You know. You know, Beth.
You know what- who- changed my mind.
You matter.
You mean something to me. I will never let anything happen to you- a lie- I will keep you safe. I will keep you here. We can make pretend, play house like I'm not some dirty old redneck bastard who never did nothin' and you're some kind of shining fucking paragon-
He had not thought this, not while fighting the walkers, got him stuck in that creepy mortuary room in the cellar. Then, all he'd thought was, Beth, buy Beth time. Get the fuck out. Kill as many of these motherfuckers as possible, run Beth- (It had never been like that before. Yes, he'd always been alert. He'd always kept his eyes open, watched out for his family, such as it was. But it had always been a- the kind of thrill you can't talk about for shame, because you know it's wrong, but it doesn't change it. A bloodrush, the way everything in his body focused, and got quiet no matter how loud those things moaned and groaned and growled, and god, just being good at something for the first time in his life, so good that he was useful to other people, needed, respected. The zombie apocalypse that everyone else rued, despised, cursed, died in; it was the only thing that made him worthwhile. But he'd never been- not like that.)
He made it out, he couldn't believe he fucking made it out of that death house, the fresh air feels like benediction- her bag, spilled on the ground, his whole body flushes with a painful heat, a rush of understanding, fucking losing- fucking tail lights- Beth! Beth!
He thought nothing but her name for miles. A mantra, a plea, a marching song. Each footfall was her name.
Every step, he lost a bit of that spark. That fire she started. Goddamn her.
A goddamned intersection.
When he finally goes down, dropping his weapon, dropping his guard, his hope, that's when he thinks of these things. Beth.
What did you do to me?
Beth, I can't. Beth, it's my fault, again. You were wrong. The person you thought I was, he's in that car with you, you took him with you. I failed, I fucked up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Hershel...
All those miles, he hadn't thought of these things. They'd nipped at his heels, but he'd been too fast for them (not fast enough). Now, he hangs his head, he hears Merle, his father, his mother. Beth singing that goddamned song, like she's trying to tell him somethin', like she's using that angel-voice to kill him.
He was gone in thoughts of her. It wasn't until Joe, another dirty old bastard, smirked, told him, "Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?" and it was against everything Beth, that naive little girl, stood for.
He hates Joe. Like his father, like his brother. Like his absent mother. Like himself- who Beth said he had been.
You have to stay who you are.
In that moment, the only thing that matters is surviving Joe, his bandits, proving them wrong. He's not just some outdoor stray cat.
It's the only thing that matters.