I finished this chapter up just before the Season 5 premiere and now I am so pumped up after seeing it, I couldn't wait on posting this any longer.
Also, let me just say that I have yet to read the comics and don't know much about them (aside from some bigger elements that get talked about on the internet), so this probably strays from certain comic book elements that get introduced onto the show.
Hopefully you enjoy it and please, let me know what you think! :)
Beth holds Judith in her arms, just against her hip. The baby grabs at the braid in her ponytail and lightly tugs at it, but Beth doesn't flinch, she just smiles and whispers to her in a gentle, sweet voice.
The mattress is thin beneath his hands as he grips the edge of the prison bed, legs slung over the side. The place smells so familiar, homey and lived in, that it settles the nerves sporadically shooting off inside of him. Beth's humming steals his attention.
She paces in front of him, as best she can in the small cell, singing quietly as Judith's eyelids slowly begin to droop.
"I think she's gonna start walkin' soon. Can already stand up when she's holdin' onto my hand." The way in which Beth speaks about her, so proud and joyous, it causes warmth to flood Daryl's chest. He remembers hearing her in the past say how much she couldn't wait to be a mother herself. And in a way, she already is a type of mother to Judy.
"'s great."
"Then she'll start talkin' and won't be able to stop. She'll be pesterin' you all the time."
"Don't think I'll mind that." Beth smiles at him before gingerly laying Judith down in her crib.
Daryl runs his fingers along the metal frame of the bed. The room isn't his but it reminds him of Beth's at the prison, even if it's different. It still has her fingerprints all over it, the random odds and ends to make it feel homey, the drawings the children hand to her with shy smiles tacked on the walls. Beth's standing in front of him suddenly and he feels strangely calm, even with how close she is to him.
Her hands reach up to push his hair back from his face and it surprises him that he's not inclined to pull away. He knows he's dirty, his hair must be greasy and grimy, but it always is, and she doesn't seem to mind as her fingers brush along the curves of his ears. He doesn't mind it either.
"Your actions were thoughtful," she tells him, hands settling along where his neck meets his shoulders. It's a vague statement and while he doesn't know the context in which she says it, he understands all the same.
His skin beneath her hands burns in the best way and it spreads like a wildfire, until he's completely consumed by it and by her.
After a number of nights without a roof over their heads, the group had stumbled upon a cabin tucked away in the woods. There hadn't been much left there, it had been ransacked who knew how many times before, but it was clear of walkers and a good stopping point for the night. Most of his family stayed put and got some much needed rest while Daryl and Carl went out hunting.
The two were quiet most of their trek, only speaking in one word phrases when needed. Carl wasn't a very efficient hunter yet, but he was getting there. And he was skilled enough with traps, thanks to his father, that he had no trouble setting a few up on his own that would hopefully catch something by morning. It was only on their way back to the group that Carl broke their amicable silence.
"I feel like we aren't supposed to talk about the people that are gone."
Daryl let out a hum as if he wasn't sure what the boy was talking about, but he very much did.
"I get it, it makes us sad and upset. But I think if we don't talk about them, we're more likely to forget them. I don't want to forget Sophia or Hershel or stuff like... how my mom's voice sounded. I wanna remember everything I can so I can tell Judith about her, about everyone." Carl fell quiet for a long moment, his feet slowing until he stilled. Daryl stopped behind him as the kid turned his head, though he realized then that Carl wasn't really a kid anymore. "You don't want to forget Merle, do you?"
"Could never forget Merle," Daryl replied, stabbing at the dead leaves on the ground with the butt of his crossbow.
"What about Beth?" Daryl's hands stilled.
"I'd never forget her either."
"What happened to you guys?"
Daryl always admired how straight-forward and blunt Carl was with his questions, even if he didn't always want to answer them. He wasn't about to tell him everything but he couldn't flat out lie to him either. He had earned Daryl's respect and honesty.
"A lot. Tell you all 'bout once we meet up with her again."
Carl gave him a curious look but didn't argue; he just turned back the way they were headed and kept marching.
And for that, Daryl was grateful.
There's walkers everywhere, swarms of them. Daryl swings at them with his crossbow and when it grows heavy in his hands, he pulls out his knife. He can't keep track of how many he's killed, he's thrashing too fast and they don't seem to stop until an unnatural part in the crowd of the corpses reveals Beth.
The front of her shirt is stained bright red, the blotch growing and spreading across her stomach.
Walkers stop their lunging and carry on with their mindless stumbling, as if they're sleepwalking. Like neither he or she is there.
Beth's knees give out and the moment she's on the ground, Daryl is right beside her. She coughs and sputters up blood and he goes to brush her hair from her face, smearing red across her cheek.
"Shhh," he tries to console her, but he can barely contain himself. The light in her eyes flickers and he's desperate to reignite it, he can't just watch her fade away. He pulls her up and cradles her body against his chest. Her skin is ice cold and there's a piercing ringing in his ears that drowns out everything else. Sluggishly, she drags her eyes up to his face and there's a small smile that spreads across her mouth. "This ain't real. You're okay."
"Wake up, Daryl."
Daryl refused to sleep. He didn't care how heavy his eyelids grew or how much people leered at him, concerned. Nobody understood it. Maggie, sort of, in her own way, but she wasn't there when it happened.
There were sometimes waves of anger that hit him hard, randomly. It wasn't anger at anyone in particular, it wasn't anger at himself. It was just anger at the series of events, at how cruel the world had been to everyone but how through only that cruelness, he was able to find whatever it was he had now. A family, a sense of purpose, hope. And he was angry that Beth was out there, somewhere, not with them, with their family.
That aggression was funneled into productivity, into staying up for longer stretches (not just for the fear of his dreams) and pushing the group onward as best as he could. Sometimes he and Maggie wandered off together, when everyone else needed a moment; the two of them never seemed to stop.
She told him of a dream she had once, one early morning when the only person besides them that was awake was Michonne, cradling a peacefully sleeping Judith in her arms. Maggie told Daryl how Beth was just a little girl in the dream, braided pigtails, scabbed knees, and muddy boots.
Daryl smiled, because it wasn't too far off from the Beth he remembered.
"I dream about her," he admitted. Maggie didn't ask, but he was aware she knew then why he didn't want to ever sleep.
The older Greene sister's eyes shone with something that wasn't tears and he thought for a moment that she was going to embrace him. All she did was gaze and twirl the ring she had on her finger.
There was nothing else that needed to be said between the two of them.
"You can tell a lot about someone by their hands," Beth states matter-of-factly, holding her own two out in front of her face. Her brow furrows as she bends and wiggles her fingers about, skin smudged with dirt and fingernails awkwardly broken. "Mine are pretty rough. But yours..."
She reaches over and curls her fingers around Daryl's palm, tugging his hand closer, his own fingers folding around her grasp. His hands are filthy; there's not just dirt caked onto them, but oil and grease from working on cars stuck under his nails and blotches of dried blood caught in the lines of his palm. Beth traces her own fingertips over every crease and crevice, every callus and blister. Her hands are hard and tough, but they look damn near perfect when held against his own.
"Your hands have been through a war. You're strong."
"So're you."
"I know. Thank you for seeing that."
Daryl doesn't see a dead girl. She is more than just alive, she is full of so much life, overflowing with it. It bubbles out of her and sinks its way under his skin and there's no price that can be put on that. There's nothing he wouldn't do to keep that feeling forever.
The room begins to shake and tremble, the walls start to crumble around them, and he laces their fingers together.
They had been heading north in their travels for a few weeks now. Abraham had insisted they keep migrating north, DC was still a priority even if he seemed to somewhat understand the wants (the needs) of the rest of the group.
There were a few churches along the way that spurred Daryl on; he tore them apart looking for any kind of sign, keeping that black car in mind. It wasn't that much of a clue but it was something to go off of and that was better than nothing, even if he hadn't had any luck so far. The hope he held dimmed some days but was always still present.
It had been raining most of the day and it had been a fairly miserable hike, for Judith most of all, so Rick, Glenn, and Daryl swept through a warehouse that they had stumbled upon. Daryl didn't want to stop, he was fine in the rain, it was just water, but he couldn't push his family. And he knew Beth wouldn't want him to do that either.
The place had been clear, or so they thought, but Maggie had signaled that they had company as she held watch from a broken window on the third floor. Daryl dropped the can of cold soup he had been sharing to join her, scouting out the small company of strangers down below. Two of them entered the warehouse from the side door; Daryl flagged down Rick with his hand and motioned the breach. He was about to join him for back up when he spotted a vehicle parked just beneath the line of trees on the other end of the parking lot. Black car, white cross.
"It's them. The car," he informed her in a low voice, glancing at Maggie and then back at the car. Her shoulders squared and jaw tightened and Daryl knew then, truly knew, that Beth was alive.
