"I'm gonna have to pick you up, girl," Daryl said.

Beth said nothing, but shook her head slowly, as if the small movement pained her. Damn it, she ain't gonna be able to up and walk outta here, he thought to himself. He looked helplessly around the room, hoping for an answer, but found none.

"Listen, Beth, it'll be just like before, y'remember?" he asked, crouching down in front of her. "A serious piggy-back, except... y'know, front-wise."

"Like... my ankle," she said hoarsely.

"Yup," Daryl responded. "Just like when y'busted your ankle. It's gonna hurt to move ya, but I guess you'd know that already."

"Yes," she wheezed out.

Daryl looked up into her face. It pained him to see her this way - one eye closed over, cheekbone swollen and purple, bottom lip split. He could make out bruises on her neck and shoulders. He imagined her ribs were dead ticklish, too.

"It's gonna be okay, Beth. Y'trust me?" he asked.

She raised her arm to rest on his shoulder, gripping her torn up fingers in the fabric of his vest. Daryl began counting to three but lifted her up on two - an old trick he had learned from the mom's on TV. She whimpered in pain, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Y'don't hafta to look," he said when he reached the door, knowing the corpses of her attackers were only a few feet away.

"No," Beth forced out. "I need to see it."

He walked out of the room, into the hallway. It only took him seconds to reach the bodies. Wanting to get her out of the building as soon as possible, he lengthened his stride only to have her stop him.

"No," she said. "Just stay for a minute."

He stopped. Beth surveyed the wreckage, saying nothing - not even reacting. Daryl wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Suddenly Beth tugged on his vest where her hand was still fisted. When he looked down at her, she was staring up at him.

"I should've been the one to kill them," she said.

"I know," Daryl responded. "But they're dead all the same."

"I know," Beth echoed. "Let's go."

Daryl walked her outside, and seeing no other option, opened the truck door and deposited her in the front seat. She shifted uncomfortably, probably wishing like hell she was anywhere else. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know it ain't ideal, but given the circumstances..." he trailed off.

"It's... fine," Beth said in a clip tone.

"Just stay here. I'm gonna go fish the keys off..."

"Mark," she said quietly. "He doesn't... he didn't let Tommy drive."

"You ain't gotta say their names," Daryl told her.

"I'm not sure it makes a difference," Beth said, turning her head to look out the windshield.

Daryl lingered for a second, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took off back towards the building. It took him only a couple of minutes to get the keys off the dead man. He grimaced.

"Piece of shit," he spat again at the corpse. "I ain't a God fearin' man, but I gotta hope there's a special place in Hell for you - who knows, maybe I'll be seein' you and we can do this over and over again."

By the time he got back to the truck, Beth was leaning her head against the window, fighting to stay conscious. He slid into the driver's seat and started the truck up. It had more than a half tank of gas and no out right problems - it would have to do.

"You ready?" he asked Beth.

"Where are we going?"

"Back," he said. "The house is our best bet. We need to get y'fixed up and you need to rest."

"Okay," Beth said. "The bed was nice."

"Well, we'll get you two reacquainted soon enough."

He made a U-turn and headed back towards the house they had been at only days before. Beth seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Daryl kept an eye on her, and woke her when she was out for more than a couple minutes at a time. Couldn't be too careful in a situation like this.

Daryl watched the trees blur by him. He tried not to think, not to imagine, what she had been put through. He had no idea how to help her - not emotionally, at least. He had been blundering through at best before, and now... He looked over at her, small and broken in the passenger seat.

Beth's breathing caught in her throat and she moaned fretfully in her sleep; the sound made Daryl's muscles snap taut with anger both suddenly and immediately. He wanted to lash out, to keep swinging, and killing - but there was nothing left to fight against. There was only Beth.

"Beth," he said gruffly. When she didn't wake, he said her name again, louder this time. "Beth!"

She woke with a start, hand fluttering to her throat. Her gaze darted around the truck and settled on Daryl. Beth's shoulders slumped with relief and she took a deep breath. Then another. And another. She turned to face him, exhaustion still clear on her face.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said.

A moment passed between them in silence. It was heavier than anything he had felt. Every little bit of him wished to have the right thing to say - something that would make her smile again, laugh again. Something that would make her forget.

"Hey, Daryl?" she said softly.

"Yeah?" he said, eyes on the road.

"I knew you'd find me," she responded matter-of-factly.

His chest ached at her words with something he could not name - something he had never felt before - and something he never wanted to lose again.