A/N: So sorry for the delay, it has been an unbelievable few months for me. I wanted to post this before work tonight, so I didn't edit it too much so my apologies for any mistakes. I'll look it over when I get home. But until then, Enjoy!

Daryl approached the door with silent, measured steps, gripping the pipe in his hand tighter. Beth was with him, they were getting away and he wasn't gonna lose her this time. He'd protect her, guard her with his life and return her to their family. He's had this dream so many times before, times that he was faster and got to her before the black car with the white cross. Times that he managed to lead Beth from the hallway of that hospital before Dawn could make her final demand. But they always ended the same – somehow, he always lost her.

Not this time.

Pushing the door open he peered out, making sure there was no one around. The line of motorcycles was still there, and he squeezed her hand harder to make sure she was still with him. She was, matching him step for step, her nails digging into his forearm. It hurt, it felt real – more real than any vision or dream he'd ever had of her. Whether or not this was another dream he couldn't be sure, but on the off chance it was really happening, he wasn't taking any chances.

As he knelt down to hotwire the bike, he heard her gasp and saw her freeze. He looked up to see the one called Fat Joey. A cold fury raced through him, recognizing him as the one who set him up the last time he'd tried to escape – one of the many who had beaten him so mercilessly. Now, this once fearless man was suddenly terrified; cowering, raising his hands and begging for his life. And not too long ago, Daryl may have even felt compassion and spared him.

But then Dwight happened. Denise died. They let the Governor live. Herschel died and they lost everything. Leaving Fat Joey alive to run his mouth to Negan, they could die. Negan could use Beth as leverage against him, and in turn, use him against their family. Or, Negan could simply kill him and keep Beth for himself. He raised the pipe. The burning ache in his muscles as he brought down the pipe repeatedly made him feel weak, leaving him in breathless agony, but not even that was enough to stop him.

It was all a blur; killing Fat Joey, seeing Jesus, stealing the bikes and making their escape. And Beth…she was with him, her shaking hands fisting the back of his shirt. It still felt real, but he didn't know how that could be. The guilt of leaving her in Georgia is something that has never gone away. She had been a fixture in both his dreams and his nightmares in every moment since that day, but he had never felt her before.

Rick, he knew, saw Lori everywhere around the prison after she died. Had he officially lost his mind? Was she going to be an ever present ghost that haunted his every step until he ended up like Rick? The winding road before him seemed to be moving closer, swaying from side to side like they were on a rope bridge. It made him nauseas, then they were wobbling as he struggled to steady the bike.

Her hands released his shirt, her small hands reaching around and settling over his on the handles.

If she spoke he didn't hear, but he followed her lead and pulled the bike off the road.

As he tried to stand, a violent wave of dizziness and nausea caused him to double over. He was exhausted and as the world spun around him, he could feel himself being held up between two bodies and dragged along with them. A fierce burning coursed through him as their grips tightened around his waist, digging into bruises and old wounds. His mind felt detached from his body in an attempt to protect itself from the sheer, overwhelming pain. Through his blurred vision he could see the forest slowly going by him, but couldn't tell where they were leading his broken body.

A surge of fresh pain ripped through as they set him on the ground, his back resting against a thick tree. He squeezed his eyes shut and took breath after deep breath until the nausea ebbed and the constant spinning began to cease. Panting now, he rested his head against the bark, opening his eyes to take in his surroundings. He was alone. There was no one, no voices, no bikes, no evidence that any of this had actually happened.

"Hello?" There was no reply, there was nothing. But the answer was plain enough without her absence: suffer, as I have suffered, live with the memory of what you've done; how you left me alone – I am finished with you. Daryl's anguished cries of her name echoed in the hollow forest around him. He didn't even have the ability to chase her... and then he was terribly, utterly alone.

"Beth!" He tried once more. Silence. Had they been taken? Was he next? He struggled to stand despite the pain urging him to stay still, when a gentle hand gripped his shoulder and pressed him back.

"Hey, easy, she's coming right back…"

The voice tugged at him, calling him back from the edge of his mind. It was male, soft and comforting, or at least it was meant to be. Forcing his mind into a sharp focus he saw Jesus, felt his hands gripping his shoulders, but Beth was gone. Panic gripped his racing heart as he searched frantically around them.

"Where'd she go?" he was trying to get up, but every nerve in his body fired in protest, forcing him back against the tree.

"I'm here," Her voice was gentle, a salve to his tortured mind. Dropping a collection of branches and twigs in a pile, she moved to his side. His vision blurred, and wavered. He blinked rapidly trying to clear it, and when he opened them again she was kneeling before him.

Her delicate fingers slipped into his hair and moved like a comb, parting the knotted strands of his hair and pushing them back from his face. He can't remember the last time his face was so exposed and he wanted to hide away from her intense gaze. A water bottle was pressed to his parched lips and he drank carefully, feeling pain anytime he swallowed too much or too quickly. But he was so thirsty it just wasn't enough.

"Slow down, or you'll get sick," she said, pulling the bottle back as she knelt beside him. "I know this is a dumb question, but you have to answer it honestly. How do you feel?" The groan was involuntary, rumbling out of his throat with a harsh exhaled breath.

"Weak…can' hardly move. Everything hurts, aches…burns."

She bent closer to him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to be so weak as to lean in to her touch. The sound of something ripping drifted into his ears, and then a wet cloth was placed to his sweating brow. It wasn't cold by a long shot, but it felt good. The hand that was curled in his hair now stroked down his cheek, following the line of his trimmed beard almost lovingly as she pressed the cloth all over his face and neck.

He damn near purred, wanting nothing more than to lean into her touch like a cat and nuzzle his cheek into her hand. The tension seemed to melt away from his weary body, soothed by her presence, assured by the dampness of the air and strong scent of earth, decay, and blood that he was free from that cell. His heart rate slowed, yet his chest still felt as though it would burst, but from fear or joy he wasn't sure. He couldn't trust his own mind, but even when she was alive, he had never had anyone make him feel so vulnerable, yet so safe.

Taking care of him… he thought she'd abandoned him and she was just taking care of him, the way she had done for Judith – for all of them – for so long. Had they ever thanked her? He wanted to scream, to beg her forgiveness and he couldn't.

Sitting still took all of his concentration, and even that was becoming too much as the damp cloth left his neck and slid down his arm. Though the hand caressing him was soft, tender even, it set his nerves on edge. Still he watched, unmoving; his gaze drawn down to her hands and the strength he knew they contained. He funneled all of his concentration into just watching her pale skin, contrasted sharply against the tanned and filthy pigment of his flesh. She could have clawed his arm open with her nails and left him to bleed to death. He would welcome a death at her hands for how he failed her. Instead, she was gentle, tender even, as she held the cloth against his wrist.

His chest clenched in protest in a quick reminder as his hand reached towards her. She flinched, but didn't pull away as his fingers traced the scars on her face.

"What happened to you?" his voice cracked as he asked, as his fingers reached the scar where she'd been shot. Her bright blue eyes that had almost always been full of light and hope met his: cautious, haunted; guarded.

"You know what happened…" she replied softly, with no hint of emotion to be heard. His arm dropped like led, even such a small action was exhausting and painful.

"But I don't know how you're here," he wiped at the tears filling his eyes, "We left you."

"I don't remember a lot, Daryl." Her voice was clipped, clearly more interested in tending his wounds than having this conversation.

"I'm sorry…" he tried not to cry, really he did, his chest couldn't handle the pain from the spasming, but he'd waited so long to tell her that, "So, so sorry…"

"I'll be right back." Jesus said, awkwardly clearing his throat as he disappeared into the brush. Daryl had forgotten he was even there, so focused on Beth as he was.

"I don't remember a lot, Daryl."

It was a lie, but he had no reason to believe it wasn't the truth. She couldn't talk about this now, not when there was a stranger so close, not when Daryl was so obviously out of his mind.

He was looking at her, studying her, and she could see he was trying to work out if she was actually real.

"I'm sorry," he choked, and then he was overcome with tears, "So, so sorry."

The first and only time she ever saw him weep so openly was at the moonshine shack, over the death of her father, over the loss and uncertainty of what remained of their family.

"I'll be right back," the man said, drawing her attention.

"Before you go, I'm gonna need your coat…" she called to him. The man slid it off without question and handed it to her. She draped it over his body and Daryl instantly came to life, fighting to push it off.

"No, it's too hot already…"

"Daryl, you need to keep it on," she said, keeping her voice firm as she glared at him. He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he gave up and relaxed against the tree. It worried her as it relieved her, his body was just too exhausted to fight, but at least he wouldn't be much trouble. She covered the front his body, the coat barely reaching the edges of both shoulders.

"Grabbed some supplies before we left," their companion said, returning with three cans of beans and several bottles of water. She could have hugged him, grateful that at least he had thought this far ahead. She immediately took the water, both giving it to Daryl to drink, and wetting the piece of her shirt she'd ripped off.

"So hot, Beth…" he said, his head leaning into the cloth as she dabbed it over his face. He pushed the coat off again and she sighed in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Daryl, you have to keep it on." She said, pushing the jacket back up to his shoulders. He struggled against her as she moved the cloth from his forehead to his neck, trying to keep his hands at bay while she worked. She grabbed hold of his hand, pressing the cloth to the inside of his wrist and held it there.

"If he's hot shouldn't we let him cool off?"

"No, we need the fever to break," she explained softly, "We're gonna have to keep the fire goin', when the temperature drops tonight he's gonna feel even colder. Shivering can make a fever rise even higher. We'll need to keep a close eye on him." She poured a little more water on it and pressed it to his skin.

"You're gonna need to drink some of that yourself," the man told her.

She didn't respond, watching from the corner of her eye as he started a fire, opened the cans and began heating them up.

"Drink, Beth," Daryl said, giving her the bottle back. She looked at him, took a quick sip and handed it back.

"I'm not the one who's dehydrated. I'll be fine."

Daryl nodded, drinking about half the bottle. She wanted to look at his wounds, to see if any of the cuts had signs of infection. She asked Daryl's permission to remove his shirt and as expected, he refused. Knowing better than to push him, she made sure Daryl was covered by as much of the jacket as possible, and sat beside him.

They were as safe and settled as they could be, and Beth allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. Her gaze fell to the man who had saved their lives, curious who he was, where he was from, and how he ended up a friend of Daryl's. He offered her a can of beans, which Beth promptly passed to Daryl after eating a few small mouthfuls for herself.

"So you got a name?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"That's Jesus," Daryl replied with a mouth full of beans.

Beth sighed, "He's still delusional…"

The stranger laughed, "No, my friends used to call me Jesus and it just stuck. It's how I introduced myself to Rick and Daryl way back when we met." Taking in the sight of his long beard and even longer hair, it wasn't hard to understand why the nickname stuck. With his light eyes and easy confidence, she found herself relaxing in his company.

"Ya got a real name? I ain't callin' you Jesus." She meant for it to be a lighthearted, teasing comment, but there was an edge to her voice that made his smile falter.

"Paul Rovia."

"Well, Paul Rovia, I'm Beth Greene." His eyes squinted as she said her name, as if it meant something to him.

"Greene? Any relation to Maggie Greene, or Rhee?" The breath felt knocked from her lungs as she stared at him.

"She's my sister. You know Maggie?" He nodded. "Do you know if she's ok? Did she live…the b-baby?"

"She's at my camp at the Hilltop with Sasha. Rick is making sure Negan thinks she's dead, though. And yes, the baby is fine – they're both fine and strong."

"Ya sure they're both alright?" Daryl interrupted in his soft voice.

"Yea, Daryl, I'm sure."

With that Daryl laid down on his back, right between Beth and the fire. Beth pressed the cloth to his temple once more as he closed his eyes.

"You live in separate camps?" Beth asked.

"Yea, there's a few different communities around here." Paul replied, "Do you want me to give Maggie a message?"

She was about to say yes, but as thought about how Maggie wasn't there when they came to get her, how she left her in that trunk, she decided against it.

"No, she thinks I'm dead anyway – they all do. Let us get home first, just in case something goes wrong. She just lost Glenn; don't give her the hope that she'll see me again just to have it taken away. It seems intolerably cruel."

The sound of Daryl's soft snores and heavy breathing drew their attention.

"Finally," she whispered softly.

"Shouldn't we keep him awake, or something?"

"That's only with concussions. His body is sick and needs as much rest as he can get."

"You should get some sleep yourself. You look exhausted. I'll take first watch." Paul offered.

"No, I'll take first watch. Just in case something happens or goes wrong, I'll know. Get what rest you can, it's gonna be a long night."

"You won't be much good to anyone if you pass out from lack of sleep and not eating."

"I'll be fine. I'll sleep when you wake up. I'll eat in the morning."

Paul nodded, laying on the opposite side of the fire from Daryl, and closed his eyes.

The whole point of keeping watch was to keep an eye out for people, animals, or walkers sneaking up on the camp. But the only thing Beth watched was Daryl. She focused on the rise and fall of his chest, listening to his labored breathing. She watched his body toss and turn, shivering ceaselessly even in front of the fire. He curled in on himself, hands held in front to protect himself from whatever was attacking him. It broke her heart to hear the soft whimpers, like a wounded dog, escaping his lips.

He settled once more on his back, and she gently lifted his head into her lap. His hair was even longer now, shielding his eyes and simultaneously hiding his emotions. Her fingers combed through the damp hair at his temple, pushing it away from his forehead, pushing it back behind his ear. She repeated the motion over and over again, even after all the hair was cleared from his face. There's hardly a version of his face she remembers that wasn't obscured in some way by his hair, except when she first laid eyes on him at her Daddy's farm.

She'd dreamed of this face, fearful she'd never see it again. It was the first thing she truly remembered and she held on to it as some kind of north star, as if that image alone would lead her home. And now that she has him back, she has no intention of losing him again.

It was unbearably hot; he was unbearably hot. The heat of the flames on his face felt as though they'd melt the skin right off his bones, having gotten too close the burning house. They were all looking at him, firefighters, police, neighbors – some with pity, others with judgment and scorn – but he knew that his mother hadn't made it out even before they told him. He fought against the firefighter pulling him away, dragging him, screaming at the top of his lungs.

He choked, inhaling the burning ash into his lungs with every short, panicked breath. Long after they'd all gone, Daryl still knelt beside the rubble, unsure of where to go, of how to feel. He hated this house and all the bad memories he had here, and sometimes he maybe even hated her. But she was his mother, and despite how she failed to protect and save him, he loved her. He hated her weakness, her inability to put down the bottle and take him away from this miserable life. But he made her this way, and on some level, Daryl knew she loved him too.

"This is all yer fault –" the old drunk fool shouted, returning late from whatever bar he'd got wasted in, "If you'd'a been home, we'd still have a house!"

"Who cares about the house?! She was my mom!"

"She was a worthless cow!" For the first time, Daryl struck his father in rage. "That the best ya got?"

The punch to his face left him dizzy. The punch to his stomach knocked him to his knees. When he heard the belt being removed he didn't move. It wasn't the first time he'd been struck; it wouldn't be the last.

If he'd have been home, his mother might still be alive. If he'd have been home, perhaps his mother would have taken him with her, not leaving him alone with this man, like Merle. What the fuck did he care for this house? He spent most of his nights in the woods anyway.

"It's all yer damn fault," His father had never struck him this hard before, to the point Daryl felt trails of blood trickling down his back, "Quit yer cryin' boy, man up now,"

What his father couldn't see is that Daryl wasn't crying. He had no tears left after learning of his mother's death. Here on his knees, now blackened with the soot and ash of what was once their house, his heart hardened with each strike of his father's belt. Here, Daryl lost what little remained of his childhood and innocence.

Daryl glared at all those people still gathered around, watching this young boy being whipped by his father. Only it wasn't neighbors anymore – it was his family, Rick, Michonne, Maggie, Carl, Aaron, everyone all watching as Negan whipped him repeatedly. As Abraham was murdered. As Glenn was murdered. As Carl almost had a hand chopped off. As Daryl was dragged into that van. It was a room full of people watching a young man have a molten-hot iron pressed into the side of his face. All of them doing nothing.

It was Beth lying on a bed in a skimpy black dress, her blonde hair stained crimson with blood.

Daryl looked up to see Glenn standing over Beth, Lucille in his hand. His head was split open, and his body decayed like he'd become a walker. Daryl flinched each time he brought the bat down over and over.

"This is all your fault, you got her killed just like you got me killed." Daryl crawled over to the bed, gathering her lifeless body in his arms and held her against him. The sight of her was enough to make him nauseas, and he tried to move to carry her out of here, but his legs wouldn't budge.

"You should let her go, brother, you're just gonna leave her again anyway." came Merle's voice. Daryl released a heavy sigh, sick and tired of his brother's voice.

"I never left her." He replied, his voice weak with exhaustion.

"Sure ya did, left her in that trunk all alone, just like you left Ma. Ya left me on that roof and again in those woods when you went back to that prison. When she dies, again, it'll be on you baby brother."

"I ain't tellin' ya again, I went back for ya, and Ma, and her."

"And we're all still dead…"

Daryl closed his eyes and held her tighter, "I won't lose her again,"

Merle only laughed, "Maybe this time blondie'll wise up and leave yer ass."

Beth was woken from a dead sleep to arms closing tightly around her. She panicked at Daryl's repeated words, "I got you, girl. I'ma keep you safe. I'm so sorry, please don't leave me again." It took her a moment to realize in the firelight that he was still sleeping. Somehow during the night she ended up with her back to Daryl's chest, facing the fire. Paul sat against a tree watching them, a pained expression on his face.

"He's been whimpering like that almost all night…it's what woke me up." Paul said as Beth struggled to release herself from Daryl's arms. She could hear the slightly accusing edge to his voice, that Daryl's whimpering woke him and not her because she fell asleep. "What's wrong with him?"

"It could be any number of things. I think it's an infection from one of his injuries, but then add the stress he's been under mentally and physically, the sleep deprivation, low blood sugar, dehydration, starvation…" she trailed off, only certain of the fact that Daryl needed more help than she could give him. She huffed in exasperation, knowing she wouldn't be able to break Daryl's grip. It didn't hurt, but his hands gripped each forearms and held them to her chest in a kind of bear hug. He had her pinned against him and if they were attacked she'd be helpless.

"Why's't so cold?" Daryl asked, words slurring together. Then all at once he released her and rolled away, vomiting in the nearby brush.

"Daryl…" Beth said, gathering his hair and holding it back from his face. There wasn't much in his system to lose, and before long he was dry heaving. She knew at the least the first antibiotic made it into his system, and she hoped the second one she gave him with the can of beans had been in his system long enough. She'd give him another one just to be safe.

He fell back to the ground choking and gasping for breath, rolling onto his back and closer to the fire. His arm started to fall to the side and Beth grabbed his hand before it landed in the flames.

"Beth…I'm cold…"

"I know, Daryl," she pulled a third antibiotic from her pocket and handed him the bottle of water, "Here, drink this…"

The water no sooner touched his chapped lips that he spit it back out. He was awake but erratic, struggling against her and trying to get closer all at the same time. He wasn't hallucinating, Beth realized, he was having a panic attack.

"Paul, you're gonna need to help me before he rolls into the fire."

"What can I do?"

"Hold his arms down…"

"Is that a good idea?" With the panic attack and his injuries, holding him down was probably the worst idea. She just didn't know how else to keep him safe.

"No, but is letting him catch on fire a better one?"

"Sorry," Paul said, gripping Daryl's arms and pinning them above his head, "Please don't kill me, this was all her idea." Beth nearly smiled, certain now that Paul and Daryl had been friends of some sort. He knew enough to know that Daryl hates to be touched, and perhaps even he had to face down Daryl's temper. And that's why she couldn't smile, holding him down was hurting him both physically and mentally; having to see him thrash around and listen to his terrified screams was ripping her heart out.

"Let go of me…" Daryl yelled, "Let go of me!"

"I'm sorry," she said repeatedly.

"He's gonna bring every walker in the area right to us if he keeps this up." Paul said above his screams. She nodded helplessly.

"He just has to go through it. There's nothing we can do but hope he falls asleep."

"Let go of me!" Daryl yelled, fighting against the men holding him down. He was pinned on his stomach, his right hand held out with a man's knee digging in just above his elbow. Negan wasn't far off, swinging an ax as he sauntered closer.

"Now Daryl, I know we had this chat before, but I really need you to listen now." Negan bent closer, and Daryl couldn't help the stiffening of his body in preparation for what came next, "We left that door unlocked so that you could prove to us that you'd been listenin' and you knew better than to try and run a third time. And now here we are; you've proven you don't scare easily or break easily, which I can even admire. But there's rules, and I'm gonna give you one last chance to prove to me you can follow them."

"Just kill me…" he choked out.

"Just kill you? Ha! I'll kill Rick, I'll kill that boy or anyone of those pretty young ladies long before I kill you. I want you alive, ain't I made myself clear on that?! I can wait, Daryl. I can wait a lot longer than you'll last. And to get my point across, I think I'll take a few of these fingers," he said, placing the edge of the blade at the bottom of his fingers, "…Or maybe I'll let you keep your thumb and the bottom half of the hand," he moved the blade to the center of his hand, "Or should I just cut the whole thing off at the wrist?"

"I won't run again." Daryl said, panicking as the blade dug into the skin of his wrist.

"Of course you won't, I know you're smarter than that." Negan mocked him, "You could be a king here, man. I can see you being my right hand man. There are women here that you can fuck whenever I give you permission to. Or do you like men? Would you like some of these guys to fuck you bloody senseless? It looks like it's been awhile since you've got some. Just say the word and its all yours…after you tell me your name."

"I'm Daryl."

Negan brought his arm down and the ax landed on the skin of his wrist. But instead of chopping through it, Negan only dragged the blade hard against his skin. Daryl bit back his groan, unwilling to give Negan the satisfaction of a single thing. He wouldn't show his fear or his pain.

"Whoo, Darylina, with all those men on top of ya I thought I's gonna watch you get what you always wanted." Merle's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Daryl shouted, knowing he wasn't real. And if he was here, maybe Daryl was already dyin'.

"Who are you telling to shut up?" Negan demanded.

"I always knew you was missin' your balls cause ain't no way I'd let that many men hold me down. You must like it like that."

"You best shut the hell up, Merle!"

"Merle? Who the fuck you talking to, man?" The group laughed with Negan, and it was in that moment Daryl surrendered, if only externally. He stopped fighting, he stopped yelling, glaring at Negan in cold stone silence. The man stood over him, Lucille back in his hand, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Take him back to his cell." He heard Negan order. Daryl was dragged to his feet and walked without incident to his cell, embracing his death. And as he curled himself into a ball in the corner, Beth appeared behind him, her small arms wrapping across his chest.

"I've got you, Daryl. Stay with me. I'm here…I've got you."

"Don't leave me, Daryl. I'm right with you, I'm here. You're safe." She kept whispering in his ear, half laying on his body. She couldn't lose him, not when they're so close to freedom. How cruel would it be to have travelled all this way, find him against all odds, only to have to watch him lose his mind and die in her arms. She tried to pray, if only in her mind, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

To her relief, his struggling began to cease and his whimpers and shouts died down. Paul released his grip on Daryl's arms and Beth relaxed her hold, silence once again settled over them. His arm came around her and squeezed before he went limp with sleep. She released a heavy sigh of relief, sitting up and placing Paul's coat back over his shivering body. She made sure to cover every inch of skin, and rested her hand over his heart just to feel it beating.

"I take it you two knew each other…" Paul said softly, "It's just obvious you really care about him."

"Yea, we all met shortly after the turn. My Daddy saved Carl's life and we've been together since. Then one day we were all separated and it was just us…for a time."

"How did you come to be in Negan's camp?" she looked down, then to the flames, "Sorry,"

"It's ok, I just don't like to talk about it – about any of it, really." He nodded in understanding.

"Did you know Daryl was there?"

"No, not till Negan sent me to start taking care of him a few days ago. Which may still have been too little too late. I'm not even sure Daryl knows I'm here now. I just had to get him out of there."

"Lucky we found each other than,"

She huffed with a small nod, "Yea…lucky." Her gaze focused on the fire, and she didn't look at him as she asked, "How is Maggie, really?"

"She's…she's tough. After Glenn…it was like this leader emerged. She's not just strong, but she's kind and compassionate. She's ready to fight."

"Sounds like her."

Beth smiled mostly to herself, sighing as she lifted her gaze to the sky. With no light pollution to interfere, Beth expected to see the sky full of stars. One thing she'd learned with all her nights on the run was that it was truly darkest before the dawn. The stars that should be filling the sky had all but died out and she knew that sunrise wasn't too far off.

"Do you know where Daryl's camp is?" she asked.

"Yea, I could find it." She pulled the gun from Daryl's jeans and handed it to him.

"Then go on ahead of us and bring some help back with you."

"I can't leave you both here alone without a gun" Paul said, rising to his feet. "What if Negan or his men find you, or walkers?"

"I'll deal with it. If they find us and find that gun we'll be in even more trouble. But we can't travel like this and he isn't gonna last much longer without some real help."

Paul sighed heavily, taking the gun, "Alright, what should I bring?"

"Um, a Doctor if they have one. Lots of water, antibiotics, Tylenol to reduce the fever, any kind of protein, carbs, juice, we need to spike his blood sugar. We have to be careful though, too much can cause an imbalance in his body. A doctor will know what to do."

"You sure you're all right for me to leave?"

"I'll be better if you get back sooner than later." She said pointedly.

Paul nodded, pulling a knife from his jeans and handed it to her, "You sure you don't want me to give her a message?" She held his gaze, knowing he was referring to Maggie.

"I'm sure, but…if Daryl and I make it back, wait a few days and bring her to where we are."

"You got it. See you soon,"

She watched Paul disappear into the night, finally sending up a silent prayer of survival. That Daryl could hang on, that Paul will reach and return with help without incident, that they could avoid being found by Negan, the Saviors, or a herd of walkers. God, she prayed. She's just sure it'll make a damn bit of difference.

"Beth, i's so cold." He said, his voice and body trembling.

"I know, Daryl." All she could do was hold him, and not nearly as tight as she wanted to. All she could do was wait and hope for a miracle from a God she no longer believes in.

I hope it was worth the wait. Feel free to review. Shit's gonna hit the fan next chapter, so that'll be exciting. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me and this story, I hope you continue to enjoy it. :))