A/N:(1/6/15) AH! I worked really hard to get this chapter out to you guys at like 2 in the morning, and then never got a notification this morning that it had even been updated. appears to be having technical issues, because a reviewer said she never got a notification, either, and I had never gotten an alert of the review! I've e-mailed their support email and politely told them that it wasn't working. Sorry about that everyone! That sucks. :(

A/N: I am sooo sorry about the joke I pulled on the last chapter. I thought it'd be funny and lighten the mood a bit. I do, sadly, still think it was pretty funny. But you have my word that I won't pull a stunt like that again ;)

I had a lot of you telling me, "I was going to write you really bad reviews if that was the end! I almost hated you!" Believe me, I'd have deserved it. But all of the reviews were still positive and encouraging, even with a bleak chapter in our midst, and I definitely appreciate that. I laughed at myself a bit while writing that last chapter, because I haven't had an actual home phone since I moved out of my parents' house a decade ago, so I wasn't entirely sure what the button was called that you use to hang up the phone with; sooo I had to look it up. A plunger! Weird.

Anyway, as always, thank you for all of the follows, favorites, and especially the reviews. I even had a few people apologize for their grammar at the end because English wasn't their first language- but I think you all did great! Don't sweat it. I also even got called a butt head, which was hilarious. I totally appreciate all of the feedback. Also, such a great review by thePaperPalace: "…you're evil. Pure Evil. And I f*** LOVE it! I'm gunna go find a corner to curl up and cry in now. Goodbye world." I'm glad you all loved the pain. I do, too, guys… I do, too…

Since I was mean in the last chapter, I strove to get this one written and posted as soon as I possibly could, so I hope you enjoy it.

Alright, guys… are you ready for this?

Chapter 13

Daryl stepped lightly through the trees, placing his feet gently and deliberately, pausing when the doe paused. He was trying his best to be quiet, although all of the dead leaves and twigs covering the ground as fall advanced into winter were making his plight difficult. The doe sniffed the air around her, twitched her ears, and then started off again through the brush. He raised his bow, an arrow already notched, and lined up for the shot. Then he watched as she rubbed against a tree, took one more look at her surroundings, and stuck her head down into a thick pile of leafless brambles. They shook for a second, and a little spotted fawn came hesitantly out to rub against his mother.

Daryl had his finger on the trigger, but released it and swore under his breath. That was almost the cartoon about the little orphaned deer all over again. It was rare that a doe would give birth so far into the colder months; they usually had their fawns in the early summer. This one was apparently an exception, and without her, the little fawn would certainly die.

He reached up and pulled the handkerchief off of his face that had been hiding the white puff of his warm breath. He stood up straight finally, stretching his stiff muscles. The doe twitched her ears in his direction once before taking off the other way like a shot, her fawn following at her feet.

It was pretty cold out, even for November, but the excitement of the hunt usually kept his heart pumping and his body temperature up, so he felt a little sweaty from the handkerchief he'd had tied around the lower half of his face.

So much for one las' hunt, he grumped to himself. Legally hunting deer with crossbow was a season that had ended early in October, but since Daryl usually caught himself plenty during a season, and had gotten only one this season, which had gone to waste after he fell into the river, Daryl had chosen to grant himself his own personal extension. To hell with the law, anyway; it wasn't like anyone was going to see him and fine him in this remote part of the woods.

Aside from that, this would be his very last hunt through this particular patch of woods. He hiked back over to his usual campfire spot, feeling antsy about the end of his time there. But it was for the best, he told himself for the hundredth time.

He'd called Ron on Saturday afternoon after his run-in with Beth, and asked for a few days off to handle some personal stuff. Since the shop was back to full-staff, and Daryl had worked plenty of overtime in the weeks that they'd been short-handed, he didn't feel guilty about asking, and Ron was more than happy to oblige.

Monday morning, Daryl had driven the same route as though on his way to work, but instead, spent the morning checking out the handful of apartment complexes that the town offered. They were nothing special, but then, Daryl wasn't used to special, anyway. A cot in an attic was better than living in his da's trashy trailer only a couple of miles away from Beth and the cabin anyhow. So, in the last complex, he'd signed a lease for a small, one-bedroom apartment.

He'd felt kind of ridiculous at his swell of pride when he passed the papers back over to the leasing agent and she'd handed over a set of keys; two for his door locks, and one for his mailbox. It wasn't like he'd never lived on his own before. He was 28, for crying out loud, and had moved out of his da's place at the tender age of 16. Be that as it may, though, any other place he'd lived had been shared by Merle, and on occasion, any number of other men who had nowhere else to go, either.

This place was his. The deposit he'd had to pay seemed unreasonable, but the agent had insisted it was because he didn't have any prior rental history for them to go off of, so he'd handed it over and sucked it up.

He'd gone out and bought a mattress so he'd have somewhere to sleep, but hadn't gotten around to other furniture yet. He figured he would just buy it as he went, since he sure as hell wasn't taking anything out of his da's trailer to use as his own. This was a new place, and he wanted no part of his past encroaching on it. The most important aspect was that he was finally going somewhere; doing something with his life. He enjoyed working at the shop, and he made a decent wage. He didn't want to give that up to run off and act the way he usually did when Merle was around. For the first time ever, he wanted a fresh start.

As he poked a stick and disrupted the logs he'd made a fire with, his thoughts traveled along his well-worn hunting path to the cabin and its only occupant; Beth.

He hated admitting it to himself, but he knew she was the reason for his change. He would never be a different person; he'd never just wake up one day and be the kind of guy who could socialize with people easily or find happiness in simple things. He was too far gone for that; too cynical and damaged. But Beth did make him want to try to be better, at least. All of her hope and optimism had rubbed off onto him minutely, and he'd realized that wasting away in his da's trailer amid the horrors of his childhood wasn't doing him any good. So he took action, and landed himself an apartment. She'd probably never know it, but he had her to thank for that.

The more he thought about it, though, the more he wanted her to know. Even though he still didn't think they really belonged together as anything more than two strangers on a sidewalk, he still wanted her to know that she hadn't failed him; that she'd done something good for him, even if it didn't seem like much.

He stood, kicking dirt onto his small fire, snuffing it out. The forest was still awake even though the sun had long since set. He used his flashlight to tread over the dark obstacles in his path, picking his way through the familiar forest silently.

As he got closer to her cabin, he could see that the lights were still on. He wished he'd remembered to bring his phone with him; ever since the night in the river, he'd tried to make it a habit to have his phone on him in silent mode, just in case. But having a phone had never been a huge necessity for him, since he'd gone through large gaps of time when having a phone wasn't even in the budget for him or Merle. So it had just never become a habit to carry one from day to day, and especially not while he was out hunting.

Since it was still lying on his kitchen table, though, he had no idea what time it really was. He figured he'd probably be bothering her, but he felt like he just needed a couple of minutes of her time. He'd knock on her door, notify her that he was moving, and then get a good look at her one last time before he left and never saw her again. Maybe he'd also grow the balls to thank her, or apologize, or at least not be such an asshole to her. It seemed simple enough, innocent enough, but his heartbeat sped up as he approached her cabin.

As he made his way across her side yard, though, the clouds parted, and he saw the moon reflect off of a shiny little black car in the driveway behind her Jeep. She had company, he realized, suddenly feeling stupid. He stopped walking and then turned around, heading back toward the tree line, hoping he could make it back to his path before either of them looked out of one of her windows and spotted him walking through her yard like a creepy stalker.

He heard a raised voice, and paused to glance back at the cabin. It had sounded like a man; was she seeing someone already?

He stamped the idea down, reminding himself that who she was seeing wasn't his business. Plus, it was certainly what he'd wanted for her; to move on and find someone else to focus her charms on. Wasn't it? He didn't fucking know what to think.

Feeling even more foolish than before, he folded himself back into the darkness of the forest; he intended to put as much distance between himself and Beth Greene as possible before he made a complete ass out of himself as his parting gift to her.

Just then, the sound of shattering glass overtook the noises in the forest, and he turned in time to see something spiraling toward the ground, having gone through her living room window. A dark feeling twisted his gut, and Daryl swung his crossbow out in front of him, finger on the trigger. He crouched low, silently darting across her backyard, until he reached her cabin. He leaned his back against the side of the house as he slid his way toward her broken window.

"You don't fucking get it!" he heard a man scream; he sounded pissed. Daryl didn't hear if Beth had responded, but it didn't matter to him. Beth wasn't the type of girl to get into a screaming match that escalated into throwing things; it was beneath her. Besides that, something deep down inside of him was telling him that something was very wrong.

Daryl always listened to his gut; it'd saved his and Merle's lives more times than he'd care to admit.

Beth's porch in front didn't wrap all the way around to the back; there was only the narrow staircase leading to the back door that he'd collapsed on not so long ago. Quietly, Daryl took the steps two at a time and gently tried the handle on her back door. It was locked.

He was about to break and enter; he knew that it could go down really bad for him if this ended up being nothing. His gut, meanwhile, screamed for him to get his ass in gear, so he didn't contemplate his actions any further than that. He looked around for something to stand on, and spotted a large flat stump that was used as a base for chopping firewood further out into her yard. He grabbed the stump and pulled it until it was directly underneath her broken window. He climbed up and looked through the opening, but didn't immediately see Beth or her mystery guest anywhere.

Daryl's eyes settled on the condition of her living room, though, focusing on the knocked over furniture and broken glass all over the floor. Immediately, he used his elbow to finish busting out the few shards of glass still clinging in the window, and then hoisted himself through as quietly as possible.

Once inside, he swung his crossbow back in front of him. He tried to control his breathing and keep it even, but there were smears of blood across the floor where someone had crawled, or been dragged, from the pile of glass. A torn pair of women's sweatpants lay in a crumpled heap near the TV stand. His heart was in his throat, and every muscle in his body was poised to attack.

Even as prepared as he thought himself to be, the image that met his eyes as he turned the corner to Beth's front room was one that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

A man was crouched on top of a prone figure, the shapely legs coming out from under him were bent like they'd been struggling to get him off, but then had gone limp. He had his hands wrapped around her neck, and nail marks crisscrossed his forearms.

Beth's face, purpling at the lips, eyes rolled back in her head was the last thing Daryl saw before he squeezed his finger on the trigger. At the last second, a piece of glass crunched under his sloppy footwork, and the monster on top of her sat up suddenly. The expression on his face turned from furious to shock as the arrow pierced his shoulder, throwing him backwards off of Beth's battered body.

Daryl wasted no time with reloading, instead choosing to just charge forward. As he reached the asshole, Daryl swung his crossbow in an upward arc, catching the man under the chin and sending his head snapping backwards. Blood sprayed out in the same trajectory as his face, and as soon as he landed on the floor on his back, Daryl was on top of him.

He sat on the man's chest and hit him. Daryl hit him over and over again until his knuckles broke open, until the bastard quit yelling, until he quit struggling; until he quit twitching.

Finally, Daryl sat back on his heels, realizing that he'd lost track of his sanity. The guy's nose was a bloody pulp in the rest of his ruined face. Teeth were scattered on the floor next to them, one tooth was punctured right through the fucker's bottom lip. Still, Daryl felt no comfort.

He fell off of the man, not bothering to check if he was dead. He didn't give a fuck if he was or not. He turned to look at Beth's broken body; she hadn't so much as moved a muscle since he found her.

Crawling over to her, Daryl could feel himself cracking apart from the inside out. She was in nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of bright pink panties. Her shirt, like the rest of her, was smeared with blood. Crimson was also trickling out of her nose and mouth, and a thousand tiny little cuts marred her exposed flesh.

"Beth," he whispered at her, unable to raise his voice any louder. She began to blur and he wiped the tears out of his eyes. He leaned over her, putting his hand near her mouth to see if she was breathing. He needed her to be breathing; there was no other conceivable option in this life for him. She had to be alive.

"Please, Beth, please be breathin'," he whispered, cursing himself as his hands shook; unable to concentrate on the task at hand. Finally, he felt the faintest puff of air on the sensitive skin of the back of his hand, and he let out a choked sob, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

He crawled on the floor to sit by her head, running his fingers along her neck gently to see if he could feel anything broken. The skin ringing her neck was already purple and black, and he wanted to destroy the son of a bitch all over again. Her head was bent at kind of a weird angle, so when he didn't feel anything sticking out, he adjusted her gently. Beth pulled in a long, ragged breath of air, wheezing at the effort.

Daryl's panic tripled, along with his despair; that fucker had crushed her throat.

He was afraid to move her with a neck injury, so he got up and ran to her kitchen to look for a phone. He spotted one plugged in near the stove and picked it up, but it had a busy signal. Another phone in the house must've been off the hook somewhere.

"Fuck," he gritted, feeling his sanity slipping, "FUCK!" He jerked the phone out of the wall and threw it across the kitchen. He gripped his hair in fists, spinning in circles, looking for a cell phone; something, anything.

Then an idea struck him and he ran back into the front room, rifling through the pockets of the asshole whose face he'd ruined; whose life Daryl would ruin if the prick dared to still be alive.

Finally, he found a phone, and with shaking, bloodied fingers, he dialed 911 and scooted back over to Beth.

The operator answered on the second ring, "911, what is your emergency?"

"I need 'n ambulance," Daryl said thickly. He opened his mouth to say more, but the words lodged in his throat as he ran his fingers down her swelling cheek. He felt his face crumple, and he raised his face up to the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"We can have an ambulance sent out to you, sir. What is your location?" the older woman asked.

Clearing his throat, Daryl answered, "I… I don't know tha address. It's a small cabin, righ' offa highway 80 an' Walker Way. You needta send someone now," he said, rocking back on his heels.

He could vaguely hear the operator as she tried talking to him from the other end of the phone. All he could focus on were the finger marks on Beth's arm, and the bruising on her throat and face. The asshole's skin was still under her fingernails. Her lip was broken open, and there was a lot of blood on the front of her shirt. He lifted it up gingerly with a couple of fingers, and saw the large horizontal slice across her abdomen. His stomach threatened to empty as he let go of her shirt and closed his eyes.

Daryl squeezed the cell phone in one hand, pulling it away from his face; vaguely aware that the operator was trying to get him to respond to her. He held the phone behind his head as he sat heavily down on his ass and put his head between his knees. He felt like he was going to black out. He was panicking; fucking losing his shit.

Then, as Beth twitched and began to stir, he dropped the phone and leaned over her.

"Beth," he said hoarsely, putting his hand gently on her chest over her collar bones. "Don' move, a'right? Help is comin', hear me? They're on their way."

When her eyelids fluttered open, he felt a new wave of anguish. Her blue eyes were bright in pain, and surrounding her irises, where the whites of her eyes should have been, it was entirely pink with broken blood vessels. He put both of his hands on the sides of her face as she stared up at him; he couldn't tell if she even knew who he was, or if she could register what had happened to her. She stared up blankly and didn't react when his teardrops fell onto her face.

"You're gonna be fine, y'hear me?" he told her roughly, waiting for a reaction from her; a smile, a sob, tears; anything would have been better than her empty stare. She wheezed every time she pulled air into her lungs, and after a few seconds, her eyes fluttered back closed and she was limp again.

"No, no, no," he whined, pressing her tiny hand against his face, wishing for all the world he could just crush her to him and make her be okay. Even if she hated him again; even if they parted ways and were nothing, even if he never laid eyes on her again for the rest of their lives… anything was better than this.

Suddenly, he noticed red and blue lights streaming in through her front window. He exhaled in relief, leaning over to press his forehead against hers. "They're here, Beth," he breathed against her lips. "They've come t'save you."

Her front door burst open and police swarmed in with their guns drawn. Daryl's relief quickly turned to anger as he was rushed and grabbed. They hauled him away from Beth, wrestling him to the floor on his stomach.

"Wha' the fuck are you doin'?!" He shouted, twisting in their grip. Another officer jumped into the fray at Daryl's unwillingness to cooperate, and he felt a boot pin him down at the back of his neck. The other two managed to get the cold cuffs around his wrists.

"Get the fuck offa me!" Daryl roared as they hauled him up, kicking out at one of the officers. After that one jumped out of his way, Sheriff's Deputy Shane Walsh took his place in Daryl's face, teeth bared and everything.

Daryl hated him with a goddamn passion. Shane had always been an asshole, even when they were kids; but then he went and got his badge and decided he was going to be an asshole for a living. There was good cop, bad cop, and then there was Shane fucking Walsh.

"Motherfucker," Daryl spat at him, straining against the officer who had him from behind. "Get these fuckin' cuffs offa me, NOW!"

"Like hell, you sick fuck," Shane hissed back at him. "I can't wait to put your fuckin' loser ass away for a long ass time."

"I ain't tha one tha' hurt her, damnit! I'd never fuckin' touch her!" Daryl yelled as they began hauling him out of her front door. He struggled to catch a glimpse of Beth as he was being yanked backwards, but there were too many uniforms surrounding her.

As he got into the yard, the ambulance finally pulled up, medics swarming out with their stretcher and medical supplies. Daryl was jerked roughly back towards the police cruisers.

"You have the right to remain silent," Shane said, gloating at him as he got in his line of vision. "Anything you say or do can, and will, be held against you in the court of law."

"Fuck you," Daryl said, straining to look passed him and keep an eye on Beth's porch.

"You have the right to an attorney," Shane continued, humored by Daryl's distress, "if you cannot afford an attorney, which I'm sure is the case, one will be appointed to you."

Finally, the EMTs emerged from Beth's cabin, two of them lifting the stretcher and walking backwards to get it down the steps of the front porch. Beth was strapped to it, a sheet covering her legs, and a brace around her neck. She still looked to be unconscious, but their haste was a good sign that she was still alive.

After Shane had finished reading Daryl his Miranda rights, the last of which he ignored, Shane swung the door open to his squad car and fisted Daryl's hair to push him into it.

Daryl watched as the doors to the ambulance slammed closed. They peeled out of the front yard with their sirens blaring just as a second one pulled up. He wanted to wait and see if they brought that other fucker out in a body bag, but Shane climbed into the driver's seat and took off with Daryl in the back before he could witness any more.

"Admiring your handiwork back there?" Shane sneered at him.

"I already tol' you, asshole; I ain't the one tha' hurt Beth. It was tha' other fucker."

"Oh, you mean the dude dressed like an accountant with an arrow stickin' out of him, whose face was smashed in?" Shane scoffed at him. "Gimme a break, Dixon. This entire bullshit situation has your trashy family written all over it."

Daryl clenched his jaw in anger, focusing on the monster he'd torn off of Beth. He hoped that asshole was daisy-fodder. Even if Daryl spent the rest of his life in prison for murder, it'd be worth it if the prick never breathed a lung full of fresh air ever again.

"Go fuck yourself, Walsh," he said without emotion, leaning his forehead against the window.

All he could see when he closed his eyes was Beth's tiny body crumpled on the floor, blood seeping out of the wounds covering her body; her beautiful blonde hair even matted in the stuff. Her blank, bloodshot eyes and the bruises on her arm where fingers had dug into her skin.

The torn sweatpants in the living room.

The streaks of blood where she'd either crawled or been dragged away from the glass littering the floor.

Her split lip, the skin under her nails.

The memory of that animal poised on top of her with his hands around her throat.

Pitching forward, Daryl vomited all over the floor in the back of Shane's police cruiser.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!" Shane yelled from the front, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. "Are you fucking loaded, or what, asshole?!"

Daryl slid down in the seat until he was laying across the back, his face pressed into the cold leather. He felt like he was freezing and he'd broken out into a cold sweat; it trickled down his face and neck, soaking his hair. He began to tremble and as he stared at the back of the passenger side seat, his vision went black. Shane's angry cursing was drowned out by a roaring in Daryl's ears; he felt like they were bleeding.

Finally, the car stopped, and Daryl was dizzy and off-kilter, like the ground was teeter-tottering, even though he could feel the entire front of his body still firmly pressed against the car seat.

The door opened, flooding the space around him with frigid air, and voices wavered in and out of his hearing.

"…on some kind of drugs or somethin'," Shane was saying.

The other voice, an older man, said, "Nah. Looks as though he's in shock. Let's get'em inside 'fore he collapses. I ain't carrying that prick; he looks heavy."

Daryl felt himself being dragged backwards by his ankles. Once they had his legs out, he felt hands trying to pull him into an upright position. The only thing in front of his eyes was blackness, though, and he could hardly focus on anything but the roaring in his ears and the trembling of his bones.

His legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the pavement. His last coherent thought was of Beth; the way she'd looked down at him that night in the bar after her last toast, her face filled with trust and compassion; her bright blue eyes boring into his like they were the only two people left in the world.

Without her, he would be the only person left standing; cursed to wander the earth alone, untouched, and unseen, like a black, shapeless wraith.

As he finally lost consciousness, he sent a final plea out to the universe. It could do what it wanted to him; but it had to deliver Beth back to safety. She had to live, or he felt that the whole world would come crashing down around him.

At that, the blackness emerged from the depths of his consciousness, and swallowed him whole.