A/N: As much research as I've done on traumatic brain injuries and their emotional/mental/physical effects, I'm absolutely sure that I still haven't gotten it completely right. But I do hope that what I've written accurately and respectfully depicts someone struggling to come to terms with the devastating effects of this kind of injury.
This is my first TWD story in many years, and my first new work in a long time, so please be kind.
I hope I've captured the voice and tone of the pilot, which is where our story begins :)
"You steal…Grandma Jean's…spoon…." The words didn't make sense, but Beth's head felt too strange to wonder at them. It felt…heavy, like something was holding tight to her hair. Her thoughts were weighted and thick, like she'd slept for too long and was now having trouble emerging from her already-forgotten dreams.
"Shane?" The unfamiliar man's voice paused. He had been fading in and out, but all at once everything sounded clearer.
"Shane, you in the john?" Louder this time.
Maybe Daryl forgot to turn the tv off before he got in the shower again? He said he'd stop doing that when she'd gently pestered him about it; she hated wasting electricity for no reason.
Yes, that'd explain things; it made sense. But Daddy was going to kill her. The last time she'd fallen asleep at Daryl's he'd been fit to burst. I don't care that you're eighteen, Elizabeth. That'd been the measure, right there. He only reverted to calling her Elizabeth when she really upset him. You live in my house, you abide by my rules. Mind me now. She didn't remember falling asleep though, so maybe she'd be able to convince him it really had been an accident.
Beth tried to open her eyes, but nothing happened. What in the world? The heaviness of her eyelids was staggering. She was tired, sure, but this didn't feel right. Her body had never not done what she wanted, and what she was feeling made absolutely no sense.
What the heck was wrong with her? Was this what a bad hangover felt like? She didn't really drink – couldn't really, not unless Shawn or Maggie bought for her, or if Daryl offered her a beer with dinner when they'd eat at his place. She didn't think she'd ever had more than one drink at a time, but maybe that would account for the gap in her memory? Had she blacked out? Lord, her daddy really was going to kill her. Daryl too. Maybe even Maggie'd have something to say about it, if she wasn't the one behind all this.
Beth wished she could remember.
She tried again, channeling all her strange scattered energy into lifting the dark curtain that clung to her vision. There was a slight give, but after a few seconds it felt like she was gathering the heavy curtain with just her hands, her efforts fruitless as the black fabric slithered from her arms over and over again and she was forced to stop. Beth groaned in frustration, a noise that was feral and petulant and exhausted all at once. She wanted to do more, but the making of that one sound immediately shocked her with the harsh awareness that every part of her felt wrong.
Pain lashed across her consciousness, and she was horrifically cognizant of all the various layers of hurt she was feeling. There was a bone-deep hammering in her head, like… well, frankly like she'd been kicked by a horse or been walloped with her mama's best cast iron pan. The ache was full and deep and it made her want to vomit if she focused on it for longer than a few seconds. Her neck screamed in sharp agony, and God, she wanted to scream with that same agony. Her arms and legs pulsed with a radiating discomfort, the muscles in her back felt stiff with inactivity. The fiery dryness in her throat was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. The very thought of water made her want to weep.
She needed a drink, more than anything else, and out of habit she tried to swallow. But she couldn't – it took her a moment to understand that something was lodged in her sandpaper throat. Something hard and choking pressed against her lips; it tasted like plastic when she brushed her brittle tongue against it.
Beth lifted her hand and batted at whatever was in her mouth. Her arms felt like they were moving through water, straining against an unseen current; her movements were jerky and barely controlled. Her fingers struggled to catch on whatever was in her mouth; she could feel their trembling weight when she inadvertently missed the mark and they smacked against her face.
Whatever was wrong with her, it had to be serious. It didn't matter that Daddy'd be mad at her, she needed help. Her body hurt worse than she could remember it ever hurting before, but what scared her more was that it felt unfamiliar. Her body wasn't in sync with the rest of her, and there was an inexplicable fear taking shape in her belly, slippery and heavy like a wet stone. She grew more afraid the longer she didn't seem to shake off whatever was wrong. Even when she was felled by the flu during the winter she was fifteen, and she'd been so sick that mama had driven her to the emergency room without waiting for Daddy to come in from the fields…. When she woke up in the hospital, it'd only taken a few seconds for Beth to get her bearings, to remember why she was there. But this felt different. Wrong. Something scratching in the back of her head told her it wouldn't be quick, that it'd take time for her body to trust her again, maybe even longer for it to listen.
"Miss?" the man's voice called. "Miss, are you alright?"
Beth moaned in frustration and discomfort and confusion. Was the tv still on? The voice sounded sharper than it did before. Rough, still, but less muffled. Closer, maybe. Maybe Daryl turned the volume up? But the thing in her mouth…. What in the heck…?
She pressed her clumsy fingers harder against whatever was stuck in her mouth. Her previous thought that it was plastic was confirmed when she pushed her hand against it. Plastic tubing, if she had to guess. She flapped her hand around, but found she couldn't dislodge it with sheer force alone. With another pass, she recognized the rough-edged texture of what felt like tape on her lips. It was peeling at the corners, and she desperately shoved her fingernails underneath. Her nails bent backwards as she forced them against the tape but she didn't stop, working at it slowly until it came away from her face. Her skin was oily under her fingers, but she was glad of it when the tape loosened easier from her chin.
The tape was still sticky enough that it tore at the dry skin of her lips, awakening Beth's senses when a small piece of chapped skin ripped off with her final awkward push. The tape separated from her mouth but didn't fall away; Beth moved her jaw just a little, and felt the pull of tape on the other side of her mouth. Darn. She already felt like she'd fought through a storm swell, but she suspected she may have just been treading water until the next wave hit.
She thought she heard the man's voice again, but she tuned it out. All she could focus on was the plastic in her mouth. She forced her arm to listen to her, her hand to obey her. Up, lift up. Push, pull, get it out. She swore that if Shawn was somewhere close by, laughing it up while she fought so hard and probably looked like a fool, God forgive her but she'd kill him dead. Mother of God, what was the matter with her body? Her arm sagged and her hand slapped at her mouth like a breathless fish, but she managed to hit it at the right angle, catching the plastic with the tips of her fingers. She dug in like she did with the tape, pulling and nudging until she was able to dislodge it from her lips. She felt the corresponding tug in her throat, and she tried not to throw up. Ventilator. The word spoken in her daddy's voice murmured from somewhere hidden, tickling at the back of her mind and whispering in her ear.
She would have needed a ventilator to breathe. The awareness of that, the implications of that, caused Beth to gag. Whatever was wrong with her, she couldn't breathe on her own. Not a hangover then. Worse than the flu.
Beth inhaled sharply through her nose, and while her nasal passages burned and her throat reflexively constricted around the plastic tubing, she was able to breathe on her own. Good, she didn't need the ventilator anymore. Without thinking further, she curled her fingers tightly, grasped the plastic in her mouth, and pulled. Her arms immediately felt exhausted at the small burst of force, but she kept going, pulling and tugging and gagging as she worked the tubing up her throat and out of her mouth, finally tossing it on the floor at her side as she gasped a ragged breath.
"Miss?" the man's voice repeated, tentatively now. He was repeating himself. Where was Daryl? What the heck was he watching?
No. This was not the couch in Daryl's apartment. Not the tv. Not right – she didn't know what this was, but it was not right anymore. She knew she had to face whatever it was that was waiting for her.
Breathing harshly, Beth focused on opening her eyes again. Her throat raged like it was on fire and her head ached something fierce, but she was determined now. Nothing happened at first, no light flutterings of her eyelids or gentle cracks of soft sunlight to illuminate her world. But she was a Greene, God damn it. Her daddy was strong with unmovable convictions and her mama was solid like stone in the face of a hurricane; her sister was powerful as a bolt of lightning and her brother could shake the earth with his stubbornness. She was loved by a man who once described her as wildfire – You could burn this whole world t' the ground, girl. I'd never stand a chance – and she clutched those truths tightly to her breast.
Beth clenched her teeth and tried to get her eyelids to just move, just open please God damn it – I'm sorry Daddy, I know I shouldn't say that, but Christ what is going on why does it hurt?
She pulled from the power of her family, she fell back on their strength and imagined Maggie in her ear urging her to keep going. She thought of Shawn pressing a hand to her back, and Daryl's face right in front of hers, his grim determination projected at her still-closed eyes. Open yer damn eyes, Greene.
The light stabbed her eyes mercilessly; everything was overbright and hazy and dull and sharp all at the same time.
The space in front of her was empty, where only a second ago she could picture Maggie and Shawn so clearly. Dust motes swirled haphazardly in the empty air where Daryl's warm breath had been only moments before. No one was waiting for her to wake up, no one was there.
"Miss? Ca-can you hear me? Are you alright? What's goin' on?"
Beth struggled against the pain that shot through her neck and tilted her head slightly to the left, where the man's voice was coming from. Her eyes landed on an unfamiliar man, laying in a hospital bed next to her. His eyes were blue like the summer sky and bright with a confusion that echoed her own.
When she tried to answer him, no sound came out; her throat was too dry. On instinct she coughed, and was immediately stunned by the effect on her body. Her entire being was suddenly alive with radiating agony, shooting from her skull to her fingertips and threatening to tip her into a bout of uncontrollable sobbing. She dug her teeth deep into her lip, biting down hard to stave off everything that was trying to suck her down and happily drown her in the muck and mire. The pain and the tears and the panic were sloshing around her ankles, desperate for her to just lay down and give in.
Beth forced herself to take a rough gulp of air; it felt like something solid was pressing on her chest, but it distracted her enough to muster the will to try and speak again. "Wh…whe…re…am…I?" she asked. Each syllable came out separately, each sound was wrenched out of her on the back of her panting breaths.
The man cleared his throat pointedly and flicked his eyes to the machines sitting between their two beds.
"Think we're in a hospital," he replied shakily.
Beth turned her head a bit more, and looked closely at the machines. She knew they should have been lit up with her heart rate and the man's blood pressure, she should have heard beeping and maybe the harsh mechanical sounds of the ventilator.
But she didn't.
She didn't, because they were just dark screens on silent machines. Like they'd simply been turned off, like she and this man were dead. Maybe they were.
Beth let her eyes drift over the empty IV bag that hung on the far side of the man's bed; she knew that she must have one as well when her arm twitched and she felt the smart of a needle beneath her skin. No one had come running when she likely broke the ventilator tube that she clawed from her throat. Her gaze met the man's again, and he frowned. Someone should have come by now.
They stared at one another and she listened. The quiet was everywhere; the low hum of noises that always permeated a hospital weren't there. She heard no distant voices, no passing footsteps, no phones ringing down the hall.
It was silent, save them.
Beth slowly turned her head away from the man so she was staring down the length of her body. She felt heavy and sluggish even though she was only covered in a thin blanket. There was a small table at the end of her bed, decorated with a vase of dried flowers surrounded by greeting cards. Instead of her parents, there was a single shaft of sunlight shining in from a high window to fill the empty space beyond her bed.
The only thing she could think was, who would give her dry flowers?
No one sat in that empty space by her feet, waiting with bated breath for Beth to wake up – no Maggie tightly clutching her mama's hand, no Shawn with his sturdy gaze and teasing quips about how awful she probably looked, no Daddy reading his bible as he sat vigil by her side, no Daryl restlessly pacing the room while he tore apart his cuticles with his teeth. Beth could picture them all, exactly as they should be, and it was so real she almost believed it. But she blinked, and they were gone again. No one was here with her.
She shifted her eyes back to the man, and noticed that he had flowers as well. Pink flowers in an ugly blue and white vase.
They were dried up too.
"Wh…why?" Beth breathed heavily. "W-hy...'s…it…qui-et?" Her throat was dry like their flowers, she thought with a touch of delirium.
"I don' know," the man admitted. He threw out an unsteady arm with intent to summon the nurses, but he missed the button and knocked into his IV pole instead. "Nurse!" he yelled, his voice louder than she expected in the silence that wrapped around them. He pulled the tubes from his nose with a trembling hand.
Something didn't feel right. Many somethings. The feeling of wrongness was practically pounding at the inside of her skull. Her unfamiliar useless body, this place, the absence of her family, the quiet – none of it was right.
"Nurse!" the man yelled again, his voice likely hoarse with the same inactivity and thirst that was crippling hers. He tried to stand, but immediately clutched at a bandage covering his side and toppled to the floor with a loud crash.
Beth wanted to help him, but a growing part of her was desperate to shush him; something animal and unknown and unfamiliar within her made her want to keep the two of them quiet and hidden while she got her bearings, but she couldn't make her tongue work right. It was too dry and too heavy in her mouth, taking up space like useless tasteless meat. She needed to do something, if not for him then certainly for her.
"Wa…ter," was all she could manage to choke out.
The man was on his hands and knees on the floor beside her bed, panting and wincing at each breath in turn. When she spoke, he dropped his head to hang down loose between his shoulders, listing towards the floor. She thought he might start yelling again, carrying on as if she hadn't said anything; but to his everlasting credit, the man didn't ignore her. He stumbled to his feet and lurched towards the bathroom, his feet slapping unevenly against the tile floor. When he turned the handle on the faucet, the water shot out noisily into the sink, and she heard him huff out a laugh as he cupped his hands and bent to slurp loudly from them.
She wanted to laugh along with him. Laugh and cry and pound the bed with her fists as the feeling of incredulous relief washed over her. What would she have done, if there was no water? Nothing, in all likelihood. She would have sputtered and coughed in helpless repose until her throat bled out and she died of dehydration. But there was water, thank God. At least they had that.
Once he'd drunk his fill, the man looked around the small bathroom before snatching up the toothbrush holder and rinsing it out. "I'm comin'," he assured her, turning to his side to look at her. Beth watched as he filled the little cup up to the brim for her, and she took a moment to observe him.
He was older than her – maybe around Daryl's age or a little older. He was thin, but she thought that he may have had more muscle on him before he ended up in a hospital bed. His brown hair was short but messy, as though he'd been laying flat for a long time. He had dark circles under his eyes and pale skin, but he didn't seem sick. He certainly appeared to be doing better than her.
The thing that struck her most though, was that he seemed kind. She didn't know how she knew that, but her gut was telling her to trust him. Beth wanted to trust him.
He soon came back into the room, and while he was a little wobbly on his feet, he managed to deliver the cup to her without spilling much of the water. He studied her for a moment, and whatever he saw in her face must have told him that she needed all the help she could get. He stepped in closer to her bedside and brought the cup to her face, tipping it slowly so she'd have time to open her mouth. She let the water pour over her tongue and down her throat, almost choking at first, but she quickly found a way to drink while he held the cup for her. It was wet and cold and slightly stale and metallic, but it was the best thing she'd ever had.
"Th…an…k y…ou," Beth panted, her throat feeling only slightly less like it was about to be torn from her neck. She'd drunk the whole thing down in seconds.
The man nodded at her, but Beth wasn't sure that he'd heard what she said. His eyes were darting around the room over and over again, his gaze keen and overbright. She thought he might be like Daryl – always assessing their surroundings so he wouldn't be caught unawares. She hoped this man could learn something, that he understood more than she did.
"Wh…at's…go…in'…on?" she asked. God, why was it so hard to speak? To move her head? To make the words connect to her thoughts? All of it was almost as terrifying as the silence and empty spaces she'd woken up to.
"I don' know," he said. He'd said that twice now. He kept glancing around, kept not saying anything helpful, kept not looking at her.
Beth felt a flash of anger, scalding like grease splashed from a hot pan, and it burned her up from the inside out. She knew she shouldn't be angry at him; he woke up at the same time she did and was likely just as clueless as her. It was irrational, and she knew it, but Lord Almighty her feelings needed a target, and this man would do just fine.
"D'…you…kn-ow…any…thin'? Jee…sus…Christ." Granted, the effect she was hoping for was dampened considerably by her slow-moving speech, and her rage sputtered out just as quickly as it seemed to appear. The absurdity of how she knew she must sound immediately took the wind out of her sails, leaving her embarrassed and a bit shocked by her own reaction.
"'M…sor…ry," she said, as quickly as she could. "I…don'...know…wha's…goin'...on…with…me," she admitted sheepishly. Beth felt her eyes sting with unshed tears and immediately bit into the soft flesh of her cheek. She would not cry, not now. Later, she promised herself.
Later she would allow herself to fall apart and ugly-cry all over Maggie's shoulder. Her mama would wipe her face with a cool cloth and Shawn would say something stupid because he just couldn't not be awkward around her when she was upset. Daddy would call her doodlebug and Daryl would hover in the periphery until everyone else had spoken their piece. He wouldn't say a thing, but he'd interlace his fingers with hers and then he'd wait. He'd sit with her until it felt a little less scary and she was a little less sad, and then he'd open his mouth and say something horrible about himself that would somehow relate perfectly to how she was feeling.
She could hold out for all that. She just had to get through now.
Beth looked up to see that the man was staring down at her with an expression of careful neutrality. She was absolutely mortified. She didn't know this guy, and she snapped at him, apologized, and then got all weepy in a matter of seconds. The poor guy was bound to get whiplash from her.
But he didn't shy away from her terror and confusion, he didn't balk at her emotional seesaw. The man's mouth slowly curled up in a little smile as he asked her, "Wan' more water?"
"Yes," she answered, feeling profoundly ungrateful and self-conscious as he went to fetch it for her.
When he returned from the bathroom, he was carrying a second toothbrush cup that he drank from deeply. "Found a spare," he explained.
"'M sor…ry," Beth offered again, not knowing what else to say.
"'S'alright," he told her, and lifted the cup of water to her lips for her.
She drank it down so fast she sputtered, and almost threw it all up, but she wouldn't have cared for one second because Lord, it tasted like ambrosia.
The third time he brought her water, he reached down for Beth's hand and closed her fingers around the cup for her. She didn't drop it, but her grip was loose enough that she worried it was a distinct possibility. She stared at the cup in her hand, watching as a few water droplets spilled over the side when her hand shook. They slid along the shiny plastic, and one by one they dripped down onto her blanket. She didn't know what she was supposed to do next. At all. The cup sat in her hand, yes, but what was she supposed to do with it? She didn't think she could just hold it forever. A cold realization dripped down Beth's spine with those water droplets. Her mind was a blank slate – an infinite plain of barren ground that held nothing for her when she tried to picture what the heck she should do next.
The horror of her tumultuous feelings must have shown clear on her face, because the man's brow furrowed at whatever he saw. He took an apprehensive breath and murmured, "It's jus' water. You can drink it. Can you lift up the cup? Lift it up and drink it like you jus' did for me."
His words tripped through her brain, slowly but with cautious intent. Beth heard him, and understood him, his lilting voice giving her the direction she desperately needed. And without any apparent cause other than the gentle command of his words, what he was saying suddenly made sense; she knew she could do what he said, and she knew what he was talking about. Theoretically, she could lift the cup to her mouth and drink from it on her own.
Beth pulled her other arm around in front of her and forced her hand up her torso with choppy movements. She grasped the cup loosely between her two shaking hands, her fingers tight and claw-like as she brought the cup to her lips. It felt awkward and uncoordinated, but she only spilled a little when she tipped the cup against her mouth.
The man nodded his approval, his small grin playing at the corner of his mouth again. His eyes flicked away from her quickly though, something else capturing his notice. He moved away from her side, following the path towards whatever it was that had snagged his attention. "Maybe this'll help us out," he said quietly and reached for the chart that hung at the end of her bed.
Smart man, Beth thought with a sigh of relief.
He took a pull of his own water as he read over the yellowing pages of her medical chart, and she crossed her fingers and toes that it held some insight into what the hell was the matter with her. But whatever seeds of hope that'd taken root in Beth's chest with the steadiness of her hands and the man's quick thinking…. Christ, they shriveled right up as she watched his frown grow deeper the longer he read.
"Wh…at's…it…say?" she asked, choking down her dread.
The man cleared his throat. Twice. He coughed. He rubbed his wrist against his brow. Beth wanted to shake him. He was doing everything in his power not to answer her. She would have thrown her cup at him if she possessed the arm strength to do so.
He turned his gaze to her, and it was almost furtive, like he hoped she wouldn't see him even though they were the only two people here, and they were only a couple feet apart. He let out a heavy sigh when he saw that she was looking right back at him with her eyebrows raised pointedly. He set his mouth in a firm line and cleared his throat again, this time with intent.
"Elizabeth Greene," he read, his eyes darted up to hers in confirmation. She tipped her head a little, letting him know that was indeed her name. "Elizabeth Greene," he repeated. "Cranial gunshot wound. Penetrating brain injury with damage to the left frontal lobe and left parietal lobe. Lacerations to the right forehead and left cheek. Coma, unconscious. Pupils responsive to stimuli, active brainstem functions, evidence of epilepsy…." His voice trailed off, until Beth didn't have any more words to hang on to. She only had his pitying stare and the thundering echoes of her own staccato breathing.
This had to be a joke. It was some sort of sick joke that Shawn took way too far and now she was absolutely going to tie him to the bumper of Daryl's truck and merrily drag him behind her as she drove home with the radio on full-blast.
"It says a lot more," the man said after a few moments. His voice was gentler now. "In your file, I mean. But it's a lot of medical jargon that I don' really understand." He paused. "I can keep readin' it if you want – "
"No!" she interrupted him. To her own ears, Beth's voice sounded a step past frantic and maybe just toeing the line of hysterical. "'S…not…true….I - I…I re…mem…ber…I we-nt…to…work….I te…xted…my…boy…friend….My…ma…ma…dr…rop…ped…me…off….I…was…fine.…I-I…I don'-I don'...re…mem…ber…. Wh-What…the…hell?"
The man grimaced, but didn't try to console her. She thought she might be thankful for that. He wasn't going to patronize her by making light of how fucking confusing and awful all of this was.
"I do think you were hurt," he said. His eyes ran over her face – facial lacerations – to her head – cranial gunshot wound. "You seem like you were hurt bad," he added quietly, gesturing loosely to her unsteady hands.
"But…If I…if 's so…bad – Wh…ere…are…th-ey? My-my…fam…ily?" If she'd been shot in the goddamn head, Beth had little doubt at least someone would be waiting anxiously for her to wake up. Maybe Maggie had to go back to school, or Daddy had a patient. Maybe Shawn had something to see to at the farm, but Mama'd be here. Daryl would too. She shouldn't be alone.
But she was. They were.
"I don't kn– ," he cut himself off when he saw the lashing of angry panic in Beth's expression. I don't know. Repeating the same tired words wasn't going to win him any favors with her. He smirked and answered sardonically, "I'm not sure." It wasn't much better than I don't know, but she'd have to settle for that. He glanced at the small table near her feet, covered in washed out greeting cards and her dried-up flowers. "My family isn't here either."
Beth winced internally, feeling selfish and a bit childish over her own reaction to all this. He was in the same boat as her, and they were adrift. They were both alone together, and she needed to remember that more than she needed to remember how she got here. She reminded herself that he had been nothing but kind to her; he had just as little as she did, and he hadn't run. She cleared her throat and when he met her eyes, she dipped her chin in acknowledgement of the heaviness of his words, and that she felt their weight too. Adrift and alone, but together.
She wanted to apologize again, for her fear and her barely controlled vitriol. It wasn't like her to be so at the whim of her emotions, but they felt different – she felt different. Everything she was feeling roiled just below the surface, pushing against her skin and threatening to burn her up. She felt everything all at once, and it was frightening. The unfamiliarity made her afraid and her reactions made her embarrassed and she worried that if she had in fact been shot in the head, what was the extent of the damage? Was this her now? Was she wrong? Would she never be herself…. Would she never feel right again?
Don't panic now, Bethy. Unpack it later, when you're able. Daddy's voice was so close and so clear, as if he stood just there at her shoulder, the soft grin she knew so well reassuring her that it'd be alright. You're a strong girl. You're a strong Greene, through and through. Do what needs doing, focus on the now. Everything else will still be there later, and maybe you'll have more answers then.
Seal it up tight, have a breakdown later. She could do that. Do what needs doing.
Instead of apologizing again or breaking out in violent, earth-shattering sobs like she wanted to, Beth asked, "Wha'…hap-pen-ed… to… you?" When the man raised his eyebrows in question, she clarified, "You-r…ban-dage."
"Same as you. Got shot." He reached up to touch the dirty bandage on his chest.
"You…re-mem…ber?" she asked, frustration seeping into her tone.
He shrugged. "It's not surprisin' that you don' remember gettin' hurt. I was shot in the chest, not in the head."
She snickered softly at his words. It was a ridiculous reaction and it hurt to do, but jeez did it feel worth it. What even was her reality anymore? She was comparing gunshot wounds with a stranger. You're a real badass, Beth Greene.
He scoffed, smirking back at her as though he'd had the same surreal realization. "Trauma does funny things to our memories," he said, furthering his point. "I promise you, I'd be shocked to hell if you could remember what happened to you. Likely the only reason I can recall wha' happened to me is that I'm a sheriff's deputy – we're taught to remember things in more detail than you normally would." He tilted his head back and forth a little. "That and the headshot."
She chuckled a little, but It was something at least. Whether it was true or not, what he said made Beth feel a little less frightened, a little less vulnerable. Her alarm and agitation were hollering loudly for her attention, bold and brash as could be. But underneath all that she sensed there was something else, something smaller and sharper that was driving those louder emotions forward. She had no connection to the trauma that'd wrought havoc on her body, she felt like she should have remembered it, like she should have known what had been done to her. She felt the hot swell of shame that curled around her anger and fear, pushing her to blame this stranger, to make him stop looking at her with pity in his eyes, to make it all just make sense.
But his words helped, because maybe her shame didn't have a place here among the louder things she was feeling. Maybe she could pack it away for a little while.
"Wh-wha's…your…na-me?" Beth asked him. She wanted to know, and she asked because he was kind, and because she felt like she knew him better than she did before.
The man put down her chart, passing his cup to his left hand so he could extend his right one. "Rick Grimes," he said, introducing himself.
Beth shifted her empty cup to grip it as well as she could with one hand, and reached her shaking hand up to his. Her strength gave out as she placed it in his, resulting in more of a slap than a handshake. It'd have to do.
"Be-th…Gr-ee-ne."
"It's nice to meet you, Beth Greene," he told her, his tone suffused with a genuine sort of kindness. It touched something in her chest to hear it.
"You…too," she replied, her mouth kicking up just a little.
Rick let go of her hand, and turned to look over his shoulder. He was considering the door that likely led out to the hallway beyond their room. "Beth, I'm going to look for a nurse. Maybe – I don' know, hopefully someone can help us out. Maybe give us an idea of what's goin' on." He paused before adding, "Maybe there was a hurricane, took out the power or somethin'."
Before she could object, tell him how wrong all of this felt – because no matter how she ended up here in this hospital with a blown-apart head, Beth knew that if things were really alright, then someone in her family would be here with her; she knew that in her bones – he'd already turned and limped across the room. When he went to pull the door open, she could see the shadows of something blocking his way.
"There's a bed in front of the door," he murmured over his shoulder. Then he pushed it away, and the door swung shut behind him.
The second Rick stepped out of their room, Beth was gripped with a sudden inexplicable urge to call him back. It choked her, grabbed hold of her throat with a terror so visceral she couldn't speak. She didn't want him to go, to leave her behind all alone in a silent hospital room. Her adrenaline surged, riding along on the wave of her fear, and she knew, more than she knew anything else in her short blessed life, that she could not remain in this bed. She needed to move. Now.
She could tell without even trying that she wouldn't be able to just sit up. Each bit of her was weak, everything hurt more than she could really begin to process. Each muscle cried out when she flexed it and every bone ached when she shifted her limbs.
I can't do this, she wanted to cry out to…whom? The universe? Her family? Daryl? No one was listening, and she didn't think anyone was coming. But, I can't do this.
You can. Put it away. Maggie's voice spoke up then. Get stubborn. Dig your heels in and get the hell up, Beth.
Get up. Move. Now.
She gritted her teeth and painstakingly inched her legs sideways until they neared the edge of her bed, each small movement a test of masochistic endurance. She was going to punch Maggie in the arm when she saw her, because this was just awful.
Once she'd gotten as far as she could without toppling off the bed like Rick had, Beth dug her hands in, gripping the bed sheets so hard she was sure her nails would tear a hole clean through them. Get the hell up, Beth. She shifted her weight, took a deep breath, and pushed herself up with a guttural moan. At the same time, she gave herself over to gravity, letting the weight of her left leg tip off the bed first, quickly followed by her right. She wanted to scream with the pain and gasped soundlessly with exertion, but all at once she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She couldn't believe it actually worked.
Glancing down, Beth took a moment to study herself. What she could see of her body was pale and thin. She wore a loose hospital gown that tied at the side; the extra material was tangled around her thighs and hips, creased and rough with sweat and inactivity. The ends of her blonde hair brushed against the back of her arms, and she went to shake it away without thinking. The heavy weight of her hair felt uneven and her movements caused it to yank ruthlessly at her throbbing head. She clenched her jaw and breathed through it, her greasy tangles spreading across her shoulders. She stared at her bare legs with a feeling of detached comprehension. They were covered with blonde hair that caught the dull light shining in from the window.
Beth knew that on the last morning she could call to mind, she had shaved her legs.
She'd been asleep a long time.
In the fairy tales her mama'd always read to her when she was little, the princess would wake up after a long sleep and everything would be better. She'd awaken to a tidy resolution and a happily ever after.
But something pulled at her, something that felt vaguely like Daryl's strong fingers tugging insistently on her wrist or Maggie's voice whispering caution in her ear; whatever it was, it told her this wasn't like the fairy tales of her childhood. Beth needed to be stronger than the princess – she needed to get her skinny behind up and moving, or else she would get left.
Forgive me, Daddy, but there is no fucking way I'm getting left behind.
Rick stepped back into the room just as she started to lean her weight forward, and thank God, because for all her bravado and bullheaded determination, she didn't think she would have been able to stand on her own for very long at all.
"Don't," he cautioned, accurately reading the situation. "Let me help." His voice was quieter now, but sharp with an edge that wasn't there before. He limped over to her, and moved his forearms under her own, taking her weight as he pulled her to stand. He winced at the shift in balance, and Beth could picture the strain she was putting on the injury beneath his dirty bandages.
"'M…sor-ry," she said again. And she was really and truly sorry for causing Rick pain, but there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell she was letting go of him.
"Don't," he repeated, shaking his head for emphasis. "You don' weigh anything, I'm just woefully out of shape."
"Try-in' …to…save…face?" she asked, her mouth pulling up in a small smile. Beth hoped he knew she was aiming for levity. She suspected they would sorely need it, if the shadow behind Rick's eyes was anything to go by.
"Yes, ma'am." Thank the Lord he found her funny.
A slow grin lifted the corners of Rick's mouth when he laughed and Beth watched as it transformed his face into something kinder than it had been. The harsh cut of tension that seemed to hang over him smoothed out with his smile, making room for warm sunlight and new growth. It was a moment Beth wouldn't soon forget, one that she may one day look back on and think, that's when I knew Rick was a good man. I knew I could follow him out and it might just be okay.
He let out a long exhale and Beth felt the energy around her solidify with subtle unease. "Now, can you walk at all?" he asked her. Rick's voice changed with the loss of his smile, abruptly weighed down by an urgency that unsettled her.
God, no. Are you out of your mind? I can't walk at all, Rick Grimes.
Beth wanted to scream her thoughts at him, shake him until that ridiculous hopeful expression slid off his face and died at her feet. Another part of her wanted to crawl back in bed, hide under the covers until this nightmare ended and she finally woke up back where she was supposed to be. That part was beckoning, and God in heaven, it was tempting. She could go back to sleep and maybe she'd get a reprieve from the horrible mess of pain that was clinging to her like a second skin. She could forget about the fear and the confusion and maybe, God maybe, she could pretend it wasn't real and it would all go away.
But another part of her – a louder, more disruptive part of her, one that was pounding on the wall and demanding to be heard, God damn it – was shoving its way forward. Beth had invariably tried to be a good girl, but there was always a side to her that was desperate to just throw up two middle fingers at the world's expectations and stomp on by. It was the resilient part of her, the part that had grabbed her by the spine and pushed her to take hold of her own life without asking for permission or apologizing for any of it. It was the brave part of her that'd compelled her to march right up to Daryl on her eighteenth birthday and kiss him for all she was worth. It was the strongest part of her, the one that chose to love Daryl day-in and day-out in the face of everything that was hard and ugly and hurtful. That part told her she had better fucking walk, gosh darn it.
"I…can…t-try," she told Rick resolutely.
"Let's go then," he said with a nod of approval.
Letting out a shaky breath, Beth managed to lift one foot a little off the ground and pushed it forward with a slight drag. She did it again with her other foot. Again, another step forward. Each step was a grueling, awkward shuffle; her bones screamed with fatigue and her muscles refused to entirely obey her mind. She wanted to walk out of here, she wanted to run home, but she didn't think her legs were listening too well. So she shambled forward and fought back the urge to weep.
For what seemed like the hundredth time since she woke up, Beth considered what'd happened to her. When had she been hurt? Who had hurt her? How would she get better? A gnawing frightened part of her agonized about where everybody was. Shouldn't they be here? Shouldn't it be someone else helping her, instead of an injured stranger who was bedridden just like her?
None of this was right.
Shawn should be making her laugh through her tears, and Maggie should be driving her nuts with her constant questions. Mama should be at her side, patient and smiling as she carried Beth forward; Daddy should be offering gentle motivation and worried glances at her feet.
Daryl should…. God, if he was here, Daryl would be fighting the urge to just pick her up and carry her where she needed to go, but he'd listen too. He'd know that she needed to do it herself, so he'd narrow his eyes at her and grumble things like girl, stop lookin' at me. You need to watch yer damn feet. Pick 'em up or you'll trip. Jus' got your ass outta that damn coma, don' need you knockin' yerself out again.
But they weren't here. It was just this man – this Rick Grimes, with his good memory and his gunshot wound and his shared confusion. But he wasn't leaving her, and he didn't try to rush her even though she knew without a doubt that if he'd woken up alone, he'd be long gone by now.
"You're doing good, Beth." Rick's voice interrupted the ceaseless swirl of unpleasantness that had been churning in her head.
She hummed to acknowledge his words, but surmised that he wasn't expecting much more of a response from her as she pushed her useless feet forward and tried not to trip on her toes.
She wanted to thank him, for more than just the encouragement at this point – knew that if her mama was here she'd be cutting her eyes at Beth to mind her manners, it didn't matter if she'd been shot in the head. But it was taking every bit of her concentration and every ounce of her strength to keep shuffling herself forward. To keep struggling through the miserable hurt and lift her feet so she wouldn't stumble. She gritted her teeth, and hoped Rick wouldn't take her answering grimace personally.
It took longer for her to walk to the door than it had ever taken her to do anything in her life. She felt trapped by her body, like it was dragging her down, determined to stay here and rot in this hospital room while her mind clamored to sprint out the door. She was desperate to push past Rick, to wave goodbye and holler a grateful thank you! over her shoulder as she raced off to find her family. She wanted it so bad, the urge to do just that was throwing itself against her clenched teeth.
"How're you feelin'?" Rick asked when they were only a couple steps from their door and miles away from her bed.
"Li-ke…I…got…sh-ot," she muttered grouchily without taking her eyes off her feet.
Rick snorted and breathed out a laugh. Beth appreciated his sense of humor, or at least his sense of tolerance for her grumpiness.
As they reached the door, Beth looked up and didn't miss when Rick glanced back over his shoulder. His lips were pressed together and he sighed heavily, like he was trying to gear himself up for something he didn't want to do.
"Wh…at's…wro-ng?" she asked him, taking in the worry that clouded his face.
He shifted his shoulders like he was uncomfortable, but didn't loosen his grip on her arms. "Somethin's not right out there. I don' know what's goin' on, but no one's here." She must have looked doubtful, or like she thought him prone to dramatics, because he shook his head before she could respond, quick and edging towards frantic. "Phones don' work, looks like the main power's off…." Rick paused and met her eyes straight-on. She felt something slimy and nightmarish slide across her shoulder blades at his next words. "Beth, no one's out there."
Those feelings of unnamed dread that had been curdling in Beth's stomach started working their way up her throat. She worried if left unchecked, they may turn into a scream. If there was no one out there, where were they? Perhaps a question that invited a more frightening answer would be, why is no one here?
With Rick's foreboding declaration hanging between them, he hooked his heel around the bottom of the door and nudged it open with his foot so he wouldn't be forced to let go of her arms. She dropped her eyes and stared fixedly at her bare feet, not wanting to watch the hospital room disappear behind her. She knew that once she crossed the threshold, there was no way to go back. Rick wouldn't turn back, and while she ultimately didn't want to either, nothing made sense right now, and the shedding of one more thing, however brief its familiarity, was something that scared her a little.
But they couldn't go back. Rick had people. Beth had people. And no matter what was waiting for the two of them outside of their room, they had to keep going forward.
Beth lifted her head.
Christ.
Christ, Rick was right. What in the world…?
She'd seen pictures of warzones on the internet when she'd done research for a history project last year. There had been a few photos taken at a hospital that had struck her as particularly heartbreaking. A place of healing and hope that'd been sullied by violence. The broken machines, the layer of plaster dust that coated every sterile surface, the bloody smears left behind by those seeking aid. The pictures were different from this place though; in all the news footage she'd seen showcasing the brutality and the fear, documenting the agony and the desperation, there were always people. The cameras always showed the mayhem of crowds shoving each other, fathers wailing as they held the lolling bodies of their lifeless children, old women sitting stunned as blood trickled from head wounds – the shouting images of humanity at its most devastated.
There was none of that here. It looked the same – the dark useless computer screens, the dust, the blood – Jesus, the blood was everywhere – but Rick was right. No one was here, and it was silent. Silent as a tomb, quiet as the grave – whatever the phrase, it applied to this place.
The lights flickered overhead, possibly powered by the last gasps of a generator hidden in a basement somewhere. They threw the angles of Rick's face into darkness, making him look like someone she didn't recognize. For a moment, Beth didn't know who he was, what he was doing there with his tight grip on her arm and his troubled glances at the broken furniture that littered the hallway as they staggered by. She gasped as the panic flooded through her, the moment of horrified discomposure seizing her by the hair and twisting hard. But with the next step forward, the man's face was out of the shadows, and he was Rick again.
Lord Almighty. Her brain. God, her brain was a mess. Every step felt like a million miles of hard road, and with every pace and every thought Beth felt tapestries of confusion weave themselves around her. Her hands felt as useless as baseball mitts and she had the sneaking suspicion that if Rick asked her a question, she might not know how to answer it. Like before, with the water. It's just water. Lift it up and drink it. Before Rick had said it, she didn't have any idea what to do. She would have held that fucking cup of water until she died.
Was this what she was now? How would she even get home? If she ever made it there, what would her family say when they looked at this cracked, broken version of Beth Greene? She had a hole in her brain and now it didn't work right. Beth wasn't crazy, she wasn't stupid, but she didn't trust her own mind to be completely honest with her anymore. She had to put her trust somewhere else.
In her instincts. In Rick.
Let him help you, Bethy, her mama's voice whispered. He seems like a good man.
May be a good man, Daryl's rough voice countered. But he don' know you. He won' give up his life to save yers. 'Specially if he's got family to find. Same as you, girl. Get home to yours. Take the hand if he's offerin', but keep an eye out for yourself, and stay alive.
"What, Beth?" Rick whispered, bending his head a little to meet her eyes.
Keep going, sweetheart. Keep movin'.
I promise, Daryl. I'll keep movin'.
"I…my br…ain…It…ai-n't…right." she admitted. And Christ, she wanted to wail in frustration, because that was the most obvious statement in the world, wasn't it? She could barely speak, hardly walk; the jumbled pieces of her mind were mixed up in a way she suspected they may never get sorted back to rights. "It's…scar-in'... me." Beth looked around. "On…top…of…all…th-is." She jerked her chin to the door next to them. The handle was smeared with a bloody handprint. "'M…scar-ed…Ri-ck," she told him.
"Me too," he confessed. "We'll find someone who can help us, someone to answer your questions 'bout your head."
Lord, please. Let him be right. Beth wanted answers just as much as she wanted to find her family.
They reached the nurses' station, but they didn't stop. There were papers strewn everywhere and the computers were all dark. Above the desks, the clock had stopped a little after 2:15. Glancing up at it, Beth wondered if disaster had struck in the morning or the afternoon. What were people doing with their days, when the two of them had been left behind.
"I tried the phones here, but they didn' work," Rick said, continuing on past the messy scene. "Do you need to stop, or do you want t' keep goin'?"
What Beth wanted was to fall down on the dirty floor and plead with him to carry her back to her hospital bed, because she knew deep down it was all going to get a lot harder and so much worse than she could ever imagine. But she wouldn't. She'd just promised Daryl, even if he didn't know it. And Greenes kept their promises.
Hell yeah they do, Greene. She could even see Daryl's teasing smirk in her broken mind's eye.
She had to keep going. Don't get left.
"Le-t's…go," Beth breathed. Keep movin'. "Jus'...need…a…sec."
They paused to rest next to a set of swinging doors that led to another wing of the hospital. While she'd focused on walking, Beth had been able to keep the deep pounding waves of pain at bay. The second she stopped though, they came crashing through with all the destructive force of a tidal wave. She wanted to curl up on herself in mindless defense from the onslaught, but Rick's hands remained braced on her arms, and he wouldn't let her fall. God damn him for it.
About to thank him or curse him for his firm hold on her, Beth turned her head to cast a cursory glance through the glass. She expected more of the complete absence of everything and everyone they'd seen so far, but…. "Oh…," she whispered.
She thought it was a mannequin, not because it made sense that it would be, but because what she saw decidedly did not make sense. It was a… nurse? A woman? She couldn't tell. It was a head, with tufts of matted bloody hair. It was shiny white bones and bloody ropes of muscle. It was the sunken depression of a body that had nothing left to hold it together. It was cheery blue scrubs stained black with blood and viscera. Beth didn't see anything left that would have made her definitively say it was a person on the other side of that glass; there wasn't enough left.
Merciful God, what happened?
"Ri-ck…wha…," she tried to ask, but was cut off.
"Let's keep movin'," his voice was thick with horror, and she felt less alone for it.
Beth was a shell, yes. But at least she still had the pieces to try and put herself back together again. There was enough of her left behind. She was more than the macabre remains of a person spread out on the floor. She was still here.
So she did as Rick said, and they kept moving. The hallways were a maze, each looked the same as the one before. They saw no one else – no other patients like them, no more bodies that didn't look like any bodies Beth had seen before. Only what remained of that one lone nurse, left behind on the grimy hospital floor to serve as a harbinger of violent nauseated terror, marking their passage into whatever awful nightmare they'd awoken to. They passed under tangles of wires and sidestepped piles of broken ceiling tiles. Her feet pushed aside dropped pens and crumpled pieces of paper. All normal remnants of a hospital left to crumble in absentia.
The doors to the other patients' rooms hung open on their hinges, welcoming them in and begging for company. Each one was empty.
They stumbled through a darkened section of the hallway, and as Beth turned her head to peer into the gloom of another vacant doorway she noticed the blood stains on the walls, arcing high above her head in some places and splashed low towards the ground in others. She traced the grisly chaos with her eyes as they passed.
"Those're bullet holes," Rick murmured. His jaw clenched when he spoke. Beth saw it happen, and her throat clicked as she swallowed, like she was swallowing down his unspoken horror along with her own.
She had to look away from the wall, remembering those images from the internet. Wars. Crimes against humanity. Ugliness that took society by the nape of the neck and shook it around.
"Whatever it was, it was bad." He turned his eyes away too.
Beth agreed with him, imagining all the awful things that she'd never once thought could happen in her own backyard. She gripped Rick's arms a little tighter.
Don't get left.
At the end of the blood-soaked corridor they met another set of doors, held shut with a loop of chain and a small piece of wood. The chains were hastily padlocked in a kind of haphazard way that made the fine hairs on the back of Beth's arms stand up. The words though, her brain couldn't make sense of the big black words spray-painted on the doors.
Don't Open. Dead Inside.
"I…don'... Ri-ck?" she stammered.
Maybe this was something else that was wrong with her. Maybe she couldn't correctly process the things she read anymore and her brain was making stuff up to fill in the blanks. Beth loved to read and it'd be a loss, but honestly, at this moment she thought she'd take the hit if it meant the ominous warning she was staring at wasn't somehow true.
Because Holy Mary, Mother of God, there were hands pushing the doors open, and they didn't look right.
The skin of the hands was awash with a sickly gray tint and the nails were torn and dark with something that looked a lot like the black blood that coated the hallway back where they'd seen the remains of that body. The image of a puzzle piece clicking into place flashed across Beth's mind, and she shook her head in unconscious denial. The bloody hands, the bloody thing that used to be a person…they went together; it all fit together in a way that shouldn't be real.
But it was the noises coming from behind those doors that worried her the most. There were no voices raised in agitation, no calls for help or the timid raising of a voice asking hello who's out there?
The sounds of growling filled Beth's ears, and it made her want to vomit up everything she'd ever eaten; because what she was hearing was the sound of predators chorusing for their prey to get ready for the hunt. Her heart was beating a panicked tattoo within her chest, each beat shrieking at the animal parts of her brain to fucking run.
If only she could. If only.
Keep movin'.
Rick didn't say anything, but he shepherded her away from the doors with less care than he had taken before. The alarm in his eyes matched hers, and his arms shook under the palms of her hands. At least she wasn't alone in her terror, it was settling in cozy right alongside the both of them.
The spine-chilling noises faded from Beth's ears as Rick steered them around a corner, pulling her towards the stairwell. Oh, dear. No. She couldn't. Not only did she doubt the strength of her legs to keep her from spilling down the staircase, but she was very unexpectedly aware of the terrifying fact that she couldn't actually remember how to walk up and down the stairs. She could sense the knowledge there in her muscles – she knew it was there, but it remained just out of reach; it felt like her mind and her body were constantly slipping just out of each other's grasp while she was fighting tooth and nail for a handhold.
"I…ca-n't….I - I…don'...kn-know…how." Beth shook her head in abject disbelief as she spoke.
Rick looked at her with confusion.
"The…sta-irs…I…can't…My…br-ain." Beth wanted to explain it to him, but she could barely process what was malfunctioning within her own body, let alone describe it accurately to someone else. "Be-fore…li-ke…w-with…the…wa-ter," she tried again. "Don'...kn-ow…th-ings…like…I…sh-should."
Rick stared at her for a long moment, his sharp blue eyes evaluating her. Beth knew she must not inspire confidence – knew that she was a liability at best, and the pulled linchpin in this death trap at worst. She could barely walk. It took her a gosh darn year to get a sentence out and every move she made was drenched in frailty and suffering. Her brain had forgotten how to do mundane tasks, and now Rick was going to leave her. He should leave her. It was the practical choice, the right thing to do to ensure his own survival. He'd go and she'd be left here, stuck at the top of the stairs until whatever was haunting this hospital came and found her.
But, God.
The thought of staying here as Rick walked away through the stairwell door, of remaining here with those nightmare hands and that nurse's bones and the empty tomb-like halls…. She'd rather die. She'd rather he toss her down the stairs himself or cut those chains off the doors and yell c'mon, come and get her, because she just didn't have the mental capacity to handle what it would mean for her to stay here alone.
"Pl-pl-ea-se…don'…lea-ve…m-me…he-re," she burst out in a low whisper, wild panic tearing the words out of her. "Pl-ease…Rick."
To Rick's credit, he appeared almost offended. "No. Never. We're getting out of here together." He lifted one hand and cupped her face firmly. The same gesture from another man could have been considered intimate. But from him, in this hallway and on the cusp of stepping forward together into bedlam – it felt heartening. Reassuring. "I will not leave you behind. I promise you that, Beth." And she believed him, Lord help her, but she did. "But I don' know what's out there, so I'm gonna need you to follow my lead. Can you do that?"
"Don'…got…a…ch-choice-ce…do I?" God her mama would die if she could hear Beth snarking at this man. This police officer who was helping her. She just couldn't help herself; Daryl's voice telling her to watch her back was getting all twisted up with her doubts and it was making her lash out. Making her reckless when there wasn't time for that shit.
Rick scoffed at her grousing; so at least he wasn't taking it personally. "Can you, Beth?" he asked again.
He was willing to bear the weight of her burden, if she was willing to follow where he led. She wanted to assure him that she wouldn't have a meltdown and he wouldn't have to tend to her while he quietly lost his own shit. She wanted to tell him that she knew he needed her to trust him, so that they could get the heck out of here and find their families and maybe a doctor who could explain to her what exactly had happened to her fractured brain.
"Ye-s. I'm…wi-th…you," Beth said.
He nodded. It was enough for both of them.
As Rick began to guide her forward once again, she watched the full force of what he'd just promised settle over him. He was a good enough man that she didn't think he'd ever truly regret standing by her, but Beth could see his mind reeling as he tried to work out all the complications that came with his word. Perhaps he wouldn't leave her, but they were both hurt, tragically so, and now they needed to get down multiple flights of stairs. Beth fought against the impulse to laugh, knowing it was wildly inappropriate and that it most likely wouldn't help any.
Rick set his mouth in a grim line and squared his shoulders, as if he was already bracing for the hurt. "I'll have to carry you," he told her with a decisive nod.
Beth almost did laugh now. "You…wil-l…not," she replied in turn, because, no way. "You-re…hurt-t….'S…pr-o-bab-ly…d-da-rk." She's more than certain he'd further injure himself if he were to carry her, likely tearing open his stitches or rupturing something the second he lifted her scrawny behind off the ground. And if it's dark, as she suspected it very likely was, he'd certainly trip on the stairs and then they'd both break their necks as they tumbled down into the great beyond. So yeah, no way, no thank you.
"I'm not sure what else t' do, Beth," Rick admitted helplessly. "You can't walk down the stairs without me. And I grabbed matches at the nurses' station, but I don' think you'll be able to hold on to me while I light 'em. And your hands…."
He didn't finish his thought, but Beth didn't need to be reminded. Her hands were clumsy enough trying to hold a cup, and this was no time to rest on baseless faith that her fine motor skills would make a miraculous reappearance in time to light some matches for him. She wasn't going to do him any good no matter which way she looked at it. Maybe he should leave her behind.
What? Daryl's voice sounded annoyed in her head; one could even call it a little bit scandalized. Don' be an idiot, girl.
Right. No. Keep movin', Greene. Beth mentally straightened her spine. She needed to go back to basics. How did you learn to get around before you knew what your body could do?
"I'll…s-it…on th-the…stai-rs….Sc-oot…down." she said, trying to sound as decisive as Rick had even as the idea was still coming together when she spoke the words out loud.
"Like a kid?" Rick asked with a small teasing smile in the corner of his mouth. She worried he was about to laugh at her, but, "Good idea, much smarter than anythin' I woulda suggested."
Warmth. Rick's words made her feel warm with the knowledge that maybe she wasn't entirely screwed, and that was the best thing she'd felt since she woke up in this hell.
They entered the stairwell cautiously, and it was worse; it was so much worse. And indeed darker than Beth could have imagined.
Beth realized all at once that there'd been a low-key unpleasant smell hovering on the edge of her consciousness since she woke up. Something sweet and slightly gag-inducing that she hadn't let herself fully dissect. But in that small, enclosed stairwell, the smell reared up from the inky stagnant air and backhanded her across the face. Bile rushed up her throat and threatened to choke her. She didn't think about her unsteadiness as she ripped her hand from Rick's arm to cover her mouth, whimpering at the pungent stench.
"Wh-at…is…tha-t?" she asked, her voice muffled by her trembling fingers.
She couldn't see Rick's face, but she heard the sharp exhalations of his breath and could imagine he was also trying to force the smell out of his nose.
"'S death," he said quietly. "Smells like a dead body, honestly."
Don't open. Dead inside.
Merciful God, what the hell have you done?
They didn't speak as he pivoted her to lean against the wall, shifting her weight so that she could slide down to the floor. Beth didn't have anything on under her thin hospital gown, and the tile floor felt shockingly cold in the stuffy heat of the stairwell. It left her feeling oddly exposed, and she hastily tucked the loose edges of her gown under her thighs just as Rick lit the first match.
Beth met Rick's eyes over the small flickering light that burned between them, and for a moment the reality of their isolation stole the breath from her lungs. They were alone. She was alone with a man she didn't know, no matter how much she wanted to trust him. Every one of Maggie's warnings about the ill-intents of boys in dark places flared up in the background of her consciousness. A flash of unsubstantiated panic burned hot in chest, frightening her to the point of immobility. The force of it was overwhelming, paralyzing – it turned her insides to liquid and the impulse to push Rick down the stairs in some absurd bid of self-preservation hit her fast and hard, and Christ, she almost gave into it…. But then, oh. It was just…gone. The fear and the violence and the terror went away, like a cloud dissipating after a summer storm.
What the holy hell was that?
Beth squeezed her eyes shut and ground her teeth together until she thought they might shatter. She felt unnerved and agitated, because whatever had just occurred in the dark spiral of her mind didn't feel like it had been her. The twists and turns felt like they belonged to another person, and she was just along for the ride in someone else's psyche. What more proof did she need that she was broken?
And Rick hadn't once made her feel unsafe. He didn't look at her bare legs with anything other than concerned inquiry, he took her issues in stride, and promised he wouldn't leave her. He could have taken off, perhaps he should have, but he said he wouldn't. Beth thought he may be good. He may in fact be great. Like Daddy, or Daryl.
God really needed to show the heck up and deliver her to a doctor as soon as possible, because Rick hadn't done anything to warrant the mood swings she kept tossing his way.
Trust your instincts.
Trust Rick.
When Beth opened her eyes, Rick was frowning down at her. She didn't want to explain what'd transpired in her thoughts, so when he tilted his head to the side and she knew he was about to suggest something ridiculously dumb like carrying her again, she seized the opportunity to cut him off at the pass. "G-go….I'll…fol-low you…down."
He pressed his lips together, looking for all the world like he was physically biting back his dissent.
"Hur-ry…up," she prompted him, lifting her chin at the pitch black in front of them. "My… but-t's…cold."
His lips twitched a tiny bit at her words, and she could sense his half-hearted consternation battling his wry amusement. Rick let go of a blustering exhale, and nodded his acceptance. "Alright."
Beth saw how unsteady he was as he descended that first step. He gripped the railing, and in the dim light his knuckles looked white as the bones beneath his skin. He wasn't as shaky as she was, but she considered it a miracle they'd made it this far between the two of them.
Rick made it down three steps before he needed to stop and light another match. Beth scooted forward, using her arms to push her weight to the edge of the step. She'd never doubted her strength before – what needed doing got done, her body could do what was asked of it. Now she was pleading with it, begging for it to go further, to keep going, to please not give up, and she wasn't at all sure she was going to like its answer.
Her butt fell off the sudden edge of the step, hitting the one below it with a jarring impact and loosening a huff of breath from her.
"You alright?" Rick asked from a few steps below her.
Her behind would be bruised something fierce and her spine was still vibrating, but considering how her day had gone so far, Beth figured it could've been worse.
"Fi-ne…jus'... sur…pris-ed me," she grumbled.
Beth heard Rick snort from somewhere in front of her.
The next step hurt less, and so she kept moving down. Going forward. Getting out.
Keep movin'.
The vile smell got worse the further down they went, and more than once she thought she heard Rick gag.
It took them six matches to reach the bottom of the stairs. Her butt was most definitely going to be black and blue, but neither of them broke an ankle or snapped their necks, so she'd call it a victory.
When they opened the doors and stepped into the harsh sunlight, Beth knew her world was over.
She leaned hard against Rick, her elbow slung over his shoulder and his arm wrapped tight around her waist, and as they took in the devastation laid out before them, she had the absurd thought that this was never a fairy tale.
And for a moment, Beth wished she'd never woken up.