When Beth next saw Daryl she was awake, staring at the hay when she heard the creaks of the ladder as he slowly appeared before her. Forcing herself to sit up slightly, trying not to move too much because it was cold now, colder than it had been the whole night she had been sitting watch outside. She had been to sleep, she was sure of it, had come inside when Daryl ordered her to, when the farm was under attack and she had curled up in the hay that Daryl had left moments before, consumed with some bastard-hybrid smell of him and her childhood. Not that those comforting features had stopped her from crying, but they had helped her fall asleep, along with pure exhaustion. The world, the barn still seemed just as grey, so Beth had no idea how long she had been asleep, but something had woken her moments before she had heard Daryl closing the large barn doors. And then the tears had started again, running down the dirty trails of her earlier ones and Beth wondered how she still had any left in her.

Maybe he had let her sleep over a whole day and night, or maybe something had happened and he had woken her early. Perhaps the attackers were on the move and they needed to run. They were always running.

"Snowin'," he told her as if noticing the panic in her eyes.

With a pathetic nod and useless swipe at her cheeks, Beth laid back down. It did not even occur to her to watch the snow, covering the world in white and purity for a rebirth in spring. There could be no rebirth after the massacre she had just seen.

"Anyone survive?" she asked, keeping her eyes on a piece of hay she was holding in her fingertips. There was no sound from him, but she heard his head shake, no.

"Walkers came."

"The attackers?" Fresh tears fell when Beth thought of those babies, both of them so little and helpless. She had been responsible for Judith at the same age, had lost her when the prison fell and if they never found the others, she would never know for certain that she had really made it out, no matter what Daryl told her. Then she was filled with guilt at leaving Judith, doubting Daryl, not helping those babies, at hoping the Walkers killed every last one of those sons of bitches who massacred a family. And for what?

That was what made no sense in her brain, not that any of the other attacks she had witnessed were justified, but there had always been an antagonism between Rick, the prison and the Governor at Woodbury. Even with the Governor's disappearance, there was always the potential for retaliation. Harrison had never mentioned there being a problem with anyone; he had dealt with the rapist murders who had killed his kin. So, who were they and why had they attacked the farm the way that they had?

"Most of 'em ran."

"Shit," she cursed, uncaring of how harsh it sounded from her lips. The whole world was harsh now, harsh and grey and shit. "What're we doin', Daryl?"

Faster than her brain could process, he was on his knees in front of her, his large, dirty yet warm hands on her cheeks, stroking away the constant stream of tears. She shivered, vulnerability rolling through her, but it did not scare her because this was Daryl. "What d'ya mean?"

"Here. Now. Why are we trekking across the damn country, sittin' back an' sleepin' whilst people, God damned people, murdered babies?

"Nothin' we could'a' done 'cept get ourselves killed."

"But why we even doin' it?" Months ago now, maybe even a lifetime, she had decided there was no point in just surviving in this hell world, no, you needed to live, too. To live and survive, that was the goal and instead she was trying to find something that she would probably never find, putting her life on the line for a family that were miles away and did not care about her.

"For our family."

She wanted to feel angry at that, but she did not. Instead her heart broke. "Our family? Daryl, they ain't lookin' for us, for me. They never were, were they? They don't care. You're the only one who does." Her hands moved to his cheeks then, each of them holding the other like a mirror. "Why are we killin' ourselves to find them?"

His eyes closed then and she felt his exhalation across her lips before his eyes reopened, meeting her eyes straight on, his eyelashes brushing against his long hair. "Cos a' love."

"Love?" she whispered softly.

With a nod, it seemed to take him a moment to find any words. "Maggie. Judith. Rick, he… he called me his brother. Reckon he shows more love 'n Merle ever did."

Fresh tears fell from her eyes, soaking his thumb and palm that were still cupped against her cheeks, his thumb gently trying to rub at them. She had sobbed and looked away briefly when he had said Judith's name.

"They love us, Beth. That's why we keep going, keep surviving, keep living."

"This ain't living!" She pulled away, letting her own hands fall away and he winced as she must have knocked him, jarring his wound in the movement. "Sittin' back as men have their way with girls, promisin' protection for sexual favours or payment. I don't wanna live or survive in this world!"

"What happened at Grady?" he whispered and shock filled her face for a moment before she slowly breathed out, settled back closer to him, almost to when they had been touching, but now his warmth seemed just out of reach.

"Not… that," she answered, realizing that he had probably wanted to ask her that for the time they had been travelling together. "It could have happened," she admitted slowly and quietly, not wanting to speak about it for fear that it would make it real, that it would make her weak and another girl waiting to die. "One of the police there, he suggested things, but never got the chance, I guess. You stopped the guy who got closest." He grabbed her wrist then, either to hold her hand or just to anchor her close, she was unsure, but they both felt his fingers brush her scars. "I gave up that day," she whispered, watching his fingers against her pale skin. "But I decided to live. What for? For all this… shit."

"Don't go givin' up all ya hope now, Greene. Ya the only thing keeping me goin'."

"Don't know why," her voice was quiet like his, but innocent where his had been gruff. "I ain't nothin' special."

"Yeah ya are, Beth Greene." She sniffed, the tears finally slowing and she looked down at his hand on her wrist, covering his hand with hers, anchoring him there before he could pull back.

"It hurts, Daryl," she admitted on a broken sigh. Her eyes flickered up and saw the worry in his eyes. Shaking her head, she moved her lowest hand, the one with the scar, their joined hands falling to her thigh, his palm on the worn fabric there, and touched it to her chest. "No, in here."

His hand slid up her thigh to her hip and waist, his other simultaneously wrapping around her back as he pulled her to him, holding her close against his chest. For a while she resumed crying, not sobbing, but openly crying in to his chest, soaking through his clothes in a move that was not wise given the low temperature she felt all around her. At that moment nothing else mattered other than shedding her pain. Venturing out to see if there was anything left to salvage at the farm, was pointless, heading out to hunt or scavenge elsewhere required far too much effort. Beth just needed to wallow, just for a few moments, to forget that the world was so shitty and take comfort in Daryl, who seemed to have zero issue with giving her what she needed.

Eventually she calmed, turning her head to the side to rest it against the wet shirt covering Daryl's chest and she considered moving to fetch him dry clothes, but his arms seemed impossibly tight around her. Maybe he needed her just as much as she needed him and perhaps they both needed each other for the same reasons. He shifted anyway, not releasing his hold on her, and Beth soon found herself lying on his chest, leaning next to him as he laid backwards on the hay. His left arm was hooked over her back, the hand resting on her waist and his right hand was holding her left hand on the wet patch of his shirt. As she snuggled her face in closer, he pulled her tighter to him and rubbed his chin across the top of her head.

"I got ya, girl," he whispered and her head nodded against him. The beating of his heart underneath her ear was lulling her to sleep when she heard him whisper, "'s been snowin'."

"Snowing?" she repeated, leaning up to rest her chin on his chest and look him the eye as if he were lying and seeing his eyes would uncover the truth. Now that she was calmer, Beth could appreciate the news of the weather that he had brought her before her breakdown.

"Hmm-hmm." His head nodded back and something akin to a smile crossed his lips, turning up one side of his lips ever so slightly. She smiled then and rested back down on his chest. "What? Ya ain't gonna go run 'n' see?"

"Nah." She shook her head against his chest. To look out the door meant to see the farm down past the trees and remember that no one survived. To look out the door meant reminding herself that there were dangerous people out there willing to take everything from others, willing to take another's life for nothing. Beth was far happier where she was – a heartbeat thudding in her ear, the smell of Daryl and her childhood all around her and the simple hope that maybe after this snow, the world would be pure again. With those thoughts, Beth was quickly asleep again.

When she next awoke, Beth was still in Daryl's arms, lying on his chest and it was dark all around them, colder than it had been before even though there was a blanket wrapped up over them both. Daryl must have covered them both with it whilst she was asleep, but Beth worried that it was not enough so she carefully moved off Daryl and reached in to the bag that was not far away, pulling out a second blanket. She hoped that it was enough as it was all that they had and if the temperature dropped much further they would need to start wearing extra layers to bed. They would need to wear them during the day, too. Snuggling back on to Daryl's chest, attempting to burrow in to his warmth, Beth covered them with a second blanket and took a deep breath to settle herself in for more sleeping.

"Thank fuck for tha'," Daryl mumbled against the top of her head, his nose cold where it brushed her. He pulled her tightly against him again, this time for the warmth and not for emotional comfort.

"Should'a' woke me."

"Nah, reckon we're close to hibernatin' now."

"We got enough food for that?"

He shook his head.

"Might be some left at the farm."

He sighed deeply, blowing her hair away as he did so. "When the weather clears a bit, we got a choice." He coughed with a grunt and continued. "Stay here, if we can find provisions. Head to the farm, rooms there should be warmer. Or continue on t' Washington."

With a hesitation and bite of her lip, Beth wondered if he had said Washington rather than their family because of how she had spoken of them before her slumber. There was no way she was anywhere near ready to give up, to give in like she had tried that day back at her farm, when her mama had died the second time, but that did not stop her from having her wobbles. As if sensing her thoughts, his fingers brushed across her scar, rubbing deeply at it as if his pressure could push the scar away. "I ain't leavin' ya, Daryl. Never."

"Thank fuck for that. Tried this shit without ya once. Didn't like it." Although she had spoken little of Grady, they had spoken even less of his time with the others. She knew about the cannibals and a train car, finding the church and then his search for her, but he had never said anything about before finding Rick other than he had run after her all night until he lost her tracks. And there was something in between the funeral home and the cannibals, between losing Beth and finding Rick, Beth knew that there was, but he only ever shrugged in the usual Daryl way.

"If the snow's started, ain't it best to hole up? Wait out the winter here?"

"If we can find food 'n'…"

"An' what? Avoid whoever attacked the farm?" He nodded. "Maybe that was them taking what they wanted and movin' on. Why hit the same place again?"

His shoulders shrugged underneath him. "Snow might'a' changed their plans."

"Did ya say we had food?" she suddenly asked, sitting up slightly to reach for the closest bag as Daryl 'hmm-hmm-ed'. "Hungry now." It was probably from crying so much, from finally letting out such an emotional spew of thoughts. Or from the day or two that she had been cocooned within the hay. They both shifted to sit up slightly and split a tin of the first thing Beth grabbed out, drinking some water, too before they settled back in the hay, remaining as close as they could to try and retain some warmth. The days and nights all started to blur in to one as all the pair of them did was sleep and eat, barely moving from their spot in the hay. Daryl refused to let them have a fire – he was not about to risk the hay going up, or them attracting whoever might still be out there. Sometimes the cold or hunger gave them reason to sleep, sometimes it was just boredom that led them to sleep again. More often than not as soon as one of them drifted off, the other was not far behind.

She doubted it could have been more than a week, in the end, when Daryl suggested that they finally head to the farm and see if there was anything. They probably should have gone earlier, there might have been perishables that they could have eaten. Maybe the animals had survived the attack and subsequent Walker invasion. But they had both needed to stay there, hidden under the blankets and surrounded by hay. It was the longest period of time since the dead started walking that Beth had not worried about the dead. They had noticed it during their first winter on the road, the winter where she had still had her daddy and Maggie to help keep her warm, Walkers were slower in the cold. They moved slower, as if frozen by the temperature. Their reactions were slower, as if the weather, the snow itself, seemed to stop them smelling fresh blood or feeling the warmth of a living body.

Maybe it was only fear that kept humans faster and alive in the winters now.

After what she guessed was a week of hiding, like she and Maggie had done sometimes on Christmas vacation, leaving the farm chores to Shawn as they hid under blankets and watched rom-coms, eat popcorn and giggled like that was all there was to life, they had headed to the farm. Daryl had been sure that the weather was cold enough to protect them from any Walkers that would have remained in the area. The snow had started up again so visibility was poor, but that was why Beth was pleased to have a hunter in front of her – a hunter who used the walk through the snow as yet another lesson for her. She had rolled her eyes at him when he had started showing her what she needed to notice.

"Girl," he had grumbled, "I ain't gonna let you be Walker meat just cos'a bit a' snow." So, she had listened to him, noticing that every time he bent down to show her something he winced in pain at his side wound. It was healing well and they were almost out of antibiotics when they headed out. He had asked her when they had approached the edge of the tree line, about to be visible to anyone hiding within the farm, why he had waited until now before heading back and she had known. She had known and answered immediately – the snow was covering their tracks behind them, not perfectly but better than with no snow. They had still tried to cover their tracks, back tracked over their steps a few times within the trees. Crossing the snow-covered grass to get to the farm had been the most daunting thing Beth could remember doing in months. There was no protection as they had walked across it in either direction, no idea if someone was waiting in the farm to shoot them at a distance or waiting in the trees to ambush them. And the whole journey there, Beth's brain had been filled with thoughts that maybe someone had survived.

Maybe Grace was hiding in the little cottage, surviving through winter with supplies, too scared to trek up to the barn, too hesitant to leave somewhere that could be safe. Maybe there had been a cellar or attic that the attackers had not searched. The snow had been at a high enough level to cover everything, including bodies that were indistinguishable in their snowy state. There were a lot though, that much Beth did know.

People, Walkers, Harrison's family and maybe some of the attackers themselves, dead on the ground, slowly rotting underneath the pure white snow. Or at least waiting until spring before rotting in to the ground. If they waited until spring, they should clear it all up before leaving. Then it could be a fresh start for whoever came along behind them.

There had been no survivors and only a small handful of Walkers dotted around the place, mainly inside of the buildings and easily recognizable as members of Harrison's family, lots of the unknown Walkers had Ws carved on their foreheads like the ones from the school and Noah's home. But the Walkers at the farm were easy to deal with and there were no survivors so Daryl had turned to her, a question in his eyes and Beth had shook her head.

"Take what we can use, what we need and head back to the barn." She did not want to stay at the farm, it had been someone's home and she could not move in behind them when she had done nothing as they were all massacred. Before they had left, Daryl had left her for a moment at the door to the cottage, both of them weighed down with bags filled with blankets and any food that they could use, and headed to the car Beth had last seen Harrison and Grace driving away from them. She had watched as Daryl had leaned in to the car, the rear seat and then sheathed his knife before heading back to her with a grunt and a nod.

They were close to the edge of the trees again now, once they broke free of the trees the barn would be in sight and it was oddly comforting to Beth. She knew that the world was still going on, time was still passing and people were still living, Walkers were still hungry, but in that barn for the past week or so, she and Daryl had been cocooned in their own little world. In the time before the turn, she guessed that it would have been like lovers spending the weekend in bed, eating and sleeping with the crumbs, watching television and just being alone, ignoring the world and the usual 9-5 of being an adult.

She laughed at that then. The life that she had never had and never would. No one would ever again, she reckoned. At her laugh she felt his eyes on her, knew that one eyebrow was up, questioning her laugh. Without looking up, she asked, "Ya ever spend a weekend in bed with a girl?"

"Ya the first," he admitted and her eyes flickered over to see redness on his cheeks that had little to do with the temperature.

"Reckon that's what lovers do." He huffed in response to her. They had spoken some in their secluded week, had spent time just sitting in comfortable silences and Beth had never experienced anything like it before. Even with her family, there had been reason to break free from everyone and want to be alone. Now, or with him, Beth was unsure, there was no alone and there was no desire to be alone.

"That what you want, Greene, Sunday White Trash brunches in bed?"

She laughed out loud at that. "That life's all gone, Daryl. Ain't no point wantin' the past."

His hand shot out then and almost slapped her on her chest, halting her steps as his eyes examined the open pathway to the barn. Beth's eyes followed his a moment later, after falling on to his un-gloved hand splayed across her chest for a moment before falling away. A few days in to their week of seclusion, Beth had found herself playing with his hand, anything to pass the time really, but she had really examined his hand up close. Each finger. Every scar and mark. The lines. Front and back. The damn thumb that he liked to chew on so much and his nails, all bitten down and filthy dirty like the rest of them both. He had not moved to stop her at all, had fallen asleep during the examination. What had surprised her was that his were still darker than hers, his large, dirty and brown hand held within her smaller and lighter hands, no longer any white there on either of them.

"What?" she finally whispered, her eyes tracking across to the barn, trying to see what he was worried about, or was he simply being cautious?

"Our tracks." He jerked his head towards them and she looked down at them. They were still there, covered slightly in snow, but there none the less, just as they had feared they would be. There were no Walker tracks nearby. In fact, the rest of the snow surrounding the barn was completely untouched. Unless someone had approached from the back, there did not seem to be anything amiss. "Ain't as covered as the ones at the farm."

"That's impossible," she argued, trying to see what he could see. These tracks were older than those at the farm. Unless it had somehow been snowing heavier across there.

"Hmm-hmm." His head nodded, his eyes scanning everywhere around the barn. It was still lightly snowing and they could just about make out the barn, but nothing was too clear about it. Following in his old tracks, Beth followed, stepping exactly where he stepped just as she had done on their journey out. With each step, Beth filled with greater fear, her senses heightening. It was her that stopped a few meters from the barn doors and looked at the snow around them.

"Daryl," she whispered just loud enough that the wind did not blow it away. He turned only his head, twisting to see her. "This snow has been disrupted." With a weird awkwardness that Beth would have laughed at in any other circumstance, Daryl took a few steps back to look at the snow clearer.

"Someone's here," he grumbled. "They stepped in our prints, but fell here." His glove-less hand pointed out to what Beth had seen. "Must be more than one to get back up and cover up."

"Our stuff's in there." It was spoken as if there were any sort of option to turn around and leave. The farm might be habitable for the winter, but the people in the barn would still be too close and they did have bags they had left in the barn. "Can't be an army, right?" There was a false confidence in her voice and the raised eyebrow he gave her indicated that he knew she was bullshitting. He was still injured, but they both had their bows and knives, about to walk in to a barn with a hay loft with a raised advantage. They maybe had the element of surprise, but that would only last until they opened the barn doors. "Wait," Beth urgently grabbed at his arm, surprised once more that she felt warmth through his layers and her own glove.

"What? We're losin' time here, Greene." His patience always quickly dried up when they were on the offensive, or the defensive, or both as the current situation might turn out to be.

"I could go 'round the back. That hatch with the rope ladder."

"The rope ladder we took off an' didn' trust could hold nothin'."

"Yeah, that one." Her shoulders and chest deflated as she resumed following him. There were scuff marks in the snow where the barn doors had been opened slightly, then closed again. There were a few other covered track marks, like whoever had been here had tried walking off to the side and either changed their minds or continued, but hid their actions. "Should we check out the side?" It could be a trap, she wanted to say but there was no need to utter those words. Daryl understood the tracks far better than she ever could. They were standing side by side now, in the slight shelter the roof gave so the ground was only hard and covered with a light dusting here, harder to spot tracks. Harder, but not impossible and Beth could make out three distinct and different tracks, one of which made her pause. When she looked up at Daryl, she saw the question in his eyes, but also the concern that he felt over walking in to a trap. She knew then that he wished they had the others, more people to help watch their backs, to watch her.

"Nah. Just risk it." His shoulders fell as if in defeat over a bad plan, as if already blaming himself for what could go wrong so he turned back to the large doors and put a hand on the handle, ready to pull it open. Her own hand shot up and covered his.

"Whatever happens, Daryl, this ain't ya fault. Ya go on, ya hear me? Ya find Maggie an' Judith, but do not blame yourself, ya hear me?"

"Back atcha, girl," he said with a hint of a smile as he pulled the door open.

A/N: It may be more fanon than canon re Walkers slowing in the Winter, but I buy in to the theory. Although let's face it, there's lots of the biology of Walkers that makes little sense.