Daryl knew what he was going to see before he got there, something in his gut had told him. He had come across Michonne in a small field about half way through his walk.
'Where's m'brother?' he had said to her as she pulled her sword from the reanimated decapitated head of a walker. 'Y'kill him?'
'He let me go.' Michonne had told him.
Daryl had stared at her, feeling that first trickle of fear settle at the pit of his stomach.
He had left her there, following his brother's trail, and the signs of carnage as he approached two warehouses only told him bad news. Bullet holes and the recently dead surrounded by the recently reanimated. He walked up between the two warehouses, along the trail of blood and bodies. Seeing the back of a walker bent over a body, he shot it down with his crossbow, dropped to pull it from the back of its head, then carried on a little further.
Then he drew to a stop, spotting him.
Slowly, Merle looked up, the remains of a young body hanging from his mouth. The ruined carcass lay beneath him, its stomach torn open, intestines spilled on the grass around them. Merle looked up at Daryl, dead yellowing eyes staring without seeing from the only face Daryl had ever loved.
Pain overwhelmed him; he watched as Merle slowly rose, still chewing the dead flesh of another human being. His heart, which had only recently begun to know hope, had fallen to the very pit of his stomach, as nausea overwhelmed him. It felt as if his own chest had been torn open and it was his insides spilling onto the ground below, every part of his body felt over come with the pain of realization: Merle was gone.
Merle stumbled towards him, tripping slightly over the body he had been feasting on.
His chest constricted, Daryl felt his face scrunch into the mask of anguish as tears swam into his eyes. Merle advanced on him. Daryl stumbled backwards himself, his shoulders hunching down, his body attempting to pull itself inwards in a futile attempt to fill the gaping emotional hole that the sight of Merle had torn in his chest. It was a pain and a sensation Daryl was unfamiliar with, usually so closed off from the turmoil of emotional pain. But as he watched his big brother, his guardian, his safety net, advancing on him with the intent to kill, the pain flooded over him, knocking him back with wave after wave of physical convulsion as his heart tried to force its way out of him, sinking itself deeper and deeper downwards.
'No!' Daryl cried, unable to help himself, as Merle closed in on him. Tears pouring down through the dust and the dirt on his face, he shoved his brother back. Merle stumbled backwards, but then came at him again. Daryl pushed him back again, the tears flowing thick and fast through the lump in his throat.
Merle's lips quivered as he stumbled back towards him, a guttural growl escaping his throat. Everything Daryl had known and loved was gone and now he was truly, truly alone.
As Merle came towards him again, he plunged the bolt from his crossbow that he had still been holding into his throat, grabbing him. Both of them fell to the floor as Daryl removed the bolt, only to bring it back down into his brother's forehead again and again and again.
He panted as he exerted his emotions and sorrow through energy, straddling the corpse of his brother which was still trying to get to him. He threw the bolt into his skull again and again until the face was unrecognisable, nothing but a mass of tissue and bone. Merle's blood spurted out of his head in strong dark fountains, covering Daryl's arms and chest, until his face was nothing but a concave mass of red.
Spent, Daryl fell off of his brother, sobbing, and onto the floor. He writhed around on the grass for some time, the pain unbearable, impossible to cope with, forcing him to collapse and then try to get up over and over, until he was a broken, sobbing mess. He would look at Merle before falling back to the floor in tears, only to repeat the process again.
It was only as another walker made its way towards him that he picked himself up from the floor.
. . .
Beth, Maggie and their father were sat together in the common room, their hands combined in a circle as Hershel read a passage from the bible to them.
All around them the prison was preparing to leave, packing belongings into cars and preparing for war. Praying with his daughter's helped Beth's daddy feel better, so there they were.
They were scared - they all were. Beth could see it on Maggie's face, which worried her, for how strong and brilliant her sister was, she as frightened. Her father, he was scared too, but he was showing it less. If they were scared, then Beth was terrified.
The governor sounded like hell on earth. Ruthless, sadistic and manipulative, a man capable of unspeakable acts. And he was coming right to them. He had tortured and humiliated her sister, which made Beth's blood run cold.
Beth didn't know whether they could outrun a man like that, and if they did, whether he would ever stop the chase. And if they stayed, took the fight on their home soil, well, it was almost like being backed into a corner. She could feel panic rising within her when her father looked up.
'Come on,' he said, 'let's go help set things up.'
Beth and Maggie nodded, getting up and then retaking a hand of his each. They walked in this formation, a daughter on either side, out to the prison grounds, where cars were set up, their boots open, items and belongings being stacked into them.
It was almost like going on vacation, Beth thought, except everyone looked grave and scared.
Beth walked over to a car and began to help pack it, taking a duffel bag from a silent and angry Carl. He could not forgive his father for almost trading Michonne's life, and Beth wasn't sure she blamed him. Rick had to look after the group, but allowing someone's life to be a bargaining chip – that wasn't the right way to do it.
But he had changed his mind, that was what mattered. Plus he had stepped down from his role as unquestionable leader, and that had to be a good thing, too. As wise and as trustworthy as he was, he could be rash and volatile, so the idea of a more democratic vote seemed wise.
Beth turned around as she heard the gates drag open. Her stomach dropped.
Daryl was walking through them, his crossbow hanging loosely beside his knees, his head down. He stopped to say something to Rick, who reached out and patted his shoulder, then headed for the prison. Beth watched him walk, wanting to call to him, but not wanting to create a scene.
Something, perhaps a sixth sense, caused her to glance to her right, where she saw Carol looking at her. Weirdly, Carol nodded at her, then nodded towards Daryl. Her face was grim but firm. Beth searched the older woman's eyes for a moment, then nodded back. She put down the blanket she had been holding and followed Daryl inside.
. . .
She found him in the cell block, sat on his bed, his head in his hands. His hands and arms were covered in blood, some of it still wet, and his hands covering his face as his shoulders gently shook. To her dismay, he appeared to be weeping. She stood at his door, deliberating for a moment. He looked so hurt and so strangely small, that she didn't want to disturb him. It felt like an intrusion into his privacy.
But she found she couldn't walk away either.
'Daryl,' she breathed softly.
He stopped crying, freezing, but did not look up.
Beth pulled at the loose hem of her sweater as she looked at him, biting her lip.
'What happened?' she whispered.
Daryl looked up at her through red eyes, which caused her heart to ache.
'Merle's dead,' he said, his voice cracking.
Beth came into the room and stood beside him, bending down to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She pulled him towards her, his head resting against her lower stomach, the blood and gore covering him slowly seeping into Beth's own clothing.
'I'm so sorry,' she said, feeling the soft tears fall on her top as he cried against her.
She stood there for some time holding him against her, gently stroking the back of his head, as he sat on his bed, his arms hanging limply down through his legs. Beth was surprised he had allowed her to hold him to her and was especially surprised that he was allowing himself to cry so freely with her.
Eventually, he pulled back from her, causing her to drop her arms. Sniffing, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, shaking his head.
'I'm so sorry, Daryl,' Beth repeated softly, sitting down on the bed beside him.
He turned to look at her, sniffing. She wrapped one arm around his broad shoulders, using her other hand to gently move his hair from his face.
How did I never see how beautiful you were before her brain wondered, causing her to blink.
'Me too,' Daryl sighed, rubbing his face. Beth laid her head on his shoulder, breathing deeply, wallowing in the silence that surrounded them.
'You're leaving the prison,' he said after a while, making Beth jump.
'Huh?' she asked, looking up at him.
'When all hell breaks loose, you get as far away from here as possible.'
'I don't know,' Beth said, 'I can stay and fight. Maggie is, and I-'
'No.' Daryl shook his head, looking down at her. He turned his body to face her, placing his hands on each of her shoulders. 'You can't be anywhere near here.'
Beth frowned, looking into his eyes.
'Go wi' your dad, take Judith, and you get away,' he implored, staring at her so intensely Beth felt her face begin to burn. 'I mean it,' he said, 'I'm not losing you an' all.
Beth nodded slowly.
'Okay,' she whispered.
Daryl continued looking at her until he felt satisfied with her agreement. Then, keeping eye contact, he pushed the stray hairs of her face back behind her ear. Beth's heart began to pound in her chest. She wet her lips.
He moved his hand to the back of her neck, watching her.
Beth's mind wandered to Maggie, to Glen, to the ring on her finger.
'Come with me,' she said suddenly.
'I'm needed here,' Daryl said, which Beth had already known he would say, 'y'know that.'
She sighed, nodding.
'Don't you get hurt, Daryl Dixon.' she said, feeling her voice wobble as she spoke.
Daryl smiled at her.
'I mean it,' she said, reaching up to touch his face, to run her fingers across the scratchy surface of his stubble, 'I need you.'
'Nah, you don't.' Daryl sighed.
'I do.' Beth said seriously, 'you're starting to mean a whole lot to me.'
Daryl looked at her, frowning slightly.
'And I sure ain't ready to give up on that,' she said, her thumb very gently stroking his face, 'to give up on you.'
'I'm not giving up on no-one,' Daryl said gruffly, his voice low and husky.
'I really like you, Daryl,' Beth said in a soft voice which was almost a whisper, 'please don't go anywhere.'
Daryl looked at her. His red ringed eyes spoke his confusion, the frown that lined his forehead narrowing them until they were darker than usual. Beth moved slightly closer to him, watching his face. She saw him glance down at her lips, only a brief second, but it was enough for her.
She moved to him, her face mere inches from his own, feeling his breath against her skin. Her heart was pounding away at her ribcage, trying to tear itself free, but she was trying her best to ignore it and appear calm and collected.
He hadn't pulled away from her, so, gently, Beth pressed her lips to his. They were soft and warm, surrounded by the greying stubble. Not wanting to push her luck, she left it at that, leaning back. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, gauging his reaction.
He just looked at her, his lips slightly parted.
'If anything happens to either of us,' she said softly, her own voice huskier now, 'I didn't want to have any regrets.'
Slowly, Daryl nodded.
Beth didn't want to push or upset him, especially with what he had just been through and what they were all about to go through, so she backed away, standing up. He looked up at her, still sat on the bed.
'We should get going,' she said, holding out a hand.
Daryl took it, letting her pull him up. He held it for a moment as they stood facing one another before letting it drop. But Beth thought she could feel the sparks between them now.
'Don't let that bastard get to us,' she said, 'go and fight.'
Daryl looked at her, his gaze intense and deep.
'I'ma fight for you.' he said. 'An' f'Merle.'