AN: Hello everybody! I'm sorry it's been such an awfully long time since I updated this story - I never forgot about it! I've got a lot of ideas for the future of our favorite OTP. Thanks for stickin' with me!

Daryl felt like his whole life had been running; that he had been born running, and he would die running. Sweat dripped down his face, getting in his eyes and burning. He finally stopped in a small town, with run down buildings, and tried to catch his breath.

There had been so few footprints or signs of struggle that he could only imagine whoever had taken Beth had went by car. Damn it. God damn it, fucking shit. Grabbing a water bottle out of his pack, he chugged the contents and tossed the empty bottle aside in anger. Why couldn't they catch a break, just once?

"Just one... fuckin'... time," he growled to himself.

He felt the contents of his stomach attempt to claw their way up his throat. Daryl swallowed and swallowed again. He would not be sick. He was not some little punk bitch. Time was of the essence and he didn't have a second to waste pukin' up his guts everywhere.

Daryl forced his legs to move, not as fast as he would've liked, but still far from slow. He took in the town around him, the boarded up windows, and two or three cars left abandoned. Just one of them needed to have gas. He could hotwire it - he could hotwire anything if it meant finding Beth, but it needed gas.

Saddling up to the first car, a beat-up red tin-can, he suddenly stopped and looked a few feet ahead of him. There was a truck, that unlike the rest of the junkers, seemed rather well maintained. Even clean. Daryl jogged up to it and placed his hand on the hood - warm. Not just sun warm, but driving warm.

Beth!

Daryl wanted to shout her name at the top of his lungs. There was no way to know it was even her, but it was the first good sign he had gotten all day. His eyes viciously swept the surroundings. The truck wasn't particularly parked in front of any building, but the owners couldn't be too far.

While he was looking for a way inside of a boarded up building, he heard a woman scream. He heard Beth. Daryl knew it, could feel it. He spun around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Suddenly it came again, with a loud crash.

Daryl took off running toward the direction it came from. He stopped outside of a building with its door torn off and placed back on. Daryl could hear two men talking in hushed tones and heard one word that made his blood boil: Blondie.

He grit his teeth so hard his jaw cracked under the pressure. Daryl silently moved to one of the windows and saw the men further inside. One was taller, slightly more muscular - the other was shorter and skinny.

"Come on, Mark!" the one guy exclaimed, "Blondie ain't even pretty at this point. I think it's time we just get it over with."

Daryl saw red. Mark. He had touched Beth, again. Had hurt Beth, again. Daryl was going to kill him. There was no doubt about it, and Daryl wouldn't even make it fast. Not for either of them. Not until they were bloody, and crying out for their Mama's. Not until they fuckin' earned it.

Ripping the door off the entrance, Daryl charged into the building, putting an arrow in Mark's leg before the muscular man could even register what the sound had been. The smaller man, Tommy, scrambled for a weapon but Daryl sent his second arrow into his chest, right by the heart.

"You motherfuckers!" Daryl shouted.

"Listen, man," Tommy said, "you can have her."

"What's left of her," Mark added, with a shit-eating grin.

Daryl strode up over Mark and punched him, putting all of his weight behind it. He hit the man again, and again, and again, getting lost in the crash of bone against bone. Mark went limp - unconscious or dead, Daryl couldn't tell and didn't really care.

"You touched her!" Daryl shouted. "You made her want to die, you pieces of shit. She's a good girl. Ain't done nothin' to no one in her whole damn life."

Tommy went to move again, but Daryl kicked him hard with his boot clad foot. He kicked him a second time, hearing the crunch of rib caving in. The wind went out of the man with a sickening rush, and he laid back down on the floor.

"Aw, come on!" Daryl shouted. "No fight in ya? Not as fun if I'm not a girl? Come on, fight me, you asshole."

Tommy didn't move. Simply looked up at Daryl with dark, dead eyes. The sound of his breathing grew wet and heavy, and Daryl knew he was dying. That the man was asking him for a clean kill. To just end it. Instead, Daryl pressed on the arrow, digging it deeper into the man's flesh and spit on the floor next to him.

He turned to mark, loading his bow once more to put an arrow through the grotesquely swollen eye. Then, for good measure, kicked him hard and swift in the head. Daryl turned back to Tommy, who appeared to be fading quickly.

"Where is she?" Daryl demanded.

"Back..." Tommy wheezed, "the back room..."

Daryl left them, tearing through the rooms until he reached the back of the building. He slid the bolt lock off the back door and opened it. His heart clenched at what he saw. There sat Beth, tied up in a chair, her face almost as swollen and bruised and plastered in blood as Mark's.

"Beth," Daryl said softly, "Beth, I'm here now."

She whimpered, a small, painful noise. He walked behind Beth and bent down to untie her until she started struggling again. Daryl drew back quickly, moving around to look at her, hands in front of him as if surrendering.

"Beth, it's just me. It's Daryl," he said. "You're safe now. I got you, girl. I got you. You're okay. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"D-Dar..." she stopped and coughed.

"That's right - just me, girl," he said.

She suddenly looked up at him, the blue of her one good eye staring at his face. Daryl could see every mark, every cut, every bruise. His fists clenched, gut churned. He wanted to lash out, but there was no one left to lash out. Only this girl, this one girl who had weaseled her way into his heart.

"We're gettin' out of here, Beth," he said. "It's over now."