The Broken Road

Beth lay there in the darkness, Daryl fast asleep beside her, Judith tucked under his arm, her big eyes surveying the gloom with mild interest. Rick was outside, keeping watch, having entrusted Daryl with his daughter, Carl keeping his father company. Everyone else was engaged in industry, cleaning weapons, checking the vehicles, their voices a harsh hush, the embers of the campfire burning low with their hope. Watching their silhouettes, Beth wrapped her arms around her head, trying to tear out the past that kept playing in her head like a rerun: her father dying, the falling sky, Gorman's hands on her, every memory edged with blood, turning tomorrow crimson.

Without thinking, she turned around, huddling against Daryl's back, her brow brushing his spine, making him stir. She held her breath, waiting for him to wake up, but he didn't, only sliding deeper into slumber, exhaustion etched in his bones. Beth closed her eyes, holding onto all she that had left, the world reduced to the heart-beat dividing him from her. She didn't want to drive Daryl away, but that was exactly what she was doing, lashing out at the slightest thing he said, even as he tried to help her. But nobody could help her, not Daryl, not Maggie, not anyone. Grady Memorial had done something to her, fracturing her faith, scarring her soul, going deeper than the ones etched upon her face.

"Daryl?" Beth whispered despite herself, voice cracking.

Daryl shifted restlessly. "Worrit is it?" he mumbled, Judith gibbering in response.

"Nothin'," Beth mumbled back, making to turn back around again, only to stop as Daryl spoke up.

"What's on your mind, girl?" he asked quietly, not looking at her.

" Nothin'"

"Nothin' or not, I'm... I'm here," Daryl said gruffly, smothering a yawn. "Remember that."

Beth studied the stitched wings of his leather vest, the fabric frayed, worn. Unthinkingly, she reached out to him, only for her fingers to falter, stopping short of his shoulder. "I... I remember," she whispered, before turning her back on him, her hands clenching by her sides, ever empty, ever alone.

Daryl stamped the last smouldering remains of the fire out, damning the embers to oblivion. The smell of roasting meat still hung in the air, clinging to his clothes, making his stomach rumble. Despite bringing back a brace of rabbits, there hadn't been enough to go round, Daryl foregoing his portion to give to Beth. She had accepted his offering against her will, her lips thinning, jaw tightening, but something in his eyes had stopped her from refusing. Now she was finger-combing the tangles out of her long golden hair, Judith watching from Carl's arms with wide-eyed wonder, Beth blowing her a kiss, making Daryl stop in his tracks at the now rare softness present in her scarred face.

Ever since they'd left Grady Memorial, Beth had become a closed book, withdrawing into her own world. It struck Daryl, not for the first time, it was an odd reversal of roles, but as he watched Beth then begin to braid her hair, her face falling into its unusually usual hard lines, he bit his tongue, biding his time. He would bring Beth back from the brink, but she had to take that first step herself. That was what she had taught him; that it had to be him who stepped back from the edge. Last night, when she'd spoken to him, the darkness destroying what divided them, he'd sensed she was almost taking that step, only to stop, falling back instead.

"Hey," he said gruffly, making her glance up.

Beth studied him, hands halting, her braid half done. "Hey," she said hesitantly, caught offguard.

"You okay?"

"Would you quit fussin'?" Beth snapped, startling him. "I'm alive, ain't I?"

Daryl looked away, red rage rising in him despite himself.

Beth swiftly finished braiding her hair, fingers flying in and out of the gold. "I'm not some china doll, Daryl," she said, snapping the elastic around the end of her plait. "I'm not gonna break if you happen to just blink in my direction."

"Yeah, whatever," Daryl said, picking up his crossbow. "You keep tellin' yourself that."

As he made to leave, Beth stepped in front of him, blue eyes blazing in her bloodless face. "I don't know what your problem is," she hissed, her nostrils flaring, "but you better butt out, yeah?"

"You're my fuckin' problem," Daryl hissed back, losing control of himself, "you an' that chip on your shoulder that's the size of goddamn Texas."

"I'm not 'your problem'," Beth retorted, curling her fingers into sarcastic punctuation marks. "You ain't my mother."

"I ain't exactly the maternal type," Daryl spat, "but I don't fancy haulin' your sulky ass all the way to Washington. Thin's is bad enough without havin' to wake up to your sour face. Shit happens, so get over it."

Beth swayed on the spot, remembering the flash of a sword; Daryl yelling her name in the darkness; Gorman's hands on her, roaming, invading. Get over it. How could she get over hell? How could she climb its chasms? She wasn't strong enough to scale their heights. She'd thought she was, but surviving didn't make her strong. Survival was merely a favour granted by fate. She was here, but it wasn't enough, not when she was drowning in darkness.

The group pitched up camp at a motel on the outskirts of Georgia, Rick leaving Judith in Beth's care. The responsibility sat ill on Beth's shoulders. She had blood on her hands, hands that had only healed and helped before, and to care for a child with these hands felt wrong. But this is what she had become, and she could either accept it or fight what couldn't be fought. Humming under her breath, she dropped a kiss on Judith's brow, trying to seek sanctuary in innocence, holding onto the last of hope. Judith was all but hers, the child she'd always wanted.

"I love you, baby girl," she whispered, gently leaning her cheek against Judith's downy blonde head. Pacing the worn carpet, she continued to hum, the melody making Judith's eyes flicker, and then close, the familiar sound reassuring her in the same way Rick's voice did.

Sighing heavily, Beth sat down on an old armchair, the springs creaking in protest. Her gaze travelled over the rest of the room, taking in the tacky decor, before coming to a rest on the barricaded door. The others were elsewhere, making sure the motel was secure, Sasha taking first watch, rifle ever raised, her eyes always on the alert. Exhausted, Beth sunk deeper into the armchair's embrace, the movement making Judith stir sleepily in her arms. She was here; she was home wherever her family were.

The longing to return to them had fuelled her fight against Grady Memorial, driving her to the edge of death, but against the odds, she'd won out. Her faith in Daryl in finding her had never faltered, but she'd had the sense to try and save herself first, only to save them all in the end. Even as the others still glanced askance at her, she didn't regret killing Dawn, even as she recoiled from the remembrance. What was done was done, and if it damned her, so be it.

As Judith slept on, Beth sat there for a while, thinking of her father, of having to face a future without him, remembering a past where he was present. This world had made him a better man, filing down his flaws, bringing out the best of him; his kindness, his intrinsic courage. But all that was gone now, his remains left to rot like roadkill. In her eyes, it was Rick's fault. He had hesitated, time and time again, running from what he had become.

Rick should have killed Philip Blake a long time ago, instead of giving the Governor the chance to destroy what they'd shed blood to build. And now here they were, about to embark on a journey into the unknown. What awaited them in Washington, Beth didn't know. Eugene's lies about a cure there had mattered little to her; her hopeless hope was for the broken road that led to whatever lay ahead for her and hers.

We're roamin' around on this wasteland

Dust in the sky, dust on our minds

Broken fools on a road to nowhere

Feels like there there's no way back home…