A/N: If you've come here looking for an action-packed BAMF Beth story, this is not it lol

I literally just want them alive and happy and thriving, so I started to write it.

Also, I haven't written a fanfiction, let alone published one, in almost 10 years :o

Chapter title from "Need The Sun To Break" by James Bay

Reviews are always welcome :)

Enjoy!

"Oh."

Daryl cleared his throat, looked away from Beth and grabbed the jar of peanut butter. He felt like he was crawling out of his skin. He didn't like the attention on his feelings about people. He didn't know any good people before the end of the world, and though he met some good people after, he'd definitely met more bad than good since. As far as Daryl was concerned, without knowing the fate of their family, Beth was the last good person alive.

"So we'll make it work with the people that live here," Beth said as she picked up her own jar of peanut butter. "And you'll keep teaching me how to hunt and track, and we'll be good."

Daryl nodded jerkily. "We'll be good."

Daryl caught Beth's smile out of the corner of his eye. Small but no less bright. They ate in silence for a while, not uncomfortable, just quiet as they enjoyed the biggest meal they had had since the prison.

"Do you think the dog'll come back?"

Daryl shrugged a shoulder. "Dunno, was all matted and dirty. Too skinny. Definitely not livin' here; definitely not bein' fed by people."

"I hope he comes back," she said softly. "Did you ever have a dog?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Did you ever want one?"

"Sure," he shrugged again, slouching a bit in his chair. "M'old man weren't gonna let me have one, though, so I got over it."

"We never had a dog 'cause mama was allergic," Beth said. She screwed the lid back onto her jar of peanut butter and stood up from the table. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Daryl watched her hobble to the door of the kitchen and stood up, grabbing his bow off the counter. "Imma go check the alarms and then I'll be in."

He didn't wait for her response. He just shouldered past her and headed for the front door. He peered through the boards on the window before opening the door slowly. No walkers. No dog.

He double checked that the alarms were in place and walked the perimeter of the house before he went back inside, locking the door behind him. When he entered the room they had been sleeping in, he found Beth sitting at the piano, writing in her journal. She was humming softly, pen gliding over one of the last pages of the notebook.

"Gonna have to get ya a new one," Daryl said, hopping up into the casket.

Beth stopped her melodic humming to make a noise of agreement, and then continued her humming.

Daryl watched her from the casket, tucking a hand behind his head. She kept her focus on her task and didn't say anything. Daryl didn't know if he did or said something to make her quiet and he sure as hell didn't know what to say or do to fix whatever he did. So he closed his eyes and let her humming lull him to sleep.

"Sure ya wanna go out on that foot?" Daryl asked the next morning.

"I can't just sit around here while you get to go out and have all the fun," Beth replied, her hand going to her sheathed knife as they headed to the door.

After checking the coast was clear, Daryl opened the door and lifted the string of cans up so Beth could duck beneath it and limp down the stairs to the grassy yard.

"Which way are we goin'?" Beth asked, already favoring her injured foot.

Daryl pointed to the line of trees behind her. "We'll start over there."

The walk to the woods was slow as Beth did her best to keep pace with Daryl, but she was obviously in pain.

"Beth–"

"Daryl, I'm fine," Beth stressed without looking at him. She was scanning the forest floor, looking at the fallen leaves and twigs, searching for a trail. "Is that somethin'?"

"You tell me."

He didn't have to see her eyes to know she rolled them.

With a huff, she limped further into the trees, Daryl close behind, ready for anything. She was right, there was a trail there, and she was doing a decent job of following it. Sometimes she got off track, but she figured it out quickly enough to be able to correct herself.

"Is it a squirrel?"

"Nah, but yer close," Daryl replied, loading a bolt and pulling the drawstring back. "Ground ain't soft 'nough to leave prints."

Beth looked around, hearing a trickling sound in the distance. When Daryl held his crossbow out to her, she took it. "We're near water."

"Prob'ly gettin' a drink,"

"A rabbit?" Beth guessed again, looking back at him. At his nod, she grinned. "We're gonna be eatin' good tonight."

They crept through the trees, following the rabbit trail to the edge of a clearing where a stream flowed gently. At the edge of the water, a plump rabbit lapped. Beth limped to a tree and leaned against it to balance on her good leg. She lifted the crossbow, staring down the sight.

"Right behind the front leg, or through the eye," Daryl said softly behind her.

Beth took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. The bolt whizzed through the air and landed in the dirt beside the rabbit. Instantly, the animal scampered off into the woods, unharmed. Beth groaned, lowering the bow and leaning her head back on the tree with her eyes clenched shut.

"No big deal, you'll get it next time," Daryl grunted, taking his bow from her.

"Sorry, I guess I got cocky," she mumbled, tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Daryl looked back at the stream and bit at his thumbnail. "Why don't ya go wash up. I'll keep watch."

Beth looked at the water and then back up at him. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Been a few days. Take it when ya can get it."

A smile lit up Beth's face and she shuffled to the edge of the stream. She carefully lowered herself to the edge and dipped her hand into the water. She said something about it being cold, but she still pulled her boots off and socks. Daryl turned before she started to remove her clothes and kept a trained eye on the edge of the woods, senses on high alert for anything. He listened to the birds chirping in the treetops and the sound of Beth moving in the water. To his right, he heard the rustling of leaves. A walker stumbled out into the clearing, jaw already working at the sight of them. Daryl lifted his crossbow and shot the walker through the eye.

"I'm done," Beth called.

Daryl turned to her, wiping the walker guts off his bolt onto his pant leg. Even though her clothes were dirty and worn, her pale skin was free of all the grime it had been gathering on their journey away from the prison.

"I wish I had some clean clothes to change into," she sighed, hobbling toward him with a wince.

Daryl met her halfway and stooped down so she could hop onto his back again.

"What about trackin'?"

"I'll get somethin' tomorrow. Ya need to rest that foot." he grunted, using his grip on the backs of her thighs to heft her higher up his back. "Ain't like you need anymore food, though, girl. Damn."

She pinched his bicep in response.

"I'm sorry I was quiet last night," Beth murmured. "I was missin' my mama."

"Thought I did somethin'," Daryl admitted.

"Then I'm really sorry," Beth sighed, sounding guilty. "I didn't wanna talk about her, but at the same time I did. I guess I didn't wanna bore you with stories of my life before all this."

Daryl didn't say anything for a while, so Beth assumed the conversation was over, until he spoke up again. His sentence was stilted a little, like he didn't know what words to use, "Don't mind when ya talk about stuff…if ya wanna talk."

"Thanks, Daryl," she said softly, resting her chin on her arm and leaning her head against his.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Daryl carried her through the trees. When they got close enough to the funeral home to see it through the branches, a noise broke the quiet of the woods. Beth hopped off Daryl's back, drawing her knife, as he raised his crossbow. Whatever it was, hiding behind the thick brush, didn't make any move to come out to see them. So Daryl started to walk around the bush, muscles tense.

When he saw the one-eyed dog chewing at one of its paws, Daryl huffed, lowering his weapon. He jerked his head toward the animal and Beth slowly made her way to his side.

The dog's head jerked up and blinked at the two of them for a moment.

"Oh, you poor thing," Beth cooed. "Are ya hungry? If you come back with us, we'll give ya somethin' to eat."

The dog blinked once more, stood, and took off in the opposite direction, leaving Beth and Daryl behind.

Beth made a sad sound in the back of her throat, her shoulders slumping. "You're right, he doesn't look like he's bein' cared for."

Daryl hummed in response and let Beth hop back onto his back.

"Can we eat dinner outside on the porch? It's such a pretty day." Beth asked, breath tickling Daryl's ear.

Daryl felt the tips of his ears start to get warm. He grunted an affirmative and focused on the trek ahead through the cemetery up to the funeral home. He dropped Beth off on the porch and headed inside to grab something for them to eat. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter, jelly, a sleeve of saltine crackers and two spoons from the kitchen before heading back out toward the front door.

"Daryl!" Beth called from the porch.

She didn't sound like she was in distress, but Daryl's heart still lodged itself into the base of his throat and he hurried to the front door. He ran out onto the porch and skidded to a halt at the sight of that damn mutt rolling around on its back so Beth could scratch his belly.

"He came back!" She exclaimed, unnecessarily because he could see that.

Daryl huffed, dropping the food on the porch in a heap before settling down a few feet away from her and the dog.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I just got excited," she said sheepishly.

"Weren't scared," he grumbled, opening the jelly jar. He stabbed the spoon into the jar a little too aggressively and scooped some of the grape preserves into his mouth.

The dog's nose twitched and he sniffed the air in Daryl's direction, crawling on his belly toward him.

"Git," Daryl grunted. "Prob'ly got fleas."

"He doesn't – at least not in the usual places dogs have fleas and ticks – I checked." Beth said, opening the saltines pack and scooping a globe of peanut butter onto a cracker. "Come here, Dooley."

"The hell's a Dooley?"

"The dog," Beth explained. "We had to name him. And when we were headed back, I saw a gravestone for a 'Douglas "Dooley" Stephins'. I think it suits him."

The dog, mangy and matted, wagged his tail, happily accepting the peanut butter dolloped crackers Beth was feeding him.

"Damn thing's gonna eat us outta house and home," Daryl complained with a shake of his head.