Daryl was still passed out on the couch when Beth moved from the chair she had slept in to open the door for the hospice aid. She followed the older woman around for bit, asking her questions and trying to get an understanding of why he hadn't told her anything, before making sure it was okay for her and Daryl to leave. All the woman, Betty, had to say was that he needed someone to be there for him. His head was pounding when she gently woke him up and ushered him out the door, reassuring him that yes, Betty was there and his father was sleeping, and into the passenger side of his truck. He obediently followed her up the stairs to her place and sat at the table while she made coffee.

He didn't say anything aside from a mumbled thanks when she pushed a glass of water and bottle painkillers at him. His eyes were bloodshot, the left one was a sickly mix of purple and blue, and his hair was a greasy mess. Beth didn't even want to acknowledge the smell or the stains on his pants that she knew were where vomit had splashed back up on him from in front of the bar. She sighed as she grabbed his hand and led him to the bathroom.

"You get in that shower and wash. You stink. And I'm still kinda mad at you."

Daryl nodded. He was biting down hard on his lip.

"Leave your clothes, I'll throw 'em in the wash. There's a towel under the sink." She turned and closed the door behind her. Beth leaned against the door and listened to the thud of his boots hitting the floor, the rustle of clothes, and then the running water. She waited a minute before going in to grab his things.

There was a washer and dryer in the basement that her, Maggie, and Glenn shared. She put his clothes in and set the timer on her phone before heading back upstairs with a handful of random things from his pockets. Maggie was standing at the top of the stairs.

"What's he doing here? I thought you'd be done after last night."

Beth shook her head. "Did you know his dad was sick?"

Maggie cocked her head, "No, but that's no excuse."

"He's dying. Lung cancer." Beth sighed, "He's been taking care of him pretty much on his own. It's not going to be much longer. He had a hard time yesterday."

"Beth, still…"

"I know, he's in the shower. I'm gonna talk to him, I'm not just letting it go."

"Daryl?" The shower was still running when Beth opened the door, she knew the water had to have run cold already. She knocked on the door. "Daryl, that water's gotta be freezing."

Nothing. She knocked again.

"Turn the water off, Daryl."

He finally did and a minute later, opened the door. He had a towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. He followed her into the bedroom, still feeling a little dizzy, but most just an awful mix of embarrassed and guilty. His reactions were slower than normal and his hands had a hard time letting go of the t-shirt she gave him when she pulled the towel off his shoulders.

"I don't know why you used two bath…"

He scrambled to right the shirt in his hands but froze when she reached out to touch his back.

"Daryl…"

"Don't. "

"But what…"

"Please… don't."

Something in his voice made her stop.

He was dressed in a pair of her plaid flannel pants and the 'Take a Bite Out of Crime' shirt she sometimes slept in. The kitchen table felt too stiff so she curled up on one side of the futon and he was bent over, elbows resting on his knees, on the other end.

"It's been 'bout four months. That he's been in bed like that."

Beth didn't say much. She could hardly imagine what he'd been going through.

"Not much longer left. So… I'm supposedta just keep him comfortable. I guess." Daryl scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, what else am I gonna do? He's my dad, there ain't no one else. Those places are so expensive…"

"You shoulda told me, Daryl."

He glared at her, "What was I gonna say?" His eyes are suddenly cold and hard, "'Hey, you're cute. I kinda like you more than I ever liked anyone else. By the way I'm takin' care of my dyin' asshole of a father. Wanna come over for dinner?'" His words came out more harshly than he had intended but he had opened some floodgate he didn't know was there, next thing he knew he was standing up and pacing in front of her "Maybe we can skip out on family pasta night and head over to my place! Got morphine and an abusive sonnuvabitch father. Maybe you'll get lucky and go home with a black eye! Bastard can hardly talk, but maybe you can hear about how I killed my mom, or how I made Merle go to jail, or how I always cried when he laid into me! Wanna go? Huh? Come on, Beth, go get yer damn coat!"

He finally stopped long enough to look at her. Tears were shining on her cheeks and she had her fist in her mouth.

"He d…did that…t…to you?" She wiped at her eyes, it didn't matter though, more tears took the place of the ones she brushed away. "He gave you all th…those scars?"

Daryl froze, his body went cold and a hot rush of shame climbed up his neck. "I… I didn't mean to say… It wasn't supp… he didn't mean… I wasn't a good…"

"Daryl, he did that to you… and you're taking care of him?"

He looked down at her bright striped carpet, his voice was barely a whisper, "He's my dad…"

The next thing he felt were Beth's arms around him.