirt and dust that covered everything.

"Eight years at least," Daryl answered, picking up some things, only to set them down again. Everything in the room seemed to trigger some horrible memory, and besides that, he didn't really know where to start cleaning.

"Alright, Dixon… Get out," Beth said.

Daryl turned around, giving her a confused and angry look. "'Scuse me?"

He was taken aback by her attitude, but realized quickly that she was being sarcastic, a cheeky smile set on her features. He was not in the mood for sarcasm.

"I'm gonna clean this place up," she said, rolling up the sleeves of her pajama shirt to her elbow and doing the same to her pants, stopping just above her knees.

Panic coursed through his veins. She was going to find out about everything. There was evidence of his fucked up childhood on every inch of the house.

It never was easy to wash the blood off of the floor. It was even harder to clean it knowing that it was his own.

Daryl glared hard at her. "Fuck no, Girl. You get out," he snapped, grabbing an armful of random things. "Only way this place would ever be clean is if we burned it down."

Beth huffed. "Well, ay'm not just gonna let you clean this mess up by yourself."

Daryl just kept grabbing things, throwing most of it out the front door.

She followed his lead, grabbing random things and throwing them out onto the front lawn, only earning an even sharper glare from the archer. "Don't you know when to step off, Girl? I said get out!" Daryl yelled, slicing his hand through the air angrily. "Get out!"

"Why won't you let me help?" Beth yelled back, startling him when she stepped towards him and not away. "I owe you so much already! I just want to help!"

"Ai' don't need no help from some pathetic, helpless bitch," Daryl growled, not backing down either.

Beth glared at him. He had stepped over a line that he would regret crossing. "Oh, fuck you, Daryl Dixon!" The curse felt foreign to Beth's tongue, but despite the strange feeling she got by using it, her angry tone never wavered. "No one made you keep to your word! You didn't have to come find me… You chose to!"

Her words angered him into icy silence. Fuck it all… She was right.

"If ay'm so pathetic and helpless, than teach me to defend myself," Beth said, surprising him. Her chest was heaving, and her bright blue eyes were steady on his.

He stared at her, holding some old bottle of whiskey in one hand. This girl could turn the tables on him in a matter of seconds. First she's cursing at him, much to Daryl's shock, and then she's asking him for help? Jesus.

"Teach me," she said again, this time there was something strong and hopeful in her eyes. Something light. "Please."

His anger dissipated as he held her gaze, and he let his body relax, looking at her with a newfound respect. He nodded a bit, shifting his stance slightly and turning his gaze to the floor, seeing another blood stain and remembering when he had asked Merle the same thing, in that very room. "Yeah," he said, moving his eyes back to her. "Sure, I'll teach ya'."

With that she left him to clean alone, watching from just beside the front doorway, so she could move quickly as he threw more things out on the lawn.

Eventually, Daryl had to take a break, the memories too painful and his body too heavy with so much guilt, worry, and raw agony. He took a seat next to Beth, ruffling out his hair. It had been short when the war started, Army standard short, but he stopped thinking about those kinds of trivial things on the front lines. They weren't important. Besides, he kind of liked it long.

"You don't like this place do ya'..." Beth said after a moment of silence.

Daryl glanced over at her, not angry persay, but not calm by any means calm under the weight of her question. He decided to stay quiet, preferring not to talk about it.

"You don't have ta' tell me why, but… It's kind of obvious," she said quietly, turning her gaze to meet his. "Do you really need that stuff?" Beth asked, looking towards the pile of things that had collected on the front lawn.

Daryl's moved over the objects, those hurtful memories trying to push him through the porch, into the earth, and all the way down to Hell. "Prob'ly not…" he replied.

She looked from Daryl to the pile, seeing the pain in his eyes.

"When my Momma died," Beth said, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them to hold her legs close. "It was in her plan to be cremated. Seein' her ashes was sad, since I knew that they used to be a person." Daryl turned his eyes to her, wondering what she was getting at. "For me, it was like ai' had closure when Daddy threw them around the lake where they met. It was a feeling I didn't get when Shawn died…"

Daryl bent his knee to rest his elbow on it, feeling actually a bit amused by what she was suggesting.

"You sayin' I should burn the stuff?" he asked, unable to help the smirk that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Actually, he kind of liked the idea.

Beth turned to face him, her eyes bright. "Yeah! Let's burn it!" she smiled, that beautifully genuine smile that had dazzled him at Club Ford only a few nights ago. Suddenly, while the genuine smile was still partially there, the light in her eyes moved back, and he could tell her thoughts had moved somewhere far away. "Stuff like that... Those things that hurt you so much you can't even tell people about it; you have ta' put it away. You… You gotta stay who you are," she said, her mind obviously back to the present. "Not who you were."

Daryl looked at her, knowing that he must have looked startled, because that's how he felt. Her words begged the question, who was he? Who was he really? Besides a man with the Dixon name permanently diminishing his self worth. But if he took away the name… Who exactly was he?

"I'm not sure I believe in whatever the Dixon curse is, Daryl, but real or not, you shouldn't let something like that control you," she said.

He snorted. "Who called it the 'Dixon Curse'?"

"Your brother did," she said simply. "He told me not to get close to you, because of a curse on your family."

Daryl turned his gaze from hers, glaring out in the distance and hoping Merle could feel it. His brother needed to butt out. It wasn't any of Merle's business who he got involved with.

"I think you're better than any curse," she said, earning his attention again. "That's why I think you should burn that pile. Get rid of whatever curse has attached itself to you." She smiled. "Burn away your demons, and be who you are."

This girl was wise beyond her years.

Suddenly Daryl got up, walking into the house and finding the hidden spot where his daddy used to hide his liquor from the police, not at all surprised to find some still stashed away, dust practically covering the bottle. He grabbed two bottles and walked back outside, making sure he had matches in his pocket. He handed her a bottle as he stepped off of the porch, gesturing for her to help.

Smiling, she got up, walking quickly over to stand beside him, opening the bottle and waiting for him to begin.

He twisted off the top, pouring almost all of it onto the pile, taking a large swing of it before pouring the rest out.

Beth did the same, taking a quick gulp before he could object, and coughing as the alcohol burned her throat. "Oh God! This tastes awful!" Beth exclaimed, quickly dumping the rest out. He actually laughed at that, taking another swig before he dumped the last of his bottle out.

He picked up some piece of cloth that was utterly covered in the alcohol, and handed her the matches, watching her struggle with one before giving up and trying another, lighting the one successfully and meeting his eyes before she lit the cloth, as if making sure he wanted to continue.

He nodded, watching as the cloth went up in flames, throwing it onto the pile before the fire could reach his hand. The pile quickly lit up, burning bright in a matter of seconds.

Daryl went in and out of his house, grabbing things and making the pile bigger, Beth pouring more gin, or whatever else she had found, onto it to make sure everything would burn.

Once everything Daryl wanted to burn was stacked onto the pile, they watched his demons, his curse, slowly turn to ashes from the porch, sharing some moonshine Daryl had found hidden under a loose floorboard. Beth had gotten used to the flavor and the burn, and so they drank, watching the flames burn until the first morning light could be seen peeking through the trees.

It was then that Daryl realized something, as Beth carefully intertwined her fingers with his, giving him a smile when he glanced her direction. The feeling came when he knew she was fast asleep with her head on his shoulder, as he let the fire turn everything that had once brought him such pain turn to nothing but smoke and ash.

He was in undeniably, even though he had only truly known her for a few days, in love with Beth Greene.