Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The exchange was supposed to be peaceful.
A trade of lives. A clean exit. Beth had walked forward with her chin raised, eyes steady, heart pounding. She saw Noah ahead of her. Daryl waiting, Rick ready. She met Rick first, his hand cupping the back of her head in a fatherly embrace, lips grazing the top as he gently pushed her towards the rest of the group as she cast another weary glance back the way she came that was pulled back by Daryl’s calloused hand on her shoulder, and in that moment she truly felt safe.

“Glad we could work things out.” Dawn’s voice was controlled, smooth.

Rick paused, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah.” his voice curt and uninterested as he turned back to his group who had already started to inch towards the exit doors.

But Dawn had to have the last word. “Now I just need Noah.”

Beth froze.

“Then you can leave.”

The room tensed like a live wire.

Beth saw Rick turn his back to them now.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Noah’s my ward.” Dawn pressed, her gaze unwavering. “Beth took his place and now I’m losing her so I need him back.”

Officer Shepherd spoke up behind Dawn, her voice weak but pleading. “M’am, plea–”

“Shut up.” Dawn snapped, silencing her subordinate. “My officers put their lives on the line to find him, one of them died.”

Daryl bristled, a palm shooting out against Noah’s chest to stop him from moving forward. “No.” He lightly pushed the boy back, squaring up next to Rick. “He ain’t stayin.”

“He’s one of mine, you have no claim on him.”

“The boy wants to go home.” Rick’s voice remained steady despite the tension. “So you have no claim on him.”

“Well.” Dawn tilted her head, lips pursing. “Then we don’t have a deal.”

“The deal –” Rick’s reply was quick, tone now terse. “Is done.”

Beth tightened her jaw as Noah stumbled past her. “I-it’s okay!” He stammered, eyes flicking between Rick and Dawn as he moved forward.

“No.” Rick held out a hand to stop him. “No –”

Limping up to him, Noah looked at Rick, his eyes sad and expression resigned. “I gotta do it.” He reached into the back of his pants, pulling free the pistol Rick had given him and offering it back.

“That’s not okay –” the words tumbled past Beth’s lips, hoarse and so soft that nobody heard her.

“Then it’s settled.”

Though Dawn’s face remained neutral, Beth bristled as she picked up the undertones of smug satisfaction in her voice. “No!” She rushed past the others. “Wait –” wrapping her arms around Noah in a tight hug, face pressed against his shoulder.

“It’s okay…” Noah smiled at the gesture, but his eyes held all the despair he kept in.

Dawn’s eyes flicked to Noah. “I knew you’d be back.”

And Beth — bruised, scarred, finally free — snapped. Slowly she dropped her arms from around Noah, tear stained eyes now bright and fierce. She turned, facing Dawn with a cold expression. “I get it now.”

Dawn’s brow quirked, eyes narrowing slightly as her head tilted, gaze searching the blonde’s face as if she could find the answer in her features, missing how she reached into her cast and drew the small, sharpened scissors.

A flick of the wrist. A lunge.

Steel met flesh.

The gunshot shattered the hallway.

Daryl barely saw the movement. One moment Beth was stepping forward, something fierce and defiant in her eyes—then came the flash and the blood.

She fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

He didn’t remember moving.
Didn’t remember lifting the pistol.
Didn’t remember pulling the trigger.
Rick yelling, "Daryl—!"

The shot.
Her body hitting the floor.
But that wasn’t enough.
Daryl was on her before anyone could stop him. He tackled Dawn’s limp form, teeth bared, fists raining down. Restraint, grief, loss—Merle, Sophia, Hershel, Beth—all of it exploded through him.

Rick lunged forward, grabbing Daryl by the shoulders. “She’s gone, Daryl—stop it!”

But Daryl was shaking, face twisted in anguish, fury spilling out in guttural sobs.
“No! She didn’t have to—she didn’t have to—she was –”

Behind them, a voice choked out a weak sound. “Daryl...?”

It was barely more than a breath.

But he froze.

Rick stopped pulling. Everyone turned.

Beth was still on the ground, unmoving—but her fingers twitched and her eyes fluttered.

“Beth?” Carol’s voice broke as she rushed forward. “Oh my God—Beth!”

Daryl stumbled toward her, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered over her, bloodied, trembling.

The bullet had torn a deep gash above her temple. Blood soaked her hair. But her chest rose. Her eyes blinked, unfocused, dazed—but alive.

“She’s breathing,” Carol confirmed, pressing gauze to the wound, her hands steady even as tears streamed down her face. “The bullet grazed her. Didn’t go in.”

Daryl fell backward like someone had yanked the soul out of him and he stared at his hands—Dawn’s blood, Beth’s blood, all over them.

Rick crouched beside him, steady. “She’s alive, Daryl. We’ve got her.”

Daryl just nodded, numb.

Everything after was chaos.

The hospital cops were rattled, guns drawn, half of them yelling about breach of terms. But when they saw Beth alive— they paused.

Noah stepped in, his hands raised. “This doesn’t need to go any farther.” Noah’s voice trembled. “We all know what she was like, what she was turning into.” He gestured at Dawn’s fallen body.

Officer Shepherd found her tongue again, clearing her throat as she tentatively stepped forward with her hands raised and gun holstered. “She was unstable. We all knew it.”

Another nodded grimly after a moment of reflection “She was gonna get us all killed.”

Rick didn’t holster his weapon, but he lowered it slightly. “We take our people and go. You stay here, keep your little kingdom. No one else dies tonight.”

There was a long pause.

Then a nod.

Agreement.

The Grady group moved to treat Beth’s wound without resistance. The rest of Rick’s people circled close, weapons raised, but tension slowly bled out of the air.

Daryl stood over Beth the whole time, jaw clenched, silent and still. When she winced in pain, he flinched harder than she did.

Chapter Text

That night they camped a few miles from the city, using a scavenged ambulance as shelter.

Beth was unconscious, her head wrapped in clean white gauze, her breathing shallow but steady. They gave her antibiotics, fluids, and rest. Hershel would’ve said the body does the work when it’s safe enough to start, and still, Daryl hadn’t left her side.

Rick came to him around midnight, crouching by the back bumper of the vehicle.
“You did what you thought was right.”

Daryl didn’t look up. “I lost it.”

“You thought she was dead. We all did.”

“I killed Dawn,” he said, voice low. “She was already down. I didn’t have to beat on her like that.”

Rick didn’t argue. He just let the silence sit.

“You’d do it for Carl,” Daryl added, after a long moment.

Rick’s jaw tightened. “I would.”

And that was all that needed to be said.

Beth only stirred with the arrival of the sun.

Her eyes cracked open to pale golden light streaming through the ambulance’s cracked windows. Her head throbbed like she had been hit by a freight train, and everything felt wrong—distant, underwater.
But the first thing she saw was him.

Daryl.

Sitting at her feet, back hunched, head down like the weight of the world had been hung from his shoulders.

She opened her mouth. Tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

She swallowed and tried again. “Daryl…”

His head snapped up. Daryl’s face was wrecked—dark eyes rimmed red and lips parted like he’d seen a ghost.

“Hey,” she rasped.

“Beth.” His voice was nothing but breath. He scrambled forward, hovering over her but not daring to touch. “Jesus, Beth—are you—does it hurt? Y’need water?”

She gave him a tiny smile, just a twitch of her lips. “You look worse than me.”

A broken laugh escaped him, more a breathless rasp than anything. “You scared th'hell outta me,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “You went down and I thought—” He blinked hard. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I think.”

His hands were trembling. “You’re not okay. But you’re here.” He paused, tightening his jaw. “Don’t you ever—ever—do somethin’ that stupid again.”

She reached out and touched his wrist, just lightly. “I had to try…”

It was enough.

“I—after you fell, I—” Daryl looked down. “I killed her. Dawn.”

Beth’s breath caught.

“I shot her but after I couldn’t stop. Rick pulled me off.” He looked up again, barely able to meet her gaze. “You don’t gotta be okay with it. I just-" He paused, jaw shifting.

Beth stared at him for a long moment.

Then, slowly, she nodded. “She was never gonna stop. You did what you had to.”

He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she’d say that.

“I would’ve done the same for you,” she added, softer.

They sat in silence then, just breathing the same air.

And when her fingers laced gently through his, he didn’t let go.

Chapter Text

The meeting point was an abandoned auto shop two towns north of Atlanta.

Rick had radioed ahead. The rest of the group had been holed up there, waiting, hoping.

Beth sat in the back of the car, wrapped in Carol’s blanket. Her fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge while the world rushed past outside the window. Her head was healing—bandages clean now, the deep gash sealed with time and care—but inside, everything still felt cracked open.

Daryl sat beside her. He hadn’t moved more than five feet from her since she woke up. “You okay?” he asked gruffly, eyes forward.

Beth gave a small nod. “Nervous.”

He grunted. “She’s gonna be happy.”

“I know. It’s just…" Beth didn’t finish, she couldn't. How could she explain that while she was never dead, she still didn’t feel entirely alive since waking up?

Maggie was the first out the door when they pulled in. She was already running before the engine shut off, boots hitting gravel hard, arms pumping. Glenn called after her, but she didn’t stop.

Beth opened the back door with shaking hands.

When Maggie saw her—really saw her—she stopped short like someone had slammed a hand against her chest.

Beth stepped down, slow, knees weak.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat. Then Maggie sprinted forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, sobbing like her lungs would collapse. “Bethy—oh God—Bethy!”

Beth’s arms wrapped tight around her sister, clinging like the breeze might snatch her up if she dared to let go. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m here.”

Maggie cupped her face, crying and laughing all at once. “They said—you were shot. I thought—I thought I lost you too—”

“You didn’t,” Beth said softly, her forehead against Maggie’s. “Not this time.”

Glenn reached them, breathless, and pulled both sisters into his arms.

Carol stood a few steps back, her face unreadable, but her eyes were misted. She knew what it felt like to lose a daughter, and now she knew what it was like to get one back.

Later that night, the group sat around a small fire in the corner of the auto shop, the building fortified and silent under a violet sky. The air smelled of oil and wood smoke.

Abraham had clapped Beth gently on the shoulder earlier, said, “Damn glad to see you walkin’, ma’am,” and left it at that. Rosita had offered her a clean shirt. Simple acts of recognition.

It was Maggie who stayed closest. She couldn’t stop touching Beth’s arm, her hand, her shoulder—like she was afraid she’d vanish again if left alone too long.

Beth didn’t mind. She understood the need to hold on.

Across the fire Eugene groused to Abraham and Rosita
.
“Absolutely not,” Eugene declared, holding up a half-burnt can of what might’ve once been green beans.

Rosita narrowed her eyes. “It’s food.”

“It is a post-apocalyptic affront to the palate and the gastrointestinal tract.”

Abraham leaned back on a log, smirking as he cleaned his knife. “Just eat it, Eugene. Builds character.”

“I will have you know I possess ample character,” Eugene replied indignantly. “What I do not possess is the digestive resilience of a damn cockroach.”

Rosita laughed, tossing him a granola bar instead. “Baby.”

Eugene opened it with suspicion. “I am a man of intellect and discerning taste, not to be mocked.”

Abraham raised a brow. “You were just chewing mint leaves and calling them ‘field toothpaste’ like five minutes ago.”

“Sanitation is survival,” Eugene snapped.

Beth couldn’t help but crack a smile, her eyes drifting until they rested on the only one not near the fire, Daryl. She glanced up at him and gave a small, tired smile. “You okay?” she waved him forward.

He shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “You sure you wanna waste that seat on me?”

Maggie looked up at him too. “Sit down, Dixon.”

He hesitated. And then, quietly, he did — taking the empty spot next to Beth, and once he was settled Beth’s fingers slipped right between his, like it was where they belonged.

Chapter Text

The van rattled down the road, the late day sunlight filtering weakly through the trees. Beth sat in the back, legs pulled up, head resting against the cool window. The hum of tires against pavement should have lulled her, but her muscles remained coiled, her eyes half-lidded but never fully closed.

Every time she blinked, it was there.

The tile hallway.
The sound of her own voice before the gunshot.
The look in Dawn’s eyes.
How it had gone dark.
Sometimes, it was just a flash of blood, sometimes, it was silent.

She pressed her hand to her temple. The skin was tender under the bandage, she was still healing.

Still here.

But her mind didn’t always believe it.

Noah was talking quietly with Glenn and Rick near the front, his voice tinged with cautious hope. “Brick buildings. Clean streets. They had water, walls. Good people. My mom and brothers were there when we left.” He swallowed. “It’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

Abraham drove with quiet intensity. Rosita was polishing a blade beside him. Maggie, in the seat ahead of Beth, kept turning around every so often to glance at her.

Beth gave her a tight smile each time, but she didn’t say much. Her throat felt thick all the time now.

They stopped at a rundown gas station that evening. Not to refuel—there hadn’t been usable gas in days—but to rest, stretch, and scavenge for anything they might have missed.

Beth stepped outside slowly, legs stiff from sitting too long. The cold hit her skin like a slap. She stood near the van, watching Noah pace nearby, talking quietly to Glenn. Every few words, his voice cracked with a tremble of desperate hope. Beth felt a jagged pain in her chest. She remembered what it was like to believe in a place. In peace, in safety. Grady had offered it, at first. Warm food, a bed, clean sheets.

A lie wrapped in sterile white.

And when she’d tried to take back something of herself, they’d punished her for it. She didn’t even notice that her hands had begun to shake.

“You okay?” The voice came from behind her—gruff, soft, familiar.

Daryl.

She turned her head. “Yeah,” she lied.

He just stared at her. “You ain’t slept in two nights,” he said.

“I’ve slept.” He tilted his head. “You've been flinchin at every noise.”

Beth bit her lip, eyes glancing away. “That obvious?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer, arms crossed loosely, gaze on the treeline. “I still see the prison sometimes,” he murmured. “Smoke. Fire. Hershel’s—” He stopped himself.

Beth’s chest tightened. “I see it too,” she whispered. “Sometimes I dream I’m still at Grady. Can’t move, can’t speak, they’re deciding things over me. Like I’m a piece of furniture.” She wiped her cheek, she didn’t even realize she was crying.

Daryl reached out slowly, gently. His hand brushed her wrist—not grabbing, just present. “You ain’t there anymore,” he said. “They didn’t get to keep you.”

Beth let herself exhale shakily. “I don’t feel like I came back whole.”

“No one comes back whole,” Daryl said quietly. “But you came back.”

Their eyes met—his dark and haunted, hers blue and brimming with pain—and something passed between them that didn’t need to be named.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning the air was heavy with silence. Rick stood at the edge of the tree line with Michonne, Glenn, Noah, and Tyreese, eyes locked on the gates to the community just beyond. The neighborhood was still—eerily still. No movement, no walkers, just the smell of scorched wood.

“Radio in if something happens,” Rick said, handing one of the walkies to Carol back at the van. “If you don’t hear from us in thirty, assume we’ve got a problem.”

Carol nodded, jaw tight. “Be careful.”

Rick turned to the rest. “Stay sharp. We’ll call back as soon as we know.”

Beth watched him go, heart thudding low in her chest as their group disappeared. The moment they were out of sight, she wrapped her arms around herself and took a breath that didn’t go as deep as she wanted it to. She hated this part—the waiting, the wondering.

Maggie noticed and stepped close. “You okay?”

Beth nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just cold.”

But Maggie knew her better than that. She placed a hand on Beth’s arm, eyes searching. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”

“I’m not,” Beth said softly. I’m trying.

And that last part, at least, was true.

Daryl had been quiet since breakfast, which was nothing new—but now he seemed… restless. After about ten minutes of standing guard, he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and muttered, “Gonna check the perimeter. See if there’s anything worth grabbing.”

Carol gave a short nod, trusting him without question.

Beth straightened before she’d even fully processed what she was about to say. “I’ll go with you.”

That made everyone pause.

Maggie turned instantly, eyes narrowing. “Beth.”

“I’m fine,” Beth said quickly.

“You’re still healing,” Maggie argued. “You haven’t even fully recovered from—”

“I can walk, Maggie. I can carry a bag, I can keep up.” Beth’s tone wasn’t defensive. It was pleading. “I can’t just keep sitting here doing nothing.”

Daryl gave her a glance, unreadable. “It ain’t gonna be long. Just a sweep. Close by.”

“I’ll stay close,” Beth added. “Promise.”

Maggie looked between them, jaw clenched. Then finally, her voice tight: “If anything happens—”

“It won’t,” Daryl said firmly.

That was what finally convinced her.

“Fine,” Maggie sighed. “But be back before Rick radios in.”

Beth gave her a quick hug—one that Maggie held a beat too long—before grabbing her coat from the truck.

Daryl had already started walking, Beth caught up beside him without saying a word. They moved through the woods just outside the neighborhood ruins, the sun cutting weak angles through the trees. Birds had stopped singing weeks ago, but the wind rustled gently through the branches like it was trying to fill the silence.

Beth’s boots crunched on leaves beside Daryl’s heavier steps. They didn’t talk at first. She liked that about him—his quiet. He didn’t press. Didn’t fill the air with empty words. He gave her space to just be.

Eventually, they found a small tool shed behind a collapsed property. Its roof was caved in, but the lock on the side door had already been busted, likely by earlier scavengers.

Still, Daryl nodded to it. “Worth a look.”

Inside, they found a rusted toolbox, some expired batteries, a soaked tarp, and a roll of duct tape.

“Not exactly gold,” Beth murmured, examining a shattered lantern.

Daryl grunted. “Better than nothin’.”

Beth stuffed the batteries into her side bag. As she bent down, she winced slightly—her head throbbing when she dipped.

“You okay?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah.” She straightened with a small exhale. “Just a twinge.”

He gave her a long look but said nothing.

Beth leaned against the door frame, glancing at the skyline beyond the trees. “Do you think Noah’s place is legit?” she asked quietly.

Daryl was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Can’t count on places.”

“Did you before?” Beth asked. “The prison, the farm...”

“Didn’t count on nothin’,” he said, voice flat. “Still don’t.”

Beth studied his face. “You counted on me.”

That made him pause. He looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly—not angry. Just uncertain. Like she’d touched a part of him he didn’t have words for.

“You didn’t let me go,” she said. “Anyone else would’ve written me off as dead.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “You weren’t.”

“I could’ve been, easily. But you didn’t stop fighting, you didn’t stop looking.”

Something flickered in his eyes then—pain, maybe, or fear. “I couldn’t,” he said finally. “Couldn’t lose you.”

And Beth… she didn’t say anything else. She just stepped forward and rested her hand over his, where it hung at his side.

He didn’t pull away. For a long moment, they stood there—barely touching, but the space between them thick with everything unsaid.

They returned just as the walkie crackled.

Rick’s voice came through, low but steady: “It’s gone. Everything. Place was burned out months ago. We’ll finish checking for supplies and head back.”

Carol answered, “Copy. We’ll be ready.”

Maggie looked up as Beth and Daryl approached. She immediately scanned Beth from head to toe.

“I’m fine,” Beth said before she could ask.

Maggie raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

As the group settled into another round of waiting, Beth wandered toward the edge of the lot where the treeline met cracked pavement.

Daryl followed a few steps behind, standing about three feet back.

“You said I came back.” Beth began, gaze fixed on the treeline. “But sometimes it feels like something didn’t come with me.”

Daryl stepped closer. “Maybe somethin’ didn’t,” he said, voice low. “But that don’t mean what’s left ain’t worth somethin’.”

Beth’s lips parted slightly, turning to look at him with wide eyes, and she stepped forward. She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t try to push past the ache between them. She just leaned her forehead gently against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and alive.

Daryl froze for a moment—then slowly, awkwardly, wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

They stood there in silence.

Together.

Chapter Text

The car came into view just before dusk.

Rick was behind the wheel, jaw locked, eyes dark. Michonne and Glenn sat in silence. Noah was crying softly in the back.

And Tyreese—

Tyreese was wrapped in a bloodied sheet in the trunk.

Beth felt her breath catch.

Daryl stood beside her, his jaw clenched.

Carol stepped forward first, her expression unreadable, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

Maggie moved to Glenn.

Beth stayed still.

Watching.

Absorbing.

One less.

Sasha moved, her face pale, eyes like carved stone. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. She just walked past the group and stood a few yards away, hands fisted at her sides like they were the only things keeping her upright.

Father Gabriel stepped out behind her, his face already turned toward the ground.

Beth’s stomach turned as grief bloomed like a bruise in her chest. Tyreese hadn’t been her closest friend. But he’d been good. Steady. A quiet kind of strength that had reminded her of her father.

And now he was gone.

Just like that.

Because that’s what this world did. It took .

They made camp in the woods near the van. The neighborhood wasn’t safe—not anymore.

Gabriel gathered wood for a fire while Sasha sat on a log nearby, staring at the earth in front of her, not blinking.

Beth moved quietly around the edge of the camp, helping Carol boil water, taking a watch shift for Glenn, anything to keep her hands from shaking again and her mind from wandering.

But it was Daryl who kept glancing toward her, like he was waiting for the moment she’d break again.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

____________________________________________________________________________

Father Gabriel stood by the shallow grave they’d dug beneath a thicket of pines. The fire flickered low, casting shadows across the group’s faces.

Tyreese’s body lay wrapped in a clean sheet now, hands crossed over his chest, the blood hidden from view. Sasha had done that part herself. Her face hadn’t changed.

Gabriel’s voice was soft, measured. “We commend our brother, Tyreese, to the earth. A man of peace in a world that forgot how to make it.”

No one spoke.

"Tyreese gave his strength to protect others, and his heart…to forgive even when it hurt. We are not gathered here today because we are whole, but because he made us stronger when we were not. He carried the weight of this world on his shoulders, and still chose gentleness."

Sasha made no sound.

Beth stood beside Maggie, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Gabriel’s eyes moved across the group. “Let us remember him not for how he died—but for how he lived. For what he protected. For the hope he tried to carry even when the rest of us had none left.”

It was the word hope that broke Beth’s breath, b ecause she’d nearly lost hers too.

And here they were—still losing, still burying.

Gabriel offered a prayer.

Beth didn’t close her eyes. She looked straight at the grave. She owed it that.

When it ended, the group stood in silence. One by one, they drifted away.

Except Sasha.

Beth found her sitting by a tree. Alone. Shoulders tight. Staring into the distance like if she looked long enough, Tyreese would walk out of the shadows and sit beside her.

Beth approached her slowly. “Hey.”

Sasha didn’t look up.

She sat next to her anyway, leaving just enough space between them, and after a long silence, she said, “It’s not fair. Any of it.”

Sasha’s voice, when it came, was hoarse. “He was the good one.”

“I know.”

“He saved people. He forgave. He let go.” Sasha’s hands clenched in her lap. “I don’t know how to do that. I don’t want to.”

Beth looked down. “Me either.”

That made Sasha turn, just slightly, brow furrowing.

Beth met her eyes. “I hated Dawn. I hated what she did to people. What she let them do to me. And even now, when I think about her dying—I don’t feel peace. I feel hollow .”

Sasha’s lip trembled, but she held it down.

Beth continued, quieter now. “You’re not alone. In any of it.”

Sasha let out a breath—shaky, like it came from somewhere deep—and looked back at the trees, b ut she didn’t ask Beth to leave.

And that, maybe, was something.

____________________________________________________________________

Later that night, the fire burned low and most of the group was asleep.

Daryl sat alone again—on the edge of the clearing, back against a tree, eyes half-closed but awake.

Beth approached quietly.

He looked up without surprise.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

He nodded toward the space beside him. She sank down without hesitation.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind push softly through the leaves.

“You did good with Sasha,” he said eventually.

“I didn’t do anything,” Beth said.

“Sometimes that’s what people need.”

She glanced over at him, her voice soft. “Do you ever think about how different we are now? Like… pieces of who we used to be just didn’t make it.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the dying fire. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Ain’t the same as we were. Not even close.”

Beth nodded, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Does that ever get to you?”

He shifted. “It used to.”

She looked at him. “And now?”

Daryl met her gaze, quiet but firm. “Now I’m more afraid of losing what’s left.”

Beth stared at him, her heart beating unevenly in her chest. Her hand reached out, slowly, and found his.

His hand was calloused, large, warm, and familiar. It curled lightly around hers.

They sat like that until the fire burned down to nothing.

Chapter Text

The group had camped the next night in the skeletal remains of a garage that sat separate from a house that was a bit too torn into for Rick’s comfort. It wasn’t much but they all were too spent to keep moving after laying Tyreese to rest beneath a cold patch of dirt.

Beth sat near the garage’s back wall, arms wrapped around her knees. Her coat smelled like firewood and road dust, and her fingers were raw from the wind. The fire had burned out hours ago, now only a pile of glowing coals that flickered like dying stars.

Footsteps crunched softly over the gravel. She looked up and saw Noah, standing nearby with his arms folded across his chest.

He looked like a ghost.

He hadn’t spoken much since they’d buried Tyreese. His eyes were hollow, haunted.

“You okay?” Beth asked quietly.

Noah didn’t answer right away. He just sat down beside her, slow and heavy, like every part of him ached. “It was my fault.” Noah didn’t look at her. His gaze was locked on the horizon. “Tyreese died in my house. I brought him there. If we hadn’t gone back…”

Beth shook her head slowly. “Noah—”

“My mom. My brothers. Everyone in that place. I wanted to see it again. I thought maybe… maybe something could be left. I thought—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, teeth gritted hard. “That was my little brother, the one that bit him.” His throat worked around the words. “He wouldn’t have died if we hadn’t gone back there,” Noah said, his voice tightening.

Beth’s heart ached. She knew that pain. That guilt that sank deep into your bones and told you every death was yours to carry. She placed a hand gently on his arm. “Noah… there’s no way you could’ve known.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “I just wanted to go home.”

Beth’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Me too.”

Noah looked at her then—really looked—and for a moment, neither of them were survivors or watchmen or lookouts or medics. They were just two young hearts who had buried too many people too soon.

“I remember what that felt like. When we lost the farm, after the herd… I remember wondering if I’d ever see anything again that felt like home.” Beth looked down at her hands. “I thought I found it for a little bit in the prison, and then the Governor came.” A brief pause passed, before “I never got to bury my dad,” Beth added softly.


Noah’s eyes dropped.

“I still think about Daddy,” Beth said. “And everyone we lost from the prison, and I think about the others still stuck at the hospital.”

Noah’s jaw tensed. “How do you keep going?”

Beth took a long, shaky breath and looked up. “I think about the people I haven’t lost,” she said. “The ones still here. Judith, Maggie, Daryl, You.”

He blinked, surprised. “Me?”

“You being here matters, It matters to me.” Beth said. “You carry something forward, for Tyreese, for your family.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” he muttered.

Beth offered a small, sad smile. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. You just have to keep moving.”


Noah’s shoulders sagged, and they sat in the quiet that followed. The kind that didn’t feel quite so empty anymore.

Chapter Text

The road stretched on in silence.

Three days had passed since they buried Tyreese.
Three days since they used up the rest of their gas.
Three days of walking, of rationing water, of dwindling food and sleep.
Three days of everyone slipping deeper into their own shadows.

Beth kept pace beside Maggie in the mornings. But by noon, she usually drifted and by nightfall she was often near Daryl.

He never said anything about it. Never asked.

But when she quietly found her place beside him on the ground or near a fire, he shifted just enough to make space.

He always made space.

The nights were the hardest.

Beth tried not to sleep too deep. When she did, the dreams came — thick, suffocating memories of sterile white rooms, the squeak of shoes on tile, the weight of Gorman’s hand on her thigh as he leaned in too close. His breath, hot and stale.

“You owe me.”

She would wake up gasping. Sometimes with her nails dug into her palm. Sometimes with a scream locked behind her teeth.

Daryl was the only one who ever noticed. He never asked, he just passed her his water, or sat a little closer the next night.

But one evening, as they camped by the side of the road beneath a twisted, leafless tree, Beth didn't sleep at all. And she didn’t think she could keep it inside anymore.


That night the fire was little more than coals.

Maggie and Glenn slept curled together. Abraham snored softly. Sasha was awake but staring into the dark, her eyes haunted and far away.

Beth sat across the fire from Daryl, her arms wrapped around her knees.

He looked at her, brows low. “You ain't slept.”

She shook her head. “I can take watch,”

“You already did.”

“Then let me do it again.”

Daryl didn’t argue. But he didn’t leave, either.

She was quiet for a long time before she said, “There was a man, at Grady.”

Daryl’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t speak.

“An officer, Gorman. He’s dead now.” Her voice was flat. Like she was reading it from somewhere else. “He used to come into the rooms I was working in and… stand too close. He’d touch things. My arm, my hair. He said I owed him for my medicine, for being saved.”

Daryl’s hands curled into slow fists.

Beth didn’t look at him. “He tried to—” She stopped. Her throat tightened. “I fought him off, barely. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream, I just –-” She looked down at her palms. “I’ve never told anyone that.”

The fire popped. Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t say anything at first. And then, he stood up and walked around the fire to sit beside her. He was quiet for a long time, and then: “Wish I’d been there.”

Beth turned her head. “Why?”

His voice was low, raw. “So he’d be dead ‘cause of me.”

Beth swallowed hard. Her lip trembled. “I feel sick when I remember it. Like… like I’m still stuck there. Like he’s still in the room.”

Daryl looked straight ahead, jaw clenched. “You ain’t there,” he said. “You’re here. You got out. You fought out.”

She whispered. “I didn’t do anything heroic.”

He turned to her now, his expression sharp and quiet with intensity. “You survived,” he said. “You’re breathing. You’re walkin’. You didn’t let it take you. That’s more than most can say.”

Beth felt something split open inside her — not in a way that hurt. Just something raw and long-buried gasping for air. “Do you really think that?” she asked.

He looked at her like it was the only thing he did know for sure. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Beth leaned her shoulder against him, slowly.

And Daryl—stiff, unsure, and uncomfortable in most kinds of touch—let her. After a moment, he reached up, hesitant, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her temple, where the bullet wound was still healing under the skin.

Beth turned to him, and for a moment, they were closer than they'd ever been. The firelight flickered between them, but didn’t fill the space.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to be okay again,” she said, a beat of silence passing between them before she quietly added. “But I’m still here.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

Her hand found his again in the dark, and this time he held it tighter.

Not because she needed him to.
But because he needed to.

The next morning they walked in silence.

Daryl hadn’t said a word about the night before, but he walked closer to her now. Shielded her a little more from the road, looked at her like he saw her, not the trauma.

And that, to Beth, was everything.

Chapter Text

Maggie noticed it first in the way Beth walked.

Not the limp, that was fading.

Not the way she hunched when she was cold or sore.

But how she drifted .

She wasn’t tethered to her anymore. It used to be the two of them—sisters clinging close like roots in a storm. But now Beth kept pace with Daryl more than anyone. She walked where he walked, sat near him at camp, looked for him when she jolted awake from a dream.

Maggie told herself not to read into it.

They’d both been through hell.

They needed each other.

But there was something more in the way Beth looked at him sometimes. Something Maggie hadn’t seen since before the fall of the prison. Hope. Ache. Longing.

And in Daryl?

Maggie saw the same thing she always had—bristling solitude, unreadable silence, a constant, quiet readiness to throw himself between danger and someone he cared about.

But now, that someone was Beth, a nd that scared Maggie more than she wanted to admit.

They camped in a ditch that night, with canvas pulled taut between sticks to block the wind. It wasn’t shelter, but it was something. Beth sat close to Daryl, sharing the end of a can of cold beans. They didn’t speak much, they didn’t have to.

Maggie watched from across the fire as Beth leaned in to say something — something small, something quiet — and Daryl gave the faintest hint of a smile in return.

A real one.

The kind people didn’t see often.

Maggie felt it twist in her chest.

Later that night Maggie found Beth alone at the edge of the camp, staring up at the sky.

“You okay?” Maggie asked, approaching carefully.

Beth nodded, but didn’t turn.

“You and Daryl’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Beth tensed slightly, then let out a soft: “Yeah.”

“You talk about it much?”

“What?”

“What you went through.”

Beth was quiet.

“I know something happened there, Beth. I see it.”

Beth let out a slow breath. “He knows what it’s like. Not to be safe…to not feel safe.”

Maggie stepped closer, voice softening. “I get it. I do. But I worry—about how much you lean on him.”

Beth finally turned, eyes steady. “He’s never asked for more than I can give.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then say what you mean.”

Maggie’s mouth went tight. “I mean you’re still healing, in every way. And he’s—he’s not exactly a steady foundation.”

Beth stared at her, hurt flickering across her face. “You don’t trust him?” she asked.

“I do . With my life. I just don’t know if he knows how to trust himself with yours.”

Beth crossed her arms, voice quiet but hard. “You think I’m fragile.”

“I think you’re hurting .”

“I am . But I’m not broken.”

Maggie stepped forward, her voice softening again. “I know. But I lost you once, Beth. I can't—I can’t do it again.”

Beth’s expression crumpled for just a second.

“I’m not asking you to let me go,” she whispered. “Just… let me stand up on my own.”

Maggie looked down, blinking fast. “When Rick told us you’d been shot, I thought you died.” she said, voice cracking, “I didn’t want to believe it. And now I have you back, and it feels like I barely know you anymore.”

Beth reached for her hand. “Then ask.”

Maggie looked up. “What happened to you?”

Beth took a long breath. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t shy away. “I was trapped, controlled, touched when I didn’t want to be. Silenced, drugged, treated like a body, not a person. And I survived by giving them nothing, not even my tears.”

Maggie’s throat closed.

Beth looked away. “And Daryl… he’s the first person who hasn’t looked at me like I’m a victim. He makes space. Not demands.”

“I don’t want you to lose yourself in him.”

Beth turned back. “I already lost myself, Maggie. I’m trying to find the pieces and he’s one of them.”

Maggie didn’t have an answer for that.

She just stepped forward and pulled Beth into a tight, shaking hug.

And Beth held on.

Chapter Text

Across the camp Daryl sat at the far edge of the ditch, sharpening his blade in slow, methodical movements. He didn’t turn when footsteps approached.

Carol sat down next to him, uninvited. “You know Maggie’s watching,” she said.

He scoffed. “So?”

“She’s watching you and Beth.”

“Then she’s got too much time on her hands.”

Carol smiled faintly, not looking at him. “She’s not the only one who sees it.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to see,” Daryl muttered, sharper than he meant to.

Carol shrugged. “You sure about that?”

Daryl bristled. “Ain’t anyone’s business.”

Carol let a beat of silence settle between them before she spoke again, voice level. “You care about her.”

He finally turned his head, just enough to glance at her.

She met his eyes. “You think you’re hidin’ it, but Daryl… you ain’t exactly subtle.”

Daryl looked away again, back to the trees, fidgeting with the handle of his knife. He didn’t deny it.

Carol went on, voice steady. “You guard her more than your damn crossbow. The way you were when that hospital took her? You wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, and you barely spoke to anyone. You were tearing through Atlanta like it owed you something.”

Daryl’s voice was low, tight. “We needed her back. I just found her, that’s all.”

Carol looked at him, sideways and steady. “No, Daryl, that wasn’t all. You stormed that hospital like hell itself was gonna burn if they didn’t let her go. And when we got her back—patched up, head wound and all, barely conscious—you didn’t let anyone else carry her.”

His glare darkened, voice low. “Someone had to, she wasn’t gonna walk out herself.”


“And that someone had to be you. Your name was the first she called when she came too in that hallway and you held onto her like the world would end if you let go, like she was the only thing left that was still worth saving.” she said gently.


“She was ,” Daryl snapped—too fast, too raw. The words hit the air and hung there.


Carol’s gaze softened. “There it is.”

“She’s alive, ain’t she?” he tightened his jaw, hand now stilled on the blade, the whetstone hovering for a beat before he scraped it across the metal again—harder this time. “That’s what matters.”

Carol was quiet for a beat, then said, “That’s not the only thing that matters. Not anymore.” she looked toward the fire, where Beth sat with Maggie, holding Judith on her lap and humming. “She means something to you,” Carol said. “And it scares the hell out of you. You can’t pretend like you don’t feel it, not after all that. The way you were… it wasn’t just about bringing someone home.”


“I ain’t scared,” he said quietly, voice rough.


Carol didn’t respond right away. She just stood, brushing dirt from her hands, then glanced down at him—her expression soft, but edged with something knowing. “No,” she said, “You’re not scared of walkers, or dying, or going hungry.” She paused. “But letting someone in? Letting yourself have something good for once?” She shook her head. “Yeah, Daryl. That terrifies you.”

He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the fire, on Beth, still humming to Judith while Maggie reached out and tucked Beth’s hair behind her ear. Then, she smiled at something Maggie said. It was small, soft, and real.

Something in his chest twisted, but he didn’t name it.

Carol’s voice softened. “She’s not the same girl from the prison, and you’re not the same man who used to stand in the back of the group and grunt at everyone.”

Daryl let out a dry snort at that, but it wasn’t sharp. Just tired.

Carol smiled faintly. “You found her, she found you too. Don’t waste that.” She walked away then, leaving Daryl alone with the whetstone and the weight of her words.

For a while, Daryl didn’t move. He just sat there, hands now idle. Then, slowly, he sheathed the knife and stood. His eyes found Beth again—her head tilted back in laughter now as Judith babbled and Maggie smiled beside her. The firelight painted her hair gold, like it had the night they lit that shack on fire.

And for once, he let himself feel it.

All of it.

Chapter Text

The morning sun broke through the haze in thin beams, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. The road stretched ahead, empty and gray, bordered by brittle trees and the occasional cleaned out car. Rick walked ahead with Michonne, their heads bent in quiet planning. The rest followed in staggered pairs.

Beth walked beside Daryl, her boots scuffing gravel as she kept pace with his longer stride.

Daryl hadn’t said much since yesterday. Not since whatever had been said between him and Carol. His jaw was tight, his eyes more on the woods flanking the road than the people around him.

Beth watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You okay?”

He didn’t look at her. “Fine.”

“You’ve barely said two words since dinner last night.”

“Still recoverin’ from Eugene’s latest monologue.”

As if summoned by name, Eugene’s voice drifted up from a few paces behind them. “—and thus, in an ideal post-collapse society, we would implement fermentation infrastructure early, both for potential fuel usage and morale maintenance. I have a preliminary formula sketched, assuming adequate sugar content and temperature regulation—”


“Eugene,” Tara groaned. “This is the third time this week you’ve brought up distilling booze.”

“I said ethanol,” Eugene corrected primly. “With potential recreational side benefits.”

Noah, carrying a small pack over one shoulder, snorted. “You know we’re still scavenging for food, right? Nobody’s building a still.”

“Which is why we are in the planning phase,” Eugene added, undeterred.

Beth smiled faintly, but her eyes were still on Daryl. “You really okay?” she asked again, softer this time.

Daryl finally glanced at her. Just a flicker. “Ain’t nothin’,” he said quickly. “Just thinkin’. Don’t matter.”

Beth slowed slightly, letting the words hang between them. “You always say that when it does.”

He said nothing. Just adjusted his crossbow on his shoulder and picked up the pace.

Beth lingered for a beat, watching him pull ahead, that quiet ache starting in her chest again.

Tara’s voice rang out behind her. “If I start drinking your 'ethanol' and go blind, Eugene, I’m haunting whatever weird little workshop you built forever.”

“I find that statistically improbable,” Eugene replied, clearly offended.

Beth exhaled slowly and stepped forward again, boots tapping softly against the road. Daryl might be trying to outrun whatever he was feeling. But she wasn’t going anywhere.

She’d catch up, she always did.

_____________________________________________________

They found the house just before sundown — a squat, peeling thing with sagging shutters and mildew clawing up its bones. But it had four walls, a fireplace that looked like it might work, and just enough space for them all to breathe for a night without watching their backs.

That was rare enough to count as a blessing now.

The group moved in without speaking. Everyone knew the drill.

Clear, secure, post a watch and eat what little there was.

Repeat.

Beth helped Maggie sort through cans while Daryl checked the perimeter. They didn’t talk much, but it was a comfortable silence. 

When they were done, Maggie gave Beth a long look. Something between hesitation and worry still lingered behind her eyes. “Don’t wander off too far,” she murmured, touching her arm.

Beth nodded, but her eyes had already drifted to the hallway, just in time to see Daryl pass by. He didn’t look at her — not really — but there was something in the set of his shoulders. Something unsaid.

Her feet moved before she even realized.

She found him in a back room — what had once been a nursery. The wallpaper had peeled into soft curls like old leaves. An overturned crib lay half-splintered near the far wall.

He sat on the edge of a stripped-down mattress, staring at nothing.

Beth lingered in the doorway. “You okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t look at her. “Fine.”

“You always say that.”

“‘Cause it’s easier than what I wanna say.”

Beth stepped in further, letting the door shut behind her with a gentle click. “Then don’t say it all at once.”

He looked up then, and she saw it — the hollowness that had been growing in him since the prison, since Grady, since the world started swallowing all the people he let himself care about. “I talked to Carol,” he muttered.

Beth blinked. “Yeah?”

“Said I’m not subtle.”

Beth gave a small smile, though her heart picked up its pace. “She’s not wrong.”

Daryl huffed through his nose — not quite a laugh. “Told me Maggie’s watchin’. Told me… I ain’t hidin’ nothin’. That it scares the hell outta me.”

Beth moved toward him slowly. “Is she right?”

He swallowed hard. “Ain’t scared of what I feel. Just… scared of what it means.”

Beth sank to the floor in front of him, looking up. “What does it mean?”

He looked at her, really looked — and there it was. Not just longing. Not just grief. But something deeper. “It means I ain’t ever had somethin’ good I was scared to lose,” he said roughly.

Beth felt her throat tighten. She reached out and laced her fingers with his. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

His hand clenched around hers like a lifeline. “I held you in that hallway after they patched you up, and all I could think about was that night in the woods. You told me you were gonna die someday. Said I’d miss you so bad.” 

Beth’s breath caught.

“You were right,” Daryl’s voice cracked, low and quiet.“After that shot went off, that’s all I could hear. You sayin’ that. And I felt it—like the damn air got ripped outta my lungs. I was gonna burn that place down, I didn’t even think. Just… rage. Nothin’ else.”

Beth reached forward slowly, placing a grounding hand on his knee.


“I thought I lost you,” he murmured. “And the way I felt… it scared the hell outta me.”


“You didn’t lose me,” Beth whispered. “I’m here.”

“But I almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” she said again, firmer this time. “You didn’t, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Daryl’s jaw worked, and he stared at her like maybe he didn’t believe it yet, but he was trying to.

There was a silence between them then—deep and warm and full of everything they couldn’t put into words. Then Beth moved to sit beside him, close enough that her thigh pressed to his, her shoulder brushed his arm. She leaned against him, her head resting lightly on his bicep. “You’re the only place I feel steady,” she murmured. “Like…where I don’t have to pretend I’m okay.”

Daryl let out a slow breath, his free hand rising hesitantly to touch her face. His thumb brushed just under her eye, where tears hadn’t fallen but wanted to. “You ain’t never gotta pretend with me.”

Their foreheads met, slow and careful.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, breath hitching slightly. “Just…with you.”

“You sure?”

Beth nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

His hand moved to fully cup her cheek and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. Daryl’s fingers trembled slightly where they held her, as though even now, a part of him was bracing for her to vanish.

And then she leaned in and he met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, it was deep — not in hunger, but in weight. A careful press of mouths that carried all the grief they’d never spoken, all the days he’d hunted for her, all the nights she’d listened for the sound of his boots returning.


It said I missed you.

It said I’m still afraid.

It said I’m here.

Daryl’s hand shifted to the back of her neck, anchoring her gently, like he couldn’t stand to let her drift away again. Beth’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself in him, clinging not out of desperation but recognition. They didn’t move for a long moment. When they finally parted, it wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they had to breathe.

Beth rested her forehead against his again, eyes still closed. “Okay?”

Daryl gave the smallest nod. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, that was true.

That night Beth lay curled beneath Daryl’s arm. Their boots were still on, ready to run if Rick gave the word. The wind howled softly outside, but the storm didn’t come.

They didn’t speak, not much needed saying.

Daryl traced quiet, aimless circles along her knuckles as the wind rasped outside. No walkers, no shouting, no gunfire.

Just stillness.

And Beth, breathing steady beside him, finally let herself rest.

Chapter Text

The morning broke pale and quiet. Fog hung low over the trees, softening the edges of the world. The house, decrepit as it was, held in the heat just long enough for breath not to rise in the air.

Beth stirred first. She shifted beneath the weight of Daryl’s arm, the crook of his elbow still loosely wrapped around her. His chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of real sleep — the kind neither of them had had much of in months.

She didn’t move, not at first, she just let herself listen to it, let herself believe for a little while that the world outside the walls didn’t exist.

Eventually, Daryl stirred. His eyes opened, blinking slowly at the ceiling above them, and then down at her. He didn’t speak, he just looked at her for a moment, eyes searching her face like he was still trying to make sure she was real.

Beth offered a soft smile. “Morning.”

He hummed a low response and let his hand drift from her arm to her fingers. Just that, nothing more.

They didn’t say any parting words when they got up, they didn’t even talk about the night before, but something was different. It hung in the space between them, not heavy, but grounding — like they were tethered now in a way they hadn’t been yesterday. By the time the others were stirring and reassembling packs, Beth and Daryl were outside, quietly moving gear to the porch. It wasn’t dramatic, no one saw them holding hands, but still—something had changed.

Carol noticed it first.

She stood beside the cold remnants of the fireplace, sipping from a canteen, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Beth walk past Daryl, gently bumping her shoulder against his as she did. Daryl didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away, his eyes followed her for half a second longer than necessary and softened in a way she hadn’t seen before. Carol’s lips lifted, barely. She didn’t say anything, but when Beth approached to help gather the rest of the supplies, Carol met her gaze and held it. There was no teasing smirk, no sly comment — just the look of a woman who’d seen a lot of heartbreak and recognized something whole when she saw it. “You sleep okay?” Carol asked, her tone casual.

Beth nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Carol nodded back, quiet approval tucked into the line of her mouth. “Good.”

Rick noticed too.

He didn’t say anything outright. But as they regrouped to discuss their next move, his eyes drifted between Daryl and Beth more than once. He saw the way Daryl stood just half a step closer than usual, and the way Beth looked a little less like she was bracing herself for another grueling trek. It was subtle, but Rick knew Daryl and he knew that kind of silence — the kind that said more than words ever could. He caught Daryl’s eye once as they reviewed the map, just a glance.

Daryl held the stare for a beat, then looked away.

Rick didn’t push, just nodded slightly to himself. Whatever had changed, it wasn’t his business unless it needed to be, and frankly…It looked like something Daryl needed.

Maybe something Beth did too.

Glenn came out onto the porch later , adjusting the strap of his bag. Maggie followed close behind him, still tying the sleeves of her jacket around her waist. Her hair was messy, and her eyes carried the usual weight of worry that never really left her anymore.
But even through that haze, she saw it.

Ahead, Beth handed Daryl something small, maybe a bandage or a wrapped bit of jerky, and their hands lingered, not overt, not obvious, but enough. Beth smiled at him, soft and open in a way Maggie had never seen before. Daryl didn’t smile back, not really — but something passed over his face, something unguarded.

Glenn noticed it too. He slowed just slightly, backing up until he was besides Maggie, giving her a look that was more amused than surprised. “You seein’ what I’m seein’?” he asked quietly.

Beth had just leaned in to say something to Daryl. He barely said anything in response, but the line of his shoulders eased, almost like he breathed easier when she was close.

Maggie exhaled softly. “Yeah, I see it.”

Glenn raised a brow. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. Part of her wanted to say no, that it was too soon, too sudden. That it still felt like yesterday that they watched their father die, the prison fall, and Maggie not knowing if her sister was alive. But another part — the bigger one — saw the way Beth stood a little straighter now, how there was a calm in her face that hadn’t been there in months. Maggie watched as Beth brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and Daryl, without thinking, reached out to tuck it back again for her. His movements were quick and awkward, but careful. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I just…I didn’t expect this.”

“You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

Maggie blinked slowly, eyes never leaving Beth. “She looks…better.”

“She does,” Glenn agreed. “He’s not the kind of person who lets someone in easily. If he did — it means something.”

Maggie swallowed. “I just want her to be safe.”

“She is,” Glenn said softly. “And I think he knows what he’s got.”

Maggie nodded, just barely. Still unsure, still adjusting, but something in her began to release just a little — like a fist unclenching one finger at a time. “She’s okay,” she whispered, almost like she was trying to believe it.

Glenn nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

And for now, that was enough.

By midday, the group was back on the road. The house shrank behind them into the fog, its quiet walls already a memory, but something had shifted.

They still had miles to go.

Still had no guarantees.

But for the first time in a long time, Beth walked with renewed confidence with Daryl beside her — his silence now steady, not storming, and every so often she’d feel his fingers brush lightly against hers as they walked. 

Not enough to draw attention.

Just enough to say: I’m here.

Chapter Text

The fog had finally begun to lift as the day broke wide open, but the road still loomed long ahead of them. The group walked in silence, the only sounds being boots on pavement and the occasional shuffle of packs.

Carl, who had been walking with Judith in his arms, fell into step beside Beth. She glanced at him, noting the way he carried his sister—protective and steady, just like always. His face was still a little too serious for his age, but there was something softer there now, something that felt closer to the boy she remembered from the farm.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Carl nodded, his eyes flickering to Judith before meeting her gaze again. “Yeah...just tired.”

Beth smiled, sensing hesitation in his tone. She waited, knowing he would speak when he was ready.


After a moment, Carl finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Does your head still hurt?” he asked, glancing up at her with concern.

Beth’s smile faltered for just a second, but she quickly recovered. “Not as much as before,” she said, touching the bandage lightly. “It’s mostly just a dull ache now. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Carl seemed to take comfort in her response, but he still looked at her with his brow furrowed in thought. He shifted his position, making sure Judith was secure in his arms as he took a deep breath. “Do you remember...what it was like after the prison fell?” Carl asked, his voice soft, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up. “When we were all separated?”

Beth’s heart tightened as she thought back to that day—the chaos, the running, the confusion. She remembered everything so vividly, the way the prison had felt like their last stand, the way it all came crashing down around them. But in the midst of it, there had been Daryl, he was the one constant. “I remember,” Beth said quietly, her voice far away as she let herself drift into the memories. “I remember being scared...not knowing where anyone was, if anyone was alive. But Daryl...he was there. We found each other, and that’s how we made it out.”

Carl looked down at Judith, his expression thoughtful. “It felt like the whole world was falling apart, and we were just...scattered. I remember thinking...that I’d never see you, or anyone else again. It was like everything we fought for was just...gone.”

Beth felt her chest tighten at Carl’s words. The uncertainty, the fear—she had felt that too, they had all felt it. She reached over and gently squeezed his arm, offering him what little reassurance she could. “I thought the same thing,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know if we’d ever find each other again. But somehow, we did, we all did. It wasn’t easy, but…it’s like it was meant to be.”

Carl nodded slowly, his eyes lifting to meet hers. His voice was softer now. “I’m glad we found each other again,” he said, his voice firming with sincerity. “I’m glad you’re here. That you’re okay.”

Beth smiled, the sincerity in his words making her heart swell. “We make it through these things, Carl. All of us, together.”

There was a long pause, and the group walked on in silence. The road stretched ahead, the path still uncertain, but Beth began to feel that quiet strength in her chest grow.

____________________________________________________

They had been walking for hours. The sun was high, but the heat had yet to become unbearable. Rick could see the strain on everyone’s faces—the weariness, the hunger, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. His eyes briefly met Michonne’s, and she gave him a subtle nod, now was as good a time as any to stop. “Let’s pull off the road for a minute,” Rick called, signaling for the group to move to the side where the pavement gave way to a small patch of dirt. “We need to look over the map, figure out what’s around us.”

The group obeyed, moving off the paved road and into the shadows of a nearby tree line. Rick unrolled the map on the hood of a dilapidated vehicle, and the others crowded around him. Michonne stood beside him, arms crossed, her gaze scanning the horizon. Abraham leaned over the map, his eyes narrowed as he traced a route with his finger. 

Eugene, always with a plan, added his two cents. “We should consider taking the rural route,” he suggested. “There’s a stretch of land that may very well contain farms. It would likely yield supplies—food, tools, maybe even some spare parts.”

Abraham grunted in agreement. “I don’t mind the scenic route. It’s quieter, but we’ve gotta stay sharp. Don’t know what’s lurking out there.”

Eugene nodded, clearly pleased that they were taking his suggestion seriously. “Indeed. Discretion, caution, and an eye toward efficiency will serve us well. The area appears to have potential for providing both sustenance and other necessary resources.”

Rick tilted his head, considering the idea. “Could be our best bet. We’ll need to keep our eyes open.”

Beth stood back, her hand briefly touching the gauze wrapped around her head, the bullet graze still throbbed occasionally. She felt Daryl’s presence beside her, even without him saying a word, his quiet support was always there even in the absence of conversation.

Maggie, ever observant, noticed the way Beth touched her bandage. She approached her sister with concern in her eyes. “We should change that gauze,” she said gently, her tone warm but firm.

Beth nodded, the faintest sigh escaping her lips. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

Without a word, Maggie pulled out the medical supplies from her pack and sat down beside Beth, motioning for her to sit down so she could tend to the wound. As she worked, Beth relaxed, letting her sister’s careful hands do the work.

Daryl lingered for a moment longer than necessary, watching as Maggie worked. Something about Beth sitting there, looking so vulnerable, made his chest tighten. He cleared his throat and shook off the feeling. “I’m gonna take a look in th’woods, see if I can find somethin.” Daryl muttered, adjusting his crossbow. His eyes met Rick’s, and he gave a small nod, indicating he’d be heading out.

Beth looked up at him, her voice gentle and laced with concern. “Be careful.”

Daryl paused for a moment, his lips barely curving into a half-smile. “I will,” he replied, his voice soft. There was something different in the way he said it— it was a promise, an unspoken understanding. The moment lingered, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Beth offered him a small smile, one that belonged to the quiet space they had carved out for themselves and Daryl turned and disappeared into the woods without another word, leaving Beth with a knot in her chest. She knew he was capable, knew he could take care of himself, but the small voice inside her couldn’t help but worry.

“You doing okay?” Maggie asked after a beat, her voice quieter than usual.

Beth smiled, the pain from her head injury dulling in comparison to the warmth of her sister’s concern. “Yeah, just a little sore,” she said. The truth was, she felt stronger than she had in a while. “It’s better than before.”

Maggie smiled back, but there was something in her eyes that Beth couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t concern, it was something deeper than that. She almost looked...burdened. As she applied the fresh gauze, Beth found herself watching her sister more closely. “Maggie,” Beth started, her voice soft, “Are you doing okay?”

Maggie paused, looking down for a moment, almost as if she were considering something, and then nodded, “I’m fine,” though her expression remained tight. “I’m just glad you’re here,” Maggie said, but there was something more, something she was still holding onto, as if there was a weight she wasn’t ready to share yet.

Beth nodded slowly, watching her sister. She could sense that something had shifted between them, and while she wanted to know what it was, she didn’t push, not yet. And so, her gaze returned to the trees.

Carol, who had been standing off to the side, couldn’t resist adding her own comment. “You’re looking a little worried there, Beth,” she teased, walking over. “Something on your mind?”

Beth’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she quickly regained her composure. “I’m not worried,” she said, though her gaze flickered between Carol and where Daryl had disappeared. “Okay, maybe a little, but he knows what he’s doing.”

Carol chuckled lightly. “You two are too obvious,” she teased, and just as she finished speaking, the sound of rustling branches reached their ears, and Daryl emerged from the woods, a small, skinny rabbit hanging from his hand by its feet. 

“Not much, but it’ll do,” Daryl said gruffly as he rejoined the group, handing the rabbit to Glenn.

Beth’s eyes stayed on Daryl as he approached, the weight in her chest finally easing the moment she saw him. He was back, he was fine, she didn’t need him to say a word because his presence alone was enough.

Carol raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Daryl’s eyes flicked to Beth briefly as he passed, and in that shared glance, there was unspoken reassurance between them. Relief washed over her and she couldn’t help but smile a little, the tension in her shoulders releasing. For that brief moment, everything felt as it should.

Rick’s voice broke the moment, cutting through the quiet with his usual authority. “Alright, everyone,” he called, scanning the group. “We’re gonna head out.”

Maggie stood first, offering her hand down to Beth. “Come on,” she said, her voice soft and encouraging. “Let's get moving.”

Beth nodded, taking Maggie’s hand, and hefting herself to her feet. 

Rick walked ahead, map in hand and eyes drawn down to it. “We’ll be checking a few farms along the way, so keep your eyes peeled.” his voice cut through the lull. “Let’s keep our pace steady. We’ll need to make it to the next stop before night.”

It took about thirty minutes for the group to reach their first stop. The small produce farm stood nestled among the rolling hills, the air rich with the scent of fresh earth and greenery. The faded, weathered sign at the entrance marked it as a place that once held life, a reminder of the world before the fall. Now, it was a place of quiet potential, a momentary pause in the endless uncertainty that had become their lives.

Rick motioned for the group to stop at the gate. “Quick sweep,” he said, his voice steady. “We meet back here in thirty minutes, no exceptions. Stay alert, if you run into any problems, whistle.” The group nodded, quickly breaking off into smaller teams. 

Beth felt the familiar weight of her pack shift on her shoulders as they moved toward the rows of plants and small, weathered outbuildings. The silence between the group members was comfortable, each of them falling into their rhythm. They’d done this many times before, each sweep felt like a routine, even in a world that had long forgotten normal.

Maggie glanced over at Beth, her expression soft but focused. “Let’s see what we can find,” she said, her voice calm but purposeful. “Don’t wander far.”

Beth nodded, glancing over at Glenn, who had already started down one of the rows of vegetables that was mostly overgrown weeds now. The farm was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the light breeze. The crops that remained were sparse, but there was something grounding about the sight—something familiar about the rows of tomatoes, beans, and squash, despite the neglect. As they walked through the garden, Beth paused at a small wooden planter. The planter, though weathered by time, still stood strong, its edges rough but sturdy. What caught her attention were the words carefully carved along the top slats of the wood: “A garden always gives back more than it receives.” She ran her fingers along the letters, the simplicity of the words striking her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything, despite the loss and the constant struggle, there was something in those words that reminded her of resilience. It was a small, quiet promise that even in the most broken places, something could still grow, something could still give back. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft rustling from nearby. She turned and saw Noah, his eyes scanning the field as he moved to check the surrounding areas. He gave her a quick wave, and without hesitation, Beth walked over to join him. “Hey, Noah,” she greeted with a smile, her tone warm. “How’s it going?”

Noah grinned, looking down at his bag before meeting her eyes. “Hey, not bad...just keeping my eyes open for anything useful.” His expression shifted briefly to something more thoughtful. “You?”

Beth shrugged slightly, her fingers still grazing the planter. “I was just admiring this,” she said, gesturing to the inscription. “The words... they kind of speak for themselves, don’t they?”

Noah glanced at the planter, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I think we could all use a little more of that. Something that gives back, you know?”

Beth nodded, her smile softening. “Exactly.”

As the two of them walked through the farm, picking up whatever they could along the way that still looked edible, Noah paused for a moment as he adjusted the bag. Beth noticed how carefully he shifted his weight, his movement a little slower.

“How’s your leg doing?” she asked, her voice gentle and her eyes full of concern.

Noah paused, looking down at his leg for a moment before shrugging. “It’s not great, but it’s better than before. I’m managing. I’m just happy I can keep up, I don’t want to slow the group down.”

Beth frowned slightly, her heart tugging at the thought of him pushing himself. She knew how important it was for him to feel like he belonged, like he was a part of this group. “You’re not slowing anyone down, Noah,” Beth said softly, her voice full of sincerity. “We’re all in this together, we make it through as a group.”

Noah met her eyes, the gratitude clear in his expression. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Thanks, Beth.”

Beth smiled warmly, offering him a reassuring glance before she slowed her pace to match his. The two of them continued to move through the garden, gathering what they could. Some dried beans, and a handful of fruit that hadn’t yet spoiled. It wasn’t much, but it was something. As they finished, they looked around the farm one last time, making sure there was nothing they’d missed.

“Think that’s all we’re going to find?” Noah asked, glancing at Beth.

Beth nodded, lifting her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, I think so. Let’s head back to the gate.”

They turned and started toward the front of the farm, where Rick and the others would be meeting. As they walked, Beth couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of gratitude for the small victories. A little food, a small moment of peace, and the quiet company of a friend.

When they reached the gate, the group had already gathered, ready to move on. Rick looked up as they approached, his eyes scanning the area before settling on them. “Anything good?” Rick asked.

“Some fruit and dried beans,” Noah answered, handing over his pack for Glenn to inspect. “Not much, but it’ll help.”

Rick nodded in approval. “Alright, let’s get moving. We’ve still got some ground to cover.”

As the group prepared to move, Beth’s gaze briefly met Maggie's. Her sister’s concerned glance didn’t go unnoticed, but Beth simply offered her a small smile and a nod, silently reassuring her that she was fine. Maggie’s expression softened, a quiet understanding passing between them before Beth turned away, moving toward the rest of the group.

Daryl was standing near the edge, his eyes scanning the surroundings. When he saw her approach, his gaze softened, just for a moment, as he gave her a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

Without another word, they fell into step beside each other.

____________________________________________________

They found shelter in what used to be a roadside mechanic’s shop just as the light started to fade. Half the roof was gone but it had solid concrete walls and enough room for the group to rest without being on top of each other.

Beth sat near the back wall on an old tire, her hands wrapped around a lukewarm bottle of water. Daryl stood a few feet away, stringing up a bit of tarp against a gap in the ceiling. She watched the flex of his forearms, the way the veins in his hands stood out as he tied a knot. She didn’t mean to stare, but she didn’t stop either.

Daryl finished the knot, dropped down beside her on the tire pile, and offered her a piece of jerky from his pocket. She took it with a nod.

They sat like that — close but not quite touching — chewing in silence.

Beth glanced at him sideways. “Did you ever think we’d still be alive right now? The prison…the road…Grady…even now, we just keep going.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away, and then: “Ain’t sure it’s living, but it ain’t dead.”

Beth looked down at her hands. “You think that’s enough?”

He shrugged. “Some days. Depends who I’m breathin’ next to.”

She looked at him then, lips quirking just slightly. “That supposed to be a compliment?””

Daryl didn’t say anything at first. Then, after a beat, he murmured, “Feels like somethin’s wakin’ up again when you’re around. Like I forgot how to want somethin’ until…y’know.”

“Careful.” Beth said, leaning in just a little, her voice lowering. “You go around saying stuff like that, I might kiss you again.”

He rolled his eyes, but she caught the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he turned away. “I just might let you.”


Beth’s laugh was quiet, her cheeks pink. “Guess we’ll see, Dixon.”

That night the group had divided into little corners — Sasha curled up against a wall, Maggie and Glenn asleep under a dirty blanket, and Rick by the door with Michonne next to him.

Beth sat beside Daryl again. They were wrapped in a threadbare tarp, sharing what little warmth there was.

The wind howled through cracks in the concrete, causing Beth to shiver and without a word, Daryl wrapped his arm around her.

She let her head fall against his chest, her heartbeat fast, but not from fear. Her fingers came to rest against him, just above his heart. “You always run hot,” she murmured.

He gave a faint smirk. “You sayin’ I’m sweaty?”

“I’m saying I don’t mind.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes meeting his.

And then slowly, deliberately, they kissed again.

Longer this time, warmer.

Daryl pulled back just enough to search her face. “Y’sure?”

Beth nodded. “I trust you.”

The words landed heavy and Daryl didn’t say anything back — he just kissed her again, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head as if she might disappear if he didn’t hold her there. Their bodies pressed closer, heat building in soft touches. Her hand was at the base of his throat, and his fingers grazed her ribs through the fabric of her shirt.

It was the start of something.

Not rushed, not desperate.

Just themselves , unguarded.

When they finally separated, the world outside seemed so far away. Everything faded, leaving only the soft rhythm of their breathing and the quiet warmth between them. Daryl's hand lingered at the back of her head for a moment longer, as if he needed to make sure she was still there, still close to him.

Beth’s fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, the feel of his body grounding her. She let out a quiet sigh, her head tilting to rest against his chest where the quiet, steady beat of his heart was a soothing lullaby against her ear.

Daryl’s arm wrapped around her once more, pulling her in just a little tighter. No words passed between them now, none were needed. She let herself settle, fully at ease. The cold wind still howled outside, but here, in his arms, she only felt warmth.

Chapter Text

The sun hung like a punishment above them.

It bleached the sky, turned sweat to salt, and every breath into something sharp and dry. The group had been walking for what felt like hours—barely speaking, barely blinking. The water was nearly gone and the food had run out two days ago. The few bottles they’d managed to scrounge from a car had been rationed with silent glances and shaking hands.

Beth walked near the back of the group, Judith clutched tightly against her chest, swaddled in a sun-bleached shirt and Beth’s own aching arms. The baby’s cheeks were flushed with the heat, her breathing soft but steady. “Shh, it’s okay,” Beth murmured, voice rough from dehydration. “I got you. We’re gonna find shade soon, just hold on.”

The roadside was littered with cars, long abandoned, their doors yawning open like broken mouths. No shelter, no water. Just heat, and the slow shuffle of boots.

Up ahead, Rick suddenly stopped walking.

Beth saw him look back, jaw tense, then she heard it too—the low groan of walkers dragging behind them, following like decaying shadows, the same group they’d been avoiding for hours. They didn’t have the strength to fight, not really. But the wind was shifting, and cover was running out.

Rick turned to the group. “We’ll push them off the embankment,” he said. “Quiet and controlled. We do this fast, no noise.” He turned toward Beth, eyes locking on Judith. “You got her?”

Beth nodded. “Always.”

Rick turned, motioned for Glenn, Michonne, Sasha, Maggie, and the others. Daryl lingered for just a moment, eyes flitting to Beth and Judith. She gave him a faint nod, and that was enough.

They turned toward the walkers.

Beth stepped back behind the broken frame of a long-dead box truck, clutching Judith close and rocking gently. Her arms were trembling from the weight—of the child, of the heat, of everything—but she didn’t loosen her grip for a second.

The sounds came next.

Thwacks. Grunts. The wet crunch of walker skulls caving in.

Beth kept her eyes closed, whispering a song under her breath. Not singing it—just breathing it out. “Weepin’ willow, it’s too late now…” Then she heard something shift.

A voice.

Sasha.

Her voice rose in rage, grunts of effort behind it, the rhythm of her blows erratic and harsh. Beth peeked out just enough to see her—Sasha was swinging wild, stabbing one walker, then another, then another, fury spilling out of her like a dam had broken. “Back off!” she shouted, slamming one down.

“Sasha!” Michonne stepped in, moving fast and blocking Sasha’s next swing with her katana.

“Get off me!” Sasha snapped.

“You’re wasting energy. You’re wasting yourself,” Michonne said flatly, not backing down.

Sasha was panting, her knuckles scraped and trembling. “I need to do something!”

“This isn’t it,” Michonne said.

Beth flinched as another walker hit the ground with a sickening thud. Judith shifted slightly in her arms but didn’t cry.

Sasha stepped back at last, shoulders slumped, eyes glassy. Grief, rage, exhaustion—they were all melting together in the same face.

Eventually, the sounds stopped. The walkers were down and the threat was gone—for now.

Beth exhaled, her voice catching as she whispered to the sleeping baby: “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

______________________________________________________

The road had turned up nothing.

Cars were gutted shells, gas tanks bone dry, and glove compartments filled with little more than moldy receipts and faded fast food wrappers. The group hadn’t eaten in almost two days, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Beth could feel it pressing on everyone, a gnawing frustration behind the eyes, an invisible ache in the bones.

Rick had finally waved them to a halt near a cluster of skeletal trees lining the shoulder of the road. “See what you can find in the woods,” he’d said to Daryl. “You know the signs better than any of us.”

Daryl didn’t answer, he just looked over his shoulder, gaze on Beth.

She met his eyes and gave a nod before he could say anything. There was no discussion, just a glance passed between them, and that was enough. They moved off the road together without a word.

The trees swallowed them in shadow and quiet. Leaves crackled underfoot as they walked side by side, their steps almost in rhythm. It wasn’t awkward—not anymore. It hadn’t been since the night by the fire, since that kiss. They hadn’t spoken about it again, they didn’t need to, the space between them said enough.

Daryl paused near a tree, crouching low to study the ground. 

Beth hovered nearby, scanning the brush even though she knew her tracking skills were nothing like his. “Anything?” she asked quietly.


He was quiet for a moment, before a frustrated sigh left his nose. “Nothin.” he grunted. “Tracks’re days old, anythin that passes through here ain’t stayin.”

She nodded, adjusting the strap of her empty bag. “Figures.” A squirrel scrambled up a tree trunk nearby, too quick to catch even if they were desperate. Beth watched it disappear into the branches, then sighed. “Even the squirrels know better than to stick around us.”

Daryl stood with a grunt, brushing off his knees. “Don’t blame ’em.”

They kept walking, ducking under limbs, and pushing past dried brush that clung to their clothes. A gust of wind stirred the trees and brought with it the distant stink of decay.

Beth winced as her stomach let out a loud growl. She tried to ignore it, but Daryl glanced sideways.

“Shouldn’t’ve come,” he muttered. “Ain’t nothin’ out here.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

“Then why say anything?”

He stopped walking, and turned to look at her. “You’re still healin’. You push too hard, you’ll fall apart.”

She frowned. “I’m not made of glass, Daryl.”

His voice softened, just a little. “Didn’t say you were. Just—don’t gotta be out here proving somethin’, not to me.”

Beth looked down at her boots, then back up at him. “I’m not. I just…sitting around makes it worse. The waiting, the not knowing.”

They stood there a beat longer than they needed to, then Daryl glanced at the sky. “Sun’s goin’ down. We should head back.”

Beth nodded. “Yeah.”

They turned, retracing their steps in silence. Halfway back, Beth finally spoke, voice quieter than before. “We didn’t find anything.”

“Nope.”

“But I don’t regret coming.”

Daryl slowed his pace just enough that they were side by side again. “Me neither.” He didn’t say anything else, but his hand brushed hers once, then again, and on the third pass Beth slipped her fingers between his.

They walked the last stretch of woods hand-in-hand, silent except for the sound of their shared steps. The ache of hunger still lingered, and the road ahead was still just as long and uncertain—but something about the warmth between them made the weight of it all feel just a little lighter.

Chapter Text

The rest of the group had set up a rough rest spot just off the road: a few stones for seats and their bags slung on branches. Rick knelt, overlooking the map, his face drawn and hollow. Maggie looked up first as they stepped into view.

Rick looked up, the faintest flash of hope crossing his face before it dropped away again. “Anything?”

Daryl gave a short shake of his head. “Nothin’.”

Beth opened her mouth to say something, but the sound hit first.

A sharp, guttural bark.

The group froze.

From the edge of the woods, a pack of feral dogs emerged — lean, mangy things, their ribs protruding through taut flesh like knives. Some limped and one’s ear hung in tatters. They weren’t barking now, just growling, low and broken, eyes locked on the scent of food—or blood.

Carl instinctively clutched Judith tighter. She let out a soft, uneasy sound, small and confused.

Daryl stepped forward, planting himself firmly between the dogs and the rest of them. One hand held his crossbow, the other hovered protectively in front of Beth without even thinking.

Rick rose slowly, eyes on the lead dog.

“They’re starving,” Abraham muttered. “Ain’t right in the head anymore.”

“Neither are we,” Rosita said under her breath.

The dogs crept closer, noses twitching.

Then one lunged.

The gunshot cracked like thunder.

Before anyone had time to react, Rick was already firing again, calm, precise, and efficient. Daryl took one down just as it broke off from the flank. The rest scattered—except the ones too slow or too far gone. The last one whined as it fell, a pitiful sound that went straight to the bone.

Silence stretched thin in the aftermath.

Beth’s hand had found Daryl’s vest during the noise, knuckles white in the fabric, she didn’t even remember reaching for him. She stared at the crumpled bodies, she didn’t cry, but something in her chest twisted. “They were just hungry,” she murmured.

Daryl looked at her gently. “Ain’t no choice. It was us or them.”

Rick reloaded in silence. “We can’t afford to be picky, not anymore.”

No one moved.

Then Sasha stepped forward, quiet and almost mechanical in her movements, dragging the bodies toward the paltry fire pit at the center of their camp. Her face didn’t change, and her eyes didn’t blink.

Beth turned away as the bodies hit the ground with dull, wet thuds. The stink was already curling into the air.

Daryl rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll handle it,” he said softly. “You don’t need to watch.”

Beth shook her head, lips trembling but steady. “I need to see it.”

“You don’t,” he said, softer now. “Ain’t nothin’ good in it.”

“I need to be stronger.”

Before Daryl could argue, Maggie stepped up beside her. She didn’t say anything at first, just looped an arm around her little sister’s shoulders and pulled her in close. “You already are,” she said.

They stood like that as Sasha finished her task and lit the fire, flames roared up with a hungry hiss. Nobody said grace, nobody said anything. When the meat was cooked, it was passed around without comment. Meat was meat, and it was that or nothing.

Beth chewed in silence. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t cry, she just kept her eyes on the fire. When her portion was finished, she let her hands fall into her lap. Beth didn’t regret surviving, but she hated the world that kept asking her to prove she deserved to.

______________________________________________________

The fire had burned down to lazy embers, glowing low and red in the pit. Most of the group had already turned in, wrapped in blankets or huddled close for warmth, leaving only the hum of crickets and the occasional snap of wood as company.

Beth sat on her bedroll, legs crossed beneath her blanket, poking a twig at the fire. She glanced up when Daryl wandered back from his perimeter check, arms loose at his sides, eyes scanning instinctively before they found her. He dropped down beside her with a grunt, nudging her leg lightly with his knee. “You’re still up.”

“So are you,” she shot back, a little smile tugging at her lips. “You keepin’ watch or lookin’ for company?”

“Don’t need to choose,” he said. “Got both.”

Beth laughed, the sound soft and breathy in the night air. “That was almost smooth.”

He glanced at her, eyes flickering with amusement. “Don’t get used to it.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Beth broke the silence first. “You ever think about what it’d be like if none of this ever happened?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He reached for a twig and tossed it into the coals. “Sometimes. Don’t get far with it, though. That world’s gone.”

Beth turned her head to look at him. Firelight kissed his jawline, highlighting every shadow in his face. “I think about it sometimes. Who we’d be, where we’d be, if we’d ever even met.”

Daryl’s eyes flicked to hers, and he shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. World’s weird, maybe I’d’ve fixed your flat tire outside a diner.”

Beth huffed a soft laugh. “And then refused to talk to me the whole time.”

“Wouldn’t’ve had to,” Daryl said, smirking faintly. “You’d be the one talkin’ my ear off.”

She nudged his arm. “You like when I talk.”

He didn’t deny it.

Beth leaned toward him, just enough that her hair brushed his arm. “You know, if you keep hoverin’ like this, people are gonna talk.”

“They already are,” Daryl muttered.

Beth grinned. “And what exactly are they sayin’?”

Daryl shrugged one shoulder. “Somethin’ about how you’re slummin’ it with a redneck.”

She scoffed. “Slummin’? Nah, maybe I just like my men broody, and allergic to compliments."

That made his ears go red. “Ain’t true.”

“Oh, it’s true,” she teased, nudging his thigh with hers. “You blush more than I do.”

“I don’t blush.”

“You’re blushing right now. ”

He turned his face away, muttering something unintelligible and Beth leaned closer, eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “It’s cute.”

“You callin’ me cute?” he asked, mock offended.

“I mean…you’re rugged, dangerous, and very serious.” She was fighting a smirk. “But also a little cute.”

Daryl huffed. “You’re trouble.”

“And you like it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached out, catching a loose strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear with a gentle hand. The moment stretched, warm and slow, his thumb lingered against her cheek.

“You’re always starin’ at me like that,” she murmured.

“Maybe I like what I see.”

Beth’s breath caught in her throat. “Then maybe you should do somethin’ about it.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate. His lips found hers in a kiss that was firm, sweet, a little clumsy but all heart. She melted into it, arms sliding around his neck as he tugged her gently into his lap, her knees straddling him beneath the blanket they now shared.

His hands curled at her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt like he wasn’t sure whether to pull her closer or memorize the moment first.

“You keep kissin’ me like that,” she whispered against his mouth, “and I’m not gonna want to stop.”

His voice dropped to a low, teasing growl. “Ain’t tryin’ to stop.”

Beth’s laugh was breathy. “Guess we better make it count then.”

Daryl’s lips trailed to her neck, breath hot against her skin, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she tilted her head to give him more. The blanket slipped down her shoulders as his hand slid beneath it.

And then, a branch cracked loudly.

“Oh…uh, should I vacate?”

They both jerked apart like startled cats.

Eugene was standing six feet away, wearing an expression somewhere between admiration and existential crisis.

Daryl muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and dragged a hand down his face.

Beth pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to bury her face in Daryl’s neck or disappear into the dirt.

Eugene, undeterred, held up a hand. “I assure you, I did not witness anything anatomically revealing. Not even borderline indecent. At worst, I’d classify it as PG-13 tenderness.”

Beth burst into laughter, she couldn’t help it.

“Was just lookin’ for a tree to empty my bladder,” Eugene continued, waving vaguely at the dark. “But I will re-calibrate and remove myself from the vicinity of…burgeoning emotional entanglement. Proceed.” He walked off muttering to himself about the dangers of interrupting “pre-coital bonding in post-apocalyptic environments.”

Beth leaned into Daryl’s shoulder, laughing softly against him. “Only Eugene,” she said.

Daryl exhaled through his nose — somewhere between amused and mortified. “He’s lucky I didn’t throw somethin’ at him.”

Beth tilted her face up to his. “Still want to throw something at me ?”

“No,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on her. “Just wanna stay right here.”

She touched his chest, right where his heart was. “Then stay.”

Chapter Text

The day was particularly hot.

Not the kind of oppressive Southern heat they’d come to expect — but the kind that clung to your throat and made your body feel heavier than it was. Their water was nearly gone, as was the remaining meat from the dogs.

Beth walked beside Daryl near the rear of the group, his hand brushed hers every few steps. 

The road curved in front of them, with Maggie, Sasha, and Glenn scouting slightly up ahead where they spotted it first — a plastic jug of water surrounded by several smaller water bottles, sitting in the middle of the road, sun glinting off its surface like a beacon.

A white sheet of paper was taped to the front. In thick black marker, it read:

“FROM A FRIEND.”

The group stopped.

“Don’t touch it,” Rick said sharply, eyes narrowing.


They all stared at the jug like it might explode.

“Could be poison,” Abraham muttered.

“Could be a trap,” Rosita added.

“Could be a blessing,” said Gabriel, stepping forward slowly.

Beth stared at the jug, her lips were dry and her throat burned.

Beside her, Daryl’s jaw tightened. He took a long look at the woods on either side of the road, then at the treeline behind them.

Rick moved slowly, crouching by the jug. He picked up a stick and nudged the water. The plastic shifted and the water inside sloshed. No movement from the trees, no noise. “I say we keep moving,” he muttered, standing.

“But we don’t have any more water,” Glenn said.

“Then we find some,” Rick said. “Not this.”

Beth’s gaze lingered on the word “friend” and her gut twisted. She wasn’t sure if it was hope…or paranoia in disguise.

Eugene, however, started walking towards it with the confident strut of a man on a mission.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rosita said sharply. “Eugene—”

He grabbed the nearest jug and unscrewed the cap with dramatic flair. “Quality assurance,” Eugene declared, lifting it toward his mouth—

THWACK.

The jug flew out of his hands, hitting the asphalt and splashing water everywhere.

Abraham lowered his hand from where he’d just slapped it out of Eugene’s grasp, his expression thunderous. “Are you outta your damn mind?”

Eugene blinked, stunned. “I was attempting to demonstrate scientific initiative in a sip sized investiga—”

Abraham shoved past him. “You were attempting to drink random road water, dumbass! Could be poison, could be piss, could be poisoned piss. It don’t matter.”

Glenn rubbed his temple, while Tara choked down a laugh. Beth managed to crack a faint smile.

“We don’t touch it,” Rick said firmly. “Not unless we know who left it.”

“But we’re dying out here,” Gabriel said, his voice hoarse.

No one argued.

The jugs just sat there, glistening in the sun, a cruel mirage.

Then came a clap of thunder.

It was so loud and sudden, Eugene yelped audibly.

Another boom, then the sky cracked wide open.

Rain.

Cold, heavy, cleansing.

The group stood in stunned silence as it poured down. It soaked their clothes, their hair, and the ground. After days of heat and hunger, it felt like heaven.

Gabriel dropped to his knees in the middle of the road, hands raised, rain washing the dust from his skin. His lips moved in prayer, choked with sobs.

Carl turned his hat over Judith’s head, shielding her from the downpour, eyes squinting against the downpour but smiling faintly. Judith giggled.

Glen whooped and Maggie smiled, really smiled, for the first time in days.

Eugene looked mildly betrayed that the universe had rendered his ‘water guinea pig’ gesture unnecessary.


Abraham grinned as he walked over to Eugene and clapped him on the back hard. “Congratulations, jackass. You live another day.”


“I’ll take it.” Eugene muttered in response, soaked and blinking.

Sasha stood a few feet away, face tilted up, eyes vacant. The rain hit her like it hit the rest of them—but she didn’t react.

Beth tilted her face upward, letting it run down her cheeks.

And Daryl, standing silently nearby, watched her for a long moment before slowly lowering his crossbow and letting the rain soak him too.

No one drank the water on the road.

They didn’t need it anymore.

For now, the sky had taken pity

______________________

They found the barn just before the worst of the storm hit, tucked off a forgotten back road half-swallowed by woods and overgrowth. The structure was leaning but solid, its rusted hinges groaning when Glenn and Rick forced the doors open. It smelled like mildew and hay, but it was dry and that was all they needed.

The group fanned out automatically to sweep the space. Daryl took the perimeter, Rick went left, and Beth drifted toward the back with the others, where the shadows pooled the deepest.

She was the one who found it.

In the farthest corner stall, slumped in on itself like a forgotten scarecrow, was what remained of a woman. The walker looked starved, its limbs brittle, movement barely a twitch, and its blonde hair hung in filthy clumps. The wrists were sliced, jagged and dark. A rusted can lid still lay beneath the hay. Beth’s breath caught—not from fear, but from recognition not of the woman, but of the pain.

Beth didn’t call for anyone. She stepped inside the stall slowly, heart pounding, and raised her knife. The walker didn’t react much, letting out a lazy groan with a weak loll of its head. Beth’s fingers trembled around the hilt, not from hesitation—but from the terrible sadness of it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The knife slid in clean between the eye sockets. The body dropped with a soft thud, stirring dust and old straw. Beth knelt there a moment longer, breathing hard through her nose. When she rose, she turned and nearly bumped into Maggie.

Her sister stood in the doorway, face pale, lips pressed tight.

Beth straightened, wiping the blade against her jeans. She didn’t speak.

Maggie reached out without a word and laid a hand on Beth’s arm—light, and anchoring. The kind of touch that said I see you. That said, I know.

Beth finally nodded, blinking fast, and walked past her with squared shoulders.

By the time the rest of the group had settled and the rain had grown relentless. It slapped the tin roof of the barn in loud, angry bursts, drowning out all other noise. Wind screamed through the cracks in the wooden slats, and the trees outside groaned under its weight. Inside, the barn now smelled like wet hay, old wood, and fatigue.

Beth had taken her place near the back wall. Daryl had already claimed the space and made room for her at his side without asking. She sat with her knees drawn up, arms around them. She was damp to the bone even after peeling off her soaked jacket, her hair still sticking to her neck.

Daryl sat with his back to the barn wall, his crossbow propped beside him. His arm was around her, not tightly, but enough to shield her from the worst of the chill.

No one looked twice at it anymore. If anything, in a world unraveling, their closeness was a quiet sort of anchor.

“You warm enough?” Daryl mumbled, voice low and rough from days without much speech.

Beth nodded against his shoulder. “M’fine, just tired.”

Behind them, the others were huddled closer to a small fire they had made earlier. Rick and Michonne sat with Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham, their voices low and tense. Carol sat off to the side, her gaze distant, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Everyone looked like they were unraveling—just slowly enough to still pretend they weren’t.

“They’re losin’ it,” Daryl grunted, shifting to pull her a little closer, the side of his face brushing her damp hair.

Beth looked toward the lantern glow and nodded slowly. “It’s been a long time since anything felt like hope.” She hugged her knees a little tighter. She wasn’t crying, but her voice had that soft edge again—the one she used when she was trying real hard not to. “They’re talkin’ about whether there’s even anything better out there,” she said. “If maybe this is just it now. The fighting, the walkin’, the waitin’.”

“And you?” he asked.

Beth took a breath. “I don’t know, I want to believe there’s somethin’. A place, a reason. I think…if I stop believin’ that, I’ll disappear.”

Daryl didn’t answer. The wind howled outside, shaking the barn doors. Lightning flashed once, illuminating the pale, hollow faces of the others in a brief, ghostly burst.

Beth reached over and picked at a piece of hay on the floor. “We were always lookin’ for a better place. Now…I think the place doesn’t matter so much, it’s the people that do.”

Daryl’s jaw worked, but he didn’t speak. She didn’t press him.

After another long moment, she shifted to the side a bit, just enough to look at him. “You ever think about just runnin’? Alone?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Used to.”

“Why don’t you anymore?”

He looked at her, and when his voice came, it was barely a breath. “Cause I ain’t alone no more.”

Beth’s heart gave a thump behind her ribs. She didn’t speak—she just nodded and rested her head against him again, eyes finally feeling heavy.

From where the others sat, Rick’s voice cut through the gloom to reach them, measured and certain, but heavy with the weight of the world. “We do what we need to do, and then we get to live,” he said. “No matter what comes our way, I know we’ll be okay, because this is how we survive.”

Rick’s voice began to grow fuzzy as Beth finally closed her eyes, slipping off with the last of his speech. “We are the walking dead.”

Outside, the storm raged on. 

Inside, the barn held firm.

And for a night, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The wind howled like it was alive.

It clawed through the trees outside, bending them with moaning creaks, rattling loose branches across the tin roof of the barn. Inside, everything echoed — the groans of aged wood, the clinks of chain against the door latch, the snap and roll of thunder just a few miles away.

Daryl paced like a caged animal, eyes flickering to the door every time it shifted on its hinges. The chain holding it closed shuddered, stretched with every new gust. He didn’t say anything, he j ust kept walking, boots scuffing along dirt and splinters. One hand rested near his crossbow slung over his shoulder, the other clenched at his side.

Every now and then, he cast a glance toward the sleeping group—Maggie, curled with her back to a hay bale, Glenn with her. Sasha and Noah laid out flat, both too exhausted to keep watch. Eugene, Rosita and Abraham were breathing slow. Rick was against the far wall, still but awake.

Beth had been dozing light, wrapped in a piece of worn tarp that smelled faintly of Daryl and hay. The howling wind crept into her dreams, and she woke just as the doors slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.

Daryl was already lunging for the chain before anyone else stirred.

The storm had called in the walkers, slow and relentless, driven by the sound. The door buckled again under the pressure. The dead were outside now, clawing at the seams, pushing with the weight of hunger. 

Beth was on her feet before she could even think . “Daryl—!” she called, stumbling toward him.

He didn’t respond, he just threw himself against the door, shoulder to the wood, gritting his teeth as the chain shuddered against the latch, boots slipping in the dirt. 

Beth didn’t hesitate. She slammed her body beside his, catching his eye for the briefest moment as her hands locked on the frame. Wind screamed through the cracks, icy and wet, the storm right on top of them now , but despite it she could hear them—growling, and gnashing with scrabbling fingers. “I got you!” she shouted, her voice cracking. 

His jaw ticked, but his weight shifted subtly toward her. The trust was there—in the press of his shoulder against hers, in the set of his stance. The storm outside howled and the dead clawed and slammed. But inside, she was his anchor, and he was hers.

Then came Maggie.

Then Glenn.

Then Rick, Noah, Abraham, Sasha, Carl—one after the other, stumbling from sleep into motion, each of them throwing themselves into the door, bracing against the tide of wind and death. The building groaned. The world outside snarled and struck again, hands beat the boards, and fingers reached through the cracks. Beth’s heart thundered, her arms straining, body trembling with effort. 

“We hold,” Rick growled.

And they did. 

It took everything they had. But eventually, the snarling gave way to the wind again. The storm began to drift on, and with it, the walkers wandered too—drawn elsewhere, fading into the distance like ghosts. 

The tension broke slowly. One by one, the group stepped back, hands falling away, muscles shaking, and breaths coming ragged.

Beth leaned against the wall and slid down slowly, arms limp and chest heaving. 

Daryl stayed at the door a little longer, watching and listening. Only when he was sure it was over did he finally step away. He turned, eyes scanning the group—but when he saw her, his focus narrowed. 

Beth met his gaze, something raw and quiet settling in her chest. The space between them shrank, even without moving. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. She had been the first to reach him, and he would never forget it.


________________________________

The quiet that came next was not the kind that came with peace—but the hollow, eerie quiet that followed a battle. The storm had passed, the howling winds had gone still, and the slamming rain had faded into soft drips from the barn’s rafters.

Inside, the group had collapsed in a loose exhausted sprawl on the hay-covered floor. Rick lay with one arm over Carl, Michonne beside them, her eyes half-closed but alert. Glenn and Maggie curled into each other, Sasha a tight coil in the shadows. Abraham was snoring lightly, and Eugene muttered in his sleep.

Only two remained wide-awake.

Beth sat upright, back against one of the thick wooden beams. She wasn’t shivering anymore, but her fingers still hadn’t stopped twitching in her lap.

Across the barn, Daryl was still in the same place she’d last seen him: back braced against the wall, head tipped forward, silent and unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. He was watching the barn doors like they might still burst open.

Beth stood quietly, brushing off hay from her pants as she crossed over to him.

“You should be sleepin’,” Daryl murmured, without looking at her. 

“So should you,” she whispered back, easing down beside him. She sat close, her thigh brushing his, but he kept his eyes fixed on the doors.

“I thought it was gonna take us all.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw tight.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” she said softly.

At that, his head turned slightly, just enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “You scared the hell outta me,” Daryl said finally. His voice was low, tense.

Beth blinked. “Me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was not quite raised, but it was edged with something raw. “You ran straight at the doors. At me—what the hell were you thinkin’?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “I just saw you—straining like that, the walkers piling against it, and—”

“I had it.” His tone was brittle, defensive.

“You didn’t have it.” Her voice was steady, even though her chest had started to feel tight. “The doors were buckling, what else was I supposed to do?” 

“Stay back!” he hissed. “You’re supposed to stay back and let me handle it.”

Beth’s brows drew in. “I wasn’t gonna sit there and do nothing while you were—”

“You should’ve,” he snapped, then immediately closed his eyes like he regretted the sharpness. His voice was lower, rougher when he spoke again. “You could’ve been crushed, or pulled out, or bit! You coulda died, Beth.”

She touched his arm, brushing her fingers just barely along his sleeve. “So could you.” 

“That’s different,” he muttered. 

“No, it’s not.” 

“It is,” Daryl bit out, finally turning his head to look at her, eyes shadowed and fierce. “You don’t throw yourself at a damn hurricane for me.”


“And why not? You’d do the same for me.”

He dragged a hand through his damp hair. “’Cause I don’t care what happens to me –”

“Well, I do.” Beth bristled. “You think I could handle losing you?”

Daryl didn’t respond, he just dragged a hand over his face and muttered, “Ain’t nothin’ about me worth savin’, Beth. Ain’t nothin’ in this world worth you dyin’ for.”

“Don’t you dare,” Beth cut in. “You don’t get to decide what you’re worth to me, that’s not your call to make.”

He finally looked at her again, and the pain in his face cut deep.

“You think I ran at that door because I’m reckless? I ran because I saw you and I couldn’t not run. The only thing I could think of was you, Daryl, I’m not whole without you.” Beth’s expression softened, the fight draining out of her all at once as she wilted into his side. “I don’t get to choose what’s worth it to you,” she said. “But I choose you, every time, storm or no storm. I’m not sorry I ran to you and I’ll do it again so don’t even try asking me to stop.”

Daryl exhaled shakily, and when she leaned into his side, he let her, pulling his arm free just enough to drape it around her shoulders. Her head fit beneath his chin like it always did. “I just got you back, I can’t lose you - not again.” he murmured.

“You’re not gonna,” she whispered into his shirt. 

“I don’t wanna bury you,” His voice cracked as he whispered. “You’re all I got.”

Beth closed her eyes, pressing in closer until his warmth eased the ache beneath her ribs.”You won’t have to, but don’t let me bury you either.”

The barn was still cold, the floor was still hard, and the air still smelled like damp earth and rot. But Beth breathed easier in his arms, and Daryl breathed a little easier with her in them too. 

They were still here, together.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The barn was still. No more thunder. No more crashing limbs. Just the soft sound of breathing—some fast, some slow—and the occasional creak of the beams overhead. The storm had passed, but the chill hadn’t left.

Beth sat on a folded blanket near the back wall, her legs curled beneath her and Judith bundled close against her chest. The baby was warm and heavy in her arms, breaths soft and even, a comfort against the rawness left behind by the night. Daryl sat not far off, one knee up, crossbow beside him, his eyes scanning the half-dark space like nothing had changed since the night before. At some point just before dawn, Sasha had slipped out on her own, quiet and restless, like she couldn’t stand being caged in any longer. Maggie had followed not long after, murmuring something about checking on her. No one had tried to stop either of them, Beth only throwing a weary glance Maggie’s way, a quiet reminder for her to be careful. 

Even now, in the silence, no one spoke above a murmur. They were exhausted, but still alert.

Always alert.

The barn doors creaked open.

Rick was the first to stand, hand instinctively going to his revolver.

Sasha stepped in first, rain-dampened and breathless. Maggie followed her, mud-splattered and pale, but upright.

And behind them, came a stranger.

Beth tensed immediately, curling Judith closer to her chest, her fingers pressing protectively into the baby’s back. Daryl shifted, stepping just ahead of her, his body a barrier before she could even react.

The man, young, fit, and wearing a patched-up jacket, held his hands up in plain sight. His eyes were wide, but not frantic. He was calm, and collected.

Rick was already closing the distance, gun out but held low. “Who is he?”

“He says his name’s Aaron.” Maggie answered, voice tight.

“He found us,” Sasha added. “He says he has a…place.”

The barn practically buzzed with unease. Glenn, Abraham, Rosita, Carol—everyone was either standing or reaching for a weapon.

Daryl moved first. He crossed the barn in silence, and stood directly in front of Aaron, glaring into his face with a look that said you’re alive right now because I haven’t decided otherwise. “You armed?” he asked.

Aaron held his hands out wider. “Only with words.”

“Search him,” Rick ordered, and Daryl didn’t wait.

He patted Aaron down efficiently, roughly, jerking open jacket flaps and pulling a small pack from his shoulder. Nothing obvious. No gun. No knife.

“Just a flare,” Daryl muttered, holding up the flare gun before tossing it to the ground behind him.

“That’s for signaling my partner,” Aaron said. “He’s not here, it’s just me.”

Beth rose slowly, not letting go of Judith but coming forward just enough to see better, her eyes darting between Rick and Aaron, her stomach tight.

“He says he has a camp,” Sasha said. “He wants us to go.”

Aaron cleared his throat gently. “Community, actually, it’s called Alexandria. I have pictures, proof it’s safe and organized. I was sent to find people like you, people who could contribute, people who can help make it better, who deserve something better than what's out here.”

No one relaxed.

Michonne’s katana was still unsheathed, Glenn had his gun out at his side, even Carl looked wound tight like a bowstring. Beth shifted Judith and took another half-step forward, now close enough for Daryl to shift slightly in front of her without thinking.

Aaron noticed. His eyes flicked from the baby in Beth’s arms to Daryl’s tense frame, but wisely he said nothing
.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Aaron continued carefully. “But if you are who I think you are…the survivors who’ve lasted this long…you wouldn’t.”

Rick said nothing. His eyes were cold, calculating.

Aaron took a breath. “I’m here to extend an invitation. I’m here because I believe you’re exactly what we need and it’s my job to convince you.”

Silence fell upon the group for a beat, only broken by the creak of the barn roof and Judith’s small, steady breaths.

Then finally, Daryl spoke up, “Then you better start convincing.”

Beth thought he looked so out of place among them. Clean, well-fed, steady-spoken, but not weak. Calm in a way that unnerved Beth more than anything else.

“I understand your skepticism,” Aaron said, looking around at all of them. “But I’ve been watching you. Not in a creepy way—just careful. You keep each other safe, you’re smart, strong, and resourceful. We’ve been searching for people like you.”

Abraham snorted, arms crossed tight over his chest. “People like us don’t just get offered a fresh start. We claw our way through hell and call it Tuesday.”

Aaron smiled gently and turned to Sasha, nodding to his bag. “There are photos inside that were taken recently. Of our walls, our community.”

Sasha opened the flap warily, pulling out a stack of polaroids—grainy but clear enough to make out details. Thick metal walls. solar panels catching the sun. houses with porches and wind chimes, with gardens, and clean streets. Things Beth hadn’t seen in years, things that felt like they belonged to another life.

“This is Alexandria,” Aaron continued. “We’re not perfect, but we’ve survived. We have all the basics - food, water, shelter..we even have a doctor, and electricity thanks to the solar panels.”

Beth leaned slightly forward, drawn in despite herself. Electricity? A doctor?

Aaron continued to speak, his voice steady and gaze fixed on Rick, “You’re a leader. You know the risk of walking out there with nothing but your weapons and prayers. Look at the pictures, let me show you we’re not lying.”

Sasha passed the photos to Michonne, then to Glenn, when Glenn passed them on to her, her fingers shook slightly as she took them. Beth studied each one carefully and her heart started to ache—not in fear, but in longing. White fences, a swing set, ivy crawling up the side of a front porch. It looked…possible. Daryl shifted beside her, close now, his hand brushing hers as she passed one of the photos to him. He glanced at it, then at her, his brow furrowed. He didn’t say it aloud, but she could read it in his eyes: Too good to be true.

Aaron was still speaking. “You’ve got something strong here—loyalty, trust, a will to survive. Alexandria needs that, but I think you need us too, all of you. Together, we’d be—”

He never finished, because Rick moved.

Beth didn’t see the punch coming until it landed—fast and brutal. Aaron’s head snapped sideways, his body folding to the floor in a heap, unconscious before he hit the ground. Beth gasped, arms reflexively pulling Judith tighter against her chest

“Rick!” Michonne shouted, grabbing his arm. “What the hell?!”

“He’s been watching us,” Rick barked. “Tracking us. For who? For what? He could’ve taken those pictures off a dead man.”

“He didn’t look like a liar,” Beth said softly, still staring at Aaron’s motionless form. Her heart thudded fast in her chest, echoing with the memory of the last time someone extended kindness that turned into something worse.

Daryl glanced at her quickly, jaw clenched, then looked back at Rick. “You coulda asked first.”

Rick didn’t flinch. “We can’t take chances.”

Glenn bent down and checked Aaron’s pulse. “He’s alive.”

Rick stood over him, chest heaving. “Good.” He turned to Carl, nodding at him. “Dump his pack, let’s see who this guy really is.”

“Rick—” Michonne started again, frustrated.

Rick turned, scanning the barn, eyes sweeping across their shaken group like he was already gearing up for the next threat. “Everyone else—we need eyes on every side. He’s not alone and they’re coming for us. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they are.”

The barn had gone still again, but not in the same way as before.

The kind of quiet now wasn’t peace—it was the kind that followed a gunshot, the kind that sat heavy in the air while everyone waited to see what came next.

Aaron still hadn’t stirred.

Rick stood off to the side with Michonne near him, arguing in low, clipped tones. Carl was picking through Aaron’s pack. Glenn and Maggie hovered nearby, watching. Abraham had retreated to the door again, muttering something under his breath to Rosita. Everyone else had fallen into a familiar silence—that wary, coiled stillness that came after surviving too many bad turns.

Beth had stepped back to the edge of the barn, settling Judith again in her lap. She rocked gently, absently, her eyes on the man sprawled on the hay-strewn floor. She didn’t notice Maggie until the footsteps stopped just beside her.

“You mind if I sit?” Maggie asked, voice low.

Beth looked up, blinking like she’d been pulled out of a deep thought. She hesitated for a second, just long enough to be felt, then nodded and scooted aside.

Maggie sat down with a tired exhale, knees drawn up, hands clasped together loosely. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“She okay?” Maggie asked softly, nodding to Judith.

Beth smiled faintly. “Out cold. She always sleeps better after storms.”

Maggie hummed. “Wish I could say the same.”

Beth didn’t laugh, but her smile lingered a little longer this time.

Another pause passed between them.

“I saw how you looked at him,” Maggie said eventually, nodding at Aaron. “After...well, you know.” she idly gestured towards Rick with her chin.

Beth’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “He didn’t do anything threatening, Rick didn’t have to hit him.”

“I agree,” Maggie said, surprising her. “He went too far.”

Beth glanced at her. “Doesn’t seem like you told him that.”

Maggie sighed, staring down at her hands. “He’s spiraling. Maybe we all are a little, I’m trying to pick my battles.”

Beth turned toward her. “Do you trust him?”

Maggie blinked. “Aaron?”

She nodded.

Maggie was quiet a moment, then said, “I don’t know yet. I want to. But every time I think about places with walls and smiling strangers, I think about Woodbury, and Terminus, and everything rotten that was beneath it.”

Beth nodded slowly. “I think about that too.”

Maggie glanced at her. “And?”

Beth looked down at Judith, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I still want to believe there’s somewhere left in this world that ain’t trying to kill us.”

Maggie gave a small, wry smile. “You know, sometimes I wonder if Daddy would even recognize us.”

Beth reached over and took her sister’s hand gently. “I think he would,” she said. “And I think he’d be proud we’re still here.”

Maggie gripped her hand a little tighter, and for the first time in a while, they just sat in the quiet together.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron stirred on the ground, bound and slumped where Rick had knocked him out less than half an hour ago. A red mark still bloomed on his cheekbone. His pack had already been rifled through—everything dumped on the floor. Flare gun, radio, maps, photos. No weapons.

Rick stood by the barn door like a storm waiting to break.

When Aaron groaned, blinking into the dim light, it was Michonne who moved first.

“You’re awake,” she said, arms crossed. Her voice wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel either. “We need answers.”

Aaron squinted, shifting upright. “So…just to clarify—this is the welcome wagon?”

Rick stepped forward, jaw tight. “Who else is out there with you?”

Aaron blinked. “Pardon?”

“The flare gun,” Rick said, holding it up. “You’re supposed to signal someone. How many?”

“Rick—” Michonne started.

“I’m not doing this again,” Rick snapped. “I’m not letting someone walk us into another trap.”

Beth watched from near the wall, her arms folded protectively around her middle. She hadn’t spoken since Rick knocked Aaron out, but her fingers tapped anxiously at her elbow, eyes flicking between him and the others.

Aaron straightened slowly, hands still bound in front of him. “Okay. You’re right to be cautious. Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t. But I swear to you—I’m alone  right now . I have a partner, Eric. He’s nearby, but not here. The flare is just a signal in case we need each other. We’ve got a car and an RV about a mile up the road that’s full of supplies. Food, medicine, clean water.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “That easy, huh?”

Aaron held his gaze, voice calm despite his bruised face. “I get it, you’ve lost people, and you’re scared. But I’m here to offer you something, a chance to live. Not just survive.” He looked around at them. “I’ve seen what people out here are willing to do to survive. But that’s not who we are. Alexandria isn’t a trap. We’re building something that’s worth it.”

Sasha’s voice cut in, low but steady. “He didn’t try anything when he saw me and Maggie, he just held his hands up.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Rick said flatly.

“It might,” Maggie added, stepping forward. “He said he’s been watching us. He could’ve done something but he didn’t. He said he’s the one who left the water on the road.”

Aaron nodded quickly. “You were starving and dehydrated. I didn’t think you’d trust it, but I had to try.”

Rick said nothing, but his silence was heavy.

Beth spoke then, voice quiet but clear. “Why us?”

Aaron turned to her slowly, blinking against the sting of the barn light. “Because you’re still here,” he said simply. “You’re together, you protect each other, and you haven’t turned on one another. That means something.” His eyes moved back to Rick. “And you—your people follow you like they’d walk into fire for you. That kind of leadership matters.”

Rick didn’t move. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t lessened.

Beth shifted slightly, biting the inside of her cheek.. Her instincts screamed to be wary. Every stranger since Grady had carried shadows. But this man? He looked scared too, scared and tired. Human. “I want to believe you,” Beth said slowly. “I do, but we’ve been burned before.”

Aaron’s voice softened. “That’s why I came unarmed, and that’s why I brought the pictures. I knew you’d never believe words alone.”

A long pause followed.

Everyone waited on Rick.

Finally, he took one step back. “Maggie. Glenn. Michonne,” Rick said, nodding without looking away from Aaron. “Take Rosita and Abraham with you. Find the vehicles, see if this is real.”

There was a shift in the barn as silent understanding passed between those chosen. They grabbed what they needed—packs, knives, firearms—without a word of complaint.

Michonne tightened the straps on her katana harness and moved to the door. Rosita double-checked her rifle. Abraham adjusted the strap on his shoulder and let out a low grunt, casting a glance at Aaron. “Well,” he muttered, half to himself, “if this is a trap, it’s the politest one I’ve seen yet.”

Beth looked at Maggie, then reached out and lightly touched her sister’s arm. “Be careful,” she said gently, not pleading, just a quiet tether of worry and love.

Maggie paused, her expression softening. She nodded. “I will.”

They shared a look, then Maggie followed Glenn toward the exit.

The barn doors creaked open again, letting in a rush of cold air and gray light. The five of them slipped out, one after the other, disappearing into the morning fog.

Inside, the barn settled into silence again.

Rick stayed near Aaron, his expression still unreadable, the flare gun loose in his hand but not forgotten.

Aaron shifted against the post, breathing through his nose, watching the doors like he already knew the next few hours would determine everything.

Beth returned to her place against the wall.

Now all they could do was wait.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wind scraped cold fingers across the boards of the barn, whistling through the slats. Maggie, Glenn, Rosita, Michonne, and Abraham had left just a bit ago to find the supplies Aaron mentioned, the others were just outside, doing a cautious sweep of the perimeter.

In the far corner, Judith was crying again. Her tiny face was flushed, tears running hot down her cheeks as she squirmed against Beth’s shoulder. The cries weren’t frantic, but they were hungry, desperate.

Beth rocked her slowly, murmuring soft, broken lullabies, her free hand working over the dull grindstone. She had acorns—the last of what she’d foraged that morning. Bitter and not meant for babies, but roasted and ground into a paste, they were something, a nd Beth had nothing else.

Daryl stood a few feet away, crouched in a watchful hunch, never taking his eyes off Aaron, who was seated near the wall with his hands zip-tied. The man had been calm ever since the others had taken off to scout the location he claimed held food and vehicles—but that didn’t mean anyone was relaxing. Especially not Daryl, e specially not with Beth looking pale and tired, and cradling a screaming baby.

Beth blinked back tears and tried to keep her voice level. “I can’t get the grind fine enough, she’s gonna choke on it.”

Daryl stepped forward, stiff and uncertain. “Let me try—”

“I might have something.”

Both Beth and Daryl turned toward Aaron’s voice.

His tone was cautious, nonthreatening. “In my bag. I brought it to prove I was being honest. There’s a pouch of applesauce.”

Beth stared at him like he’d spoken another language.

Daryl’s body shifted immediately, shielding her. “Don’t.”

“I know what this sounds like,” Aaron said, lifting his bound hands slightly. “But I wouldn’t lie about food for a baby.”

Beth hesitated, heart pounding. She glanced at Judith, who was still fussing weakly in her arms, her small cries starting to wear into hiccups.

“Please,” Aaron said. “Just look.”

Beth looked to Daryl, unsure.

He looked furious—but after a beat, he gave a short nod. “I’ll get it.” He crossed to Aaron’s bag like it might explode in his hands. He rifled through it with jerky movements, then froze.

There it was.

A soft pouch of applesauce, still sealed.

Daryl held it up, skeptical. “What the hell is this?”

“Food,” Aaron said.

“Or poison,” Daryl bit out.

Beth reached for it slowly. “Let me see.” She turned the packet over. It was clean and unopened. Something about the smooth plastic in her hand felt surreal—like it belonged to the old world. The kind of thing you’d throw in a school lunchbox. “It smells fine,” she murmured after carefully tearing the top open.

“That don’t mean nothin,” Daryl said, arms folding over his chest. “Ain’t safe.”

“I’ll prove it,” Aaron said suddenly. “Give it here.”

Daryl stiffened. “You ain’t getting near her.”

“Then watch me.” Aaron leaned forward slightly. “I’ll take the first bite. I want her to have it.”

Beth met Daryl’s gaze again. He looked like he wanted to break Aaron in two, but he was watching her, waiting.

She didn’t plead, she didn’t have to. Her expression—tired, desperate, but steady, spoke enough.

Daryl exhaled hard through his nose and stepped just enough to the side, still hovering close. “Fine. But if you twitch wrong, I’ll gut you.”

Aaron nodded and leaned forward as Beth cautiously handed him the pouch. He took a careful bite, and swallowed.

Nothing happened.

No twitching, no gasping, just silence.

Beth snatched it back from him, heart pounding, and turned toward Judith. The baby was still whimpering. She pressed the opening gently to her lips and Judith latched, slow at first—then eagerly. Her cries faded into suckling sounds. Beth let out a trembling breath. “She’s eating,” she whispered. “She’s really eating.”

Daryl crouched beside her, his arm coming around her back without hesitation. His hand rested at the base of her spine, grounding her, steadying her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Aaron leaned back against the wall, tired but satisfied. “Told you.”

Beth didn’t thank him.

Not yet.

But the look she gave him—cautious, grateful, and still wary—was the closest thing to mercy he’d get from this group.

For now.

The barn door creaked open again a bit later, and Rick stepped inside, boots crunching against hay. His revolver was still holstered but his hand hovered near it, fingers flexing with habit. He scanned the space with sharp, practiced eyes—counting heads, gauging tension. He didn’t miss much.

The first thing he saw was Aaron still bound, still sitting. Alive.

The second thing was Daryl—crouched beside Beth, one arm looped behind her back, his whole body angled protectively toward her like he hadn’t moved since Rick left.

The third—Judith, nestled in Beth’s arms, no longer crying. She was suckling greedily at something in Beth’s hand. A pouch.

Rick’s expression darkened instantly. “What is that?” he asked, his voice low but taut.

Beth didn’t look up right away. Her attention was on Judith, her fingers smoothing the baby’s hair. She spoke gently. “Applesauce.”

Rick blinked. “From where?”

Daryl stood, slow and solid. “His bag.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “You fed her something from his pack?”

“She was starving,” Beth said, her voice still calm but firmer now. “The acorn meal wasn’t fine enough; she couldn’t eat it. She was crying for hours, Rick.”

“She’s okay,” Daryl added, “We watched him eat it first.”

Rick’s eyes cut to Aaron, narrowing. “You told them to give that to her?”

Aaron shook his head, lifting his bound hands slightly. “I offered, they made the call.”

Rick stepped closer. “You could’ve poisoned her.”

“I didn’t,” Aaron said evenly.

Beth finally looked up, meeting Rick’s eyes without flinching. “She’s eating, she’s quiet, she’s safe.”

The words carried more weight than they should have.

Rick studied them—the baby curled in Beth’s arms, her tear-streaked face now relaxed in sleep, Daryl standing just behind her like a sentry. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then: “Where’s the rest of it?”

Beth handed him the half-empty pouch without protest. Rick examined it, turning it over in his hand like it might reveal a lie. He glanced at Daryl. “And you were okay with this?”

Daryl didn’t blink. “No, but I trust her, and she trusted it.”

That hung heavy in the space between them.

Rick exhaled through his nose, tension still radiating off him. He stepped back, just slightly. “If she gets sick—”

“She won’t,” Beth said, quiet but certain. “I wouldn’t have risked it if I thought it’d hurt her.”

Rick didn’t answer. But he looked at Judith again—peaceful now, tiny fingers curled against Beth’s chest—and for a moment, something in his posture loosened.

Not trust.

But maybe the beginning of it.

Chapter Text

Maggie, Glenn, Rosita, Michonne, and Abraham had returned not long ago with what looked like a small miracle: cans, boxes, pouches—real food, and It had changed something in the barn.

Beth stood near the center of the barn, arms folded tight across her chest. Daryl was beside her, just slightly behind, his presence solid and grounding. She could feel his warmth near her shoulder, the way his fingers ghosted close to hers, just in case she needed him to reach out and take her hand.

Judith was asleep again, curled under an extra jacket beside her. The applesauce had worked, that mattered more to her than anything else Aaron could offer.

She wasn’t alone in her suspicions, but the part of her that still sang lullabies, the part that hummed songs from an old world, and believed that there were still good people out there wanted to believe this wasn’t just another carefully tied noose. Aaron had brought them sustenance, smiling, and hopeful. But she saw Rick’s jaw twitch, and she knew his answer before he spoke.

“It’s ours now,” Rick said finally, his voice low, flat. “Whether we go with you or not.”

Aaron didn’t blink. “I figured you’d say that.”

Beth watched from beneath her lashes as Michonne stepped forward, arms swinging with restrained conviction. “We should at least listen to him, Rick,” Michonne said. “This place…it might be real. It might be safe.”

“He wasn’t lying about the food.” Maggie added.

Carl, standing nearby with his hat tilted back, chimed in. “Dad, come on. Look at us! We’re tired, everyone’s starving, and Judith…” His voice wavered only for a second. “We can’t just survive forever. We have to live, too.”

Rick stared at his son, jaw clenched.

Beth swallowed around the lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, to echo Carl’s words, to say she wanted to believe in walls and gardens and peace—but Rick’s narrowed gaze held her back. Not out of fear, but…loyalty. It kept her tongue tied.

A voice broke the silence again.

“Ahunno, man.” Daryl drawled from her side, arms folded. “Barn smells like horseshit. I wouldn’t say no to a change of scenery.”

Beth blinked, turning her head toward him. Daryl wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but the slight tilt of his mouth, the knowing flick of his eyes toward her, said it all. He knew what this meant to her. He saw it. A smile tugged at her lips before she could help it.

Rick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across his beard. “So, where are we going?” He turned to face Aaron. “Where’s your camp?”


Aaron hesitated, like a deer pinned in headlights. “Well…every time I’ve done this, I’ve been behind the wheel, driving new people back.” Seeing Rick’s expression shift, he quickly added, “I believe you’re all good people, I do. I bet my life on it just walking in here—but I’m not ready to bet my friends’ lives. Not yet.”

“You’re not driving,” Michonne said flatly, stepping closer. “So, if you want to get home, you’ll have to tell us how.”

Aaron swallowed, his eyes doing another sweep of those gathered in the barn as Rick unfurled the map and with a sigh of defeat, he spoke. “Go north on Route 16.”


“And then?” Michonne gently pressed.


“I’ll tell you when we get there.”


“We’ll take 23 north.” Rick said flatly. “You’ll give us directions from there.”


“That’s –” Aaron shook his head quickly. “I don’t know how else to say it, that’s a bad idea. We’ve cleared 16, it’ll be faster.”


“We’ll take 23,” Rick repeated. His voice left no room for discussion.

Beth saw Maggie tense beside her, she couldn’t blame her.

“We leave at sundown.”


“We’re doing this at night?” Sasha asked incredulously from the crate she was leaning against.


Beth could tell the idea made Noah anxious from the way he shifted from foot to foot.


“Look, I know it’s dangerous.” Rick started. “But it’s better than riding up to the gates during the day. If it isn’t safe we need to get gone before they know we’re there.”

“No one is going to hurt you.” Aaron said, his voice firm and calm as though he were trying to reassure a wounded animal. “You’re trying to protect your group but you’re putting them in danger.”


Rick turned back to Aaron, hand resting on one of the barn’s support beams. “Then tell me where the camp is and we’ll leave right now.”


Aaron’s jaw shifted for a moment, as though grappling with something inside of himself before he drew his gaze from Rick’s and onto the hay strewn floor, defeated.


Rick stared at Aaron for a moment longer before he stood. “It’s going to be a long night.” He looked at the group. “Eat and get some rest if you can.” He turned and walked past them all, out the barn door, the light cutting across his figure like a blade.

The barn fell silent.

Beth looked down, her fingers curling into her sleeves. She should have said something. Should have added her voice. Instead, she’d watched it all play out like a girl on the edge of two lives—the loyal survivor Rick had protected, and the dreamer who wanted to believe in goodwill and safety.

Maggie gently touched her arm. “You okay?”

Beth nodded, but her voice was thin. “Yeah, just tired.”

As the group began to move, some to gather gear, others to keep watch, Beth lingered a moment longer, her eyes tracing the boxes of food, h ope wrapped in aluminum. She still didn’t know if they were walking toward safety or another cage. But she saw the way Daryl’s eyes had softened when he looked at her—how even in all this chaos, she wasn’t alone.

And for tonight, maybe that was enough.

The light outside was beginning to fade. That gray, almost-blue stretch of twilight before darkness took over.

Inside the barn, everything had settled into a strange calm. Some were eating, others checking weapons and gear. A few were already lying down, trying to steal a little rest before the night. Daryl was outside with Rick and Michonne, going over the route again. Beth had tucked herself near the base of the loft ladder, Judith curled asleep in her arms, bundled beneath Daryl’s jacket.

Carl sat down across from her without a word. He didn’t need to ask if he could. He just dropped down, mirroring her posture, legs pulled up, hat slightly askew.

They sat in silence for a while, letting the wind whisper through the slats in the barn wall.

“She’s really sleeping,” Carl said eventually, voice hushed.

Beth nodded, looking down at Judith’s peaceful face. “Yeah. Took a long time.”

“She cried a lot earlier.”

Beth’s smile was faint and a little worn. “She was hungry. Scared.” She paused. “We all were.”

Carl looked down at the ground between them, then back up at her. “You did good, getting her to eat.”

Beth didn’t say anything at first. Her thumb rubbed gently over Judith’s tiny back as she whispered, “She needed it, I would’ve done anything.”

Carl nodded.

Beth studied him for a moment. His face had changed, not just with time, but with the weight he carried. He still looked like a boy sometimes, especially when he tilted his head like that. But there was something older in his eyes now, something she recognized in her own. “You did good today,” she said quietly.

Carl blinked. “What?”

“Standing up to your dad.” She gave a small shrug. “I know it’s not easy.”

Carl looked down, brushing a bit of hay from his knee. “He’s trying to protect us, I get it, I do, But…” He looked back up at her, eyes earnest. “We can’t keep living like this. Hiding, starving, waiting for the next bad thing. If this place is even half what Aaron says it is—don’t we have to try?”

Beth nodded slowly. “I want to believe it, too.”

“But you’re scared.”

Beth’s throat tightened. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Carl admitted. “But I’m more scared of what happens to us if we stop trying, stop hoping.” He looked at Judith, asleep and safe for now. “She’s not gonna remember any of this. The prison, the road, the crying…but I will. And I want her to have something better to grow up in.”

Beth let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking to the rafters overhead. “Daddy used to say, ‘Hope that is seen is no hope at all.’ From Romans.” She paused. “He’d always follow it with, ‘We hope for what we do not see, and wait for it patiently.’ ”

Carl was quiet, listening.

Beth smiled faintly, but there was an ache behind it. “I never really understood it when I was younger. Thought it just meant sitting still and praying things got better. But now I think…maybe it means believing even when everything’s telling you not to, when it’s easier not to.”

Carl shifted, thoughtful. “I think he was right about that.”

Beth looked at him again and saw a boy with calluses on his hands and grief in his eyes—still young, but old in the ways that mattered. “She’d be proud of you, you know,” she said.

Carl tilted his head. “Judith?”

Beth gave him a real smile this time. “Her too, but I meant Lori.”

Carl froze, eyes wide for a beat—like he hadn’t expected anyone to say her name out loud.

But he didn’t look away. His voice cracked, just a little. “You think so?”

Beth nodded, gentle. “Yeah, I do.”

Carl swallowed hard, blinking fast. He didn’t say anything else, but the quiet between them settled into something deeper. 

Safer.

Chapter Text

Inside the RV, Abraham sat behind the wheel, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “Seatbelts,” he grunted. “We’re takin’ the smoothest road hell’s got. Don’t complain unless you're flyin' through the windshield.”

Beth sat on the bench seat with Judith bundled tight against her chest, gently rocking with the motion of the road. Daryl sat beside her, one knee braced against the floor, his arm behind her on the seat—not quite touching, but close. Every so often, his fingers brushed her side when the RV jostled too hard. Maggie was on the other side of Beth, quiet and alert. Carl sat across from them, his arms folded and his hat pushed back just enough to show the tension behind his eyes.

Rosita and Sasha were near the back, quietly comparing fallback options and roads. Noah hovered near the front, both hands clenched on the back of the passenger seat, bouncing one leg unconsciously.

Rick’s car took off first, headlights cutting through the trees beyond. The RV rumbled behind, heavy and slow, tires crunching over gravel.

The road narrowed, winding through dark woods that looked like they’d never end. Fog pressed in against the glass like breath, and then came the low, hungry chorus of the dead.

“We’re good,” Abraham muttered, knuckles white on the wheel. “Just a little undead ambiance. Romantic, if you’re into candlelight and cannibals.”

Fifteen minutes passed in relative calm, then the sound came before the danger.

That awful, dragging moan. The sick, unmistakable sound of walkers.

A lot of them.

Then—

Thump. Thump. CRUNCH.

The RV jerked hard as something, several somethings, went under the wheels.

“What the hell was that?!” Noah shouted, scrambling for the window.

Carl leaned forward. “Walkers! We hit walkers!”

“Where the hell did they come from?” Maggie gasped, reaching for the bench frame to steady herself.

The RV bounced again, harder this time, tilting like it might tip, the tires groaning under the weight. There were bodies under them. Beth clutched Judith tighter as the baby began to fuss, the jostling too much.

“Shit!” Abraham bellowed, jerking the wheel to keep them on the road.

“Jesus!” Rosita shouted. “They’re just—in the road! That’s a full damn herd!”

Beth’s breath caught. The RV rocked side to side, the sound of bones and limbs crunching beneath them was deafening, scraping like wreckage under the floorboards.

Then, in a blink—Rick’s car vanished.

One second the taillights glowed red like a beacon, and the next—they were gone, swallowed whole by the flood of walkers

Abraham slammed the brakes and the RV shuddered with the force, tires locking on the pavement. “Hold on!” he barked, twisting the wheel to keep them from slamming into the herd. The RV fishtailed, the headlights sweeping across the nightmare in the road.

“Where’s dad?!” Carl shouted, gripping the back of the bench seat.

“They were ahead of us—he must’ve gone straight through!” Sasha said.

“We didn’t see him turn!” Noah yelled.

“He didn’t,” Daryl said, already moving toward the side window, eyes narrowed. “He drove right into it.”

Beth’s grip on Judith tightened. The baby whimpered, shifting in her arms.

Maggie leaned closer, whispering, “Just breathe, Beth. She’s okay. You’re okay.”

Abraham cursed under his breath. “We ain’t makin’ the same mistake.”

“Do not back up into them,” Rosita said.

“I ain’t stupid,” Abraham snapped. “We’re takin’ the slope.”

The RV whipped into a side path off the shoulder, skidding as it barreled away from the road and into thick woods.

“We lost sight of him,” Sasha said. “And we can’t reach him.”

“We stick to the trail, we keep ahead of the herd,” Daryl muttered.

“But dad–” Carl started but Daryl cut him off, gently. “Rick’s smart, he’ll make it through. We gotta keep movin.”

Abraham cursed under his breath and slowed the RV, “Hold on,” he growled, throwing the vehicle into reverse. The engine groaned under the shift, and the RV backed up as walkers began appearing in the dark.

Inside the RV, everyone tensed.

“Shit,” Rosita muttered.

“Are they surrounding us?” Carl asked, peering frantically out the fogged windows.

“Not yet,” Daryl said quickly. “We can still move.”

Judith stirred in Beth’s arms, and Beth rocked her gently, heart pounding.

“Judith’s still asleep,” Maggie whispered, like that was the only good thing keeping her grounded.

Abraham spun the wheel, backing them up and shifting gears. “We ain’t dying in this tin can.”

With a roar, the RV whipped around and veered off onto a back path, avoiding the densest part of the herd. It groaned over rocks and broken pavement, jostling hard enough to make everyone brace.

“They’re following us,” Noah warned, looking out the rear.

“Let ’em,” Daryl said, voice low. “We’ll lose ’em in the turns.”

Beth held onto Judith as tightly as she could without hurting her, eyes wide in the dark. She could feel it in her bones. This wasn’t the worst of it, it was just the beginning.

The RV’s tires thundered over the cracked pavement, gravel and debris snapping under the weight of it as Abraham gripped the wheel with both hands and squinted through the windshield.

“Damn fog’s thicker than a bull’s skull,” he muttered. “I swear if I hit another dead guy, I’m not stopping to check his dental records.”

Sasha made her way up to the passenger seat side and let out a breath and wiped the condensation from the window. In the back, the RV swayed slightly as the group inside grumbled, shifted, and stewed in equal parts exhaustion and anxiety.

“Are you sure Glenn went this way?” Rosita asked, one hand braced on the wall as the vehicle bounced. “We’re not just driving in circles?”

“Positive,” Abraham replied without looking back. “And by positive, I mean I’m hopin’ real hard and refusing to admit doubt. That’s leadership, right?” 

“Great,” Tara muttered from the kitchenette. “We’re betting on luck with the guy who thought heading to D.C. with a compulsive liar and no plan was the move.”

“Hey now,” Eugene spoke up, legs folded tightly on the dinette bench. “I never claimed to have no plan, I simply had a well fabricated plan. Let us not conflate intention with ignorance.”

“Shut up, Eugene,” Tara and Rosita said in unison.

Beth sat curled with Judith in her arms, rocking gently despite the rough terrain of the road. Judith was fussing again, tiny hands flailing, her soft cries growing steadily more agitated. Beth whispered calming tones, rubbing slow circles on her back, her voice threadbare. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby girl. I know it’s loud. Just breathe, breathe with me.”

But Judith didn’t want to breathe, she wanted her world to stop shaking.

Daryl glanced down at Judith. “You want me to try takin’ her?” he asked quietly.

Beth shook her head. “She’s just scared, I know that feelin’.”

Daryl gave a low grunt, nodding. “Yeah.”

Noah glanced over. “You got this, you’re like a baby whisperer.”

Beth gave a soft, tired smile, then winced as Judith’s cries sharpened. “Well, I’m not whispering loud enough right now.”

“We can’t keep drivin’ like this,” Rosita said. “We’re wasting gas and there’s no guarantee we’re not headed into a trap.”

“Would you rather wait for the herd to catch up?” Sasha snapped. “We’ve got maybe a couple miles on them.”

“Less if we keep arguing,” Noah added.

“Let’s take a vote—” Tara began.

And then a bright red flare cut through the sky. It soared like a meteor, visible even through the murky window and fogged windshield, a screaming crimson line in the night.

Everyone went still.

Judith, miraculously, quieted.

“Son of a bitch,” Abraham said, sitting up straighter. “That’s them.”

Beth looked out the window, her brow furrowed. “Rick?”

“It’s gotta be,” Sasha said, already tightening her grip on the side rail. “That’s not a flare you use for fun, that’s a signal.”

Abraham grinned, sitting up straighter. “Now we’re talkin’. Hold on to your knickers, ladies and gents, we’re following the firework.”

The RV swerved, everyone stumbling and gripping for balance.

Judith hiccuped, then rested her head against Beth’s chest, exhausted.

Beth’s heart thudded in time with the wheels.

_______________________________________________________________

Outside, the woods blurred past in streaks of gray and shadow. The only light came from the faint trail of a signal flare they’d glimpsed in the distance.

Inside, the air was thick with tension.

Carl kept watch near the window now while Rosita leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, staring silently. Daryl stood beside Abraham now, tense and alert, his crossbow loaded and ready.

But it was Maggie who couldn’t sit still. She was pacing—three steps up the aisle, pivot, three steps back, bracing herself against the seats and counters so she wouldn’t fall over. Again and again; her arms were wrapped around herself, jaw clenched tight. “They should’ve been behind us,” she muttered. “That flare wasn’t that far off, we should’ve caught up by now.”

“We don’t even know if that flare came from them,” Rosita added, her tone clipped but not unkind. “It could’ve been anything.”

“We can’t assume the worst,” Beth said quietly from her place on the floor, rocking Judith gently. “Glenn’s smart, Michonne and Rick too. They’ll find us.”

Maggie stopped pacing. She turned to her sister with wide, anxious eyes. “You didn’t see him, Beth. He had a limp yesterday, if something happened—”

“Then he’ll crawl,” Beth said, with more fire in her voice than she expected. “He’ll crawl if he has to because he loves you, and you’d do the same for him.”

Maggie’s shoulders dropped, the weight of the words hitting her hard. Her mouth trembled, but she quickly turned away.

Beth stood slowly, careful not to jostle Judith, and approached her sister. She reached out and touched Maggie’s arm gently. “We’ve lost enough,” Beth said, her voice lower now. “Daddy, too many. Glenn’s not gone, you’d feel it if he was.”

Maggie looked at her for a long moment before finally nodding, her breath shaky. “I just want to see him,” she whispered.

“I know,” Beth said, pulling her into a soft one-armed hug, Judith between them. “And you will.”

Carl glanced back at them with a faint, tired smile, then returned to watching the tree line.

Outside, the red glow of the flare had faded, but they were still moving.

Together.

Chapter Text

The world smelled like ash and rot. The sounds of the dead were still distant, but the urgency in the RV was palpable as Abraham gunned it down the road. “Keep your eyes peeled,” Abraham barked. We ain’t outta the woods yet—figuratively or literally.”

They followed the faint trail of smoke, winding past fallen streetlights and overturned mailboxes. The engine rumbled low as they reached a narrow alley, barely wide enough to park beside.

“Stop!” Maggie shouted. “Someone’s down!”

Abraham braked hard and everyone piled out fast. Daryl hit the pavement first, crossbow raised. Rosita and Sasha followed him, covering the alley walls. Beth was a heartbeat behind them, clutching Judith close, her heart thudding in her ribs. Daryl glanced back just once, checking for her. His eyes flicked over her and upon seeing Judith safe, and Beth steady on her feet, he turned back, reassured.

At the alley’s end, a man in a dark jacket leaned against a dumpster, grimacing as he clutched his leg. A walker lay behind him, skull caved in with a piece of broken pipe. The man looked up, eyes wide. “Oh thank God,” he gasped. “You—are you with Aaron?”

“Yeah,” Sasha said tightly. “He found us.”

“Are you Eric?” Rosita called out, stepping in closer.

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man nodded rapidly, then winced. “Twisted my ankle bad fighting that thing. I killed it, but—I couldn’t move fast enough.”

Daryl kept his bow trained for another beat before lowering it. “Ain’t bit?”

“No,” Eric said quickly. “I swear—just twisted it.” he then pointed behind him. “Aaron and I agreed that if things went bad, we’d meet in that warehouse. It’s just up ahead, and clear inside.”

“Alright,” Maggie said, crouching beside him and already assessing his ankle. “Let me see what we’re dealing with. We’ll get you inside.”

Beth adjusted Judith in her arms, the baby still miraculously asleep, her tiny breath warm against Beth’s collarbone. She shifted her grip carefully, mindful of the weight and the hush that came from carrying someone too precious to lose.

Daryl moved to her side, silent, and close enough for his arm to brush hers. “C’mon,” he murmured, voice low and using the kind of tone he reserved only for her. “Let’s get you both inside.  No tellin’ what else is crawlin’ around out here.”

Beth nodded, grateful for the gentle touch he placed at the small of her back. His hand wasn’t there to guide—it was there to reassure. She leaned slightly into him as they moved toward the warehouse.

The door creaked open, revealing the interior—dusty, but secure. Shelves lined the walls and there was a battered office to the side.

Daryl took one more look around, then gestured her in. “S’clear.”

Beth stepped inside, the shadows wrapping around her like a cloak. She shifted Judith in her arms, her fingers brushing through the baby’s fine hair.

“We’ll wait here,” she said quietly. “They’ll come.”

Daryl gave her a look that was quiet and steady. “Yeah, they will.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was heavy with smoke from the small campfire flickering at the center of the warehouse. Shadows danced across the cracked concrete walls, the faint smell of motor oil and damp earth curling around the edges of the silence. Outside, the wind whistled through broken windows like a ghost that refused to rest. Now, the group was hunkered down in the building, the RV parked crooked outside. Everyone was tired physically and emotionally. No one had said it out loud, but the worry over the others hung heavy between them. Beth sat near the fire with Judith in her arms, gently bouncing the baby in her lap as Carl crouched nearby, watching the flame with unfocused eyes. The others spread through the space—Maggie and Rosita sat against one wall, heads bowed in quiet conversation; Tara had taken watch near the front door with Abraham beside her, silent for once. Noah paced slowly between the barrels, his limp more pronounced with every hour that passed. Carol leaned against the far wall with her arms crossed, watching everything without saying a word.

Daryl wasn’t inside.

“She’s asleep,” Beth whispered eventually.

“Judith?” Carl asked, glancing over.

Beth nodded, smiling gently. “Out cold, like she knows we needed a break.”

Carl chuckled. “She’s tougher than I’ll ever be.”

Beth leaned toward him, offering the baby into his arms. “Here, keep her warm for me?”

Carl blinked. “You going somewhere?”

“Just for a minute,” she said, her voice soft. “Gotta check on someone.”

Outside, Daryl stood near the warped loading dock, crossbow slung over his shoulder, one boot resting on a broken pallet. His eyes scanned the alleyway beyond the fence, shoulders tight with that old restlessness he could never shake. He didn’t turn when he heard her, just spoke low. “You oughta be sleepin’.”

Beth stopped beside him, arms crossed tight against the chill. “You oughta be inside.”

He exhaled slowly, breath curling into the night. “Couldn’t.”

For a moment, the silence between them was comfortable and familiar. Their shoulders brushed when the wind blew hard enough to push them together. Beth could smell the sweat on him, the hint of road dust in his shirt, and the faint leather of his vest.

“…You think it’s real?” she asked finally, her voice soft. “Aaron, his story, the walls, the ‘good people.’ You think it’s legit?”

Daryl looked over at her, his eyes shadowed. “I think people’ll say just about anything. Doesn’t mean they’re lyin’, but don’t mean they’re tellin’ the whole truth neither.”

Beth gave a small nod, chewing her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Beth said, barely above a whisper, “Remember the funeral home?”

Daryl’s jaw tensed.

Beth continued anyway. “That night….you asked me to stay, that maybe we could find whoever had set up there and make peace with em and stick around.”

His voice was rough. “Yeah.”

“I’ve thought about that a lot,” she said. “How it felt. That weird little place with the candles and the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches…the casket that didn’t smell like rot.” Her smile was sad. “We almost had something there, just for a minute.”

Daryl’s eyes dropped. “Wasn’t enough.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it could’ve been. It felt like…like maybe we could’ve started something. Built something, even if the world was still falling apart around us.” Beth shifted a little closer, her voice steady now. “If Alexandria’s real—if it’s even a little like what he says—I want that with you.”

Daryl looked at her then, really looked at her, like the words had landed somewhere he didn’t quite know how to reach yet.

Beth didn’t flinch from his gaze. “I’m not sayin’ it’ll be easy. But if there’s even a chance…I want us to try, I want us to have something that’s ours. Even if it’s just four walls and a mattress.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat working like the words were caught somewhere behind his ribs. “Ain’t nothin’ sayin’ it’ll work out.”

“I know,” Beth said, reaching out to touch his hand. “But I’m not askin’ for guarantees, I’m askin’ if you still want me to stay.”

His fingers curled around hers, rough and warm. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.” His eyes held hers for a long moment, something unspoken resting between them—something that might’ve turned into more if not for the faint, familiar crunch of boots on pavement in the alleyway. He stiffened and stood slowly, peering into the alley. “Someone’s comin’.”

Beth reached instinctively for her knife.

Then came a shape, then two, then four, and recognition hit like a wave.

“Rick,” Daryl breathed, before raising his voice with a sharp call. “It’s them!”

The warehouse behind them erupted in motion. Carl burst through the door, still holding Judith close to his chest. His face lit up upon seeing Rick. “Dad!” he yelled.

Rick broke into a run the second he saw them. He swept Carl into his arms, wrapping them both in a fierce hug. Judith squealed, sandwiched between them, her little hands grabbing at Rick’s beard.

Behind them, Aaron broke from the group and sprinted inside. “Eric!” he called, disappearing into the warehouse.

Beth stood frozen for a moment, watching the reunion unfold in waves—Abraham patting Rick’s shoulder, Maggie throwing her arms around Glenn as he came into view, Sasha exhaling a shaky breath as Michonne offered her a tired smile. And in the soft hum of relief that followed, Beth let herself breathe.

__________________________________________

For once, there was laughter in the air.

Not much—just a little, just enough to mean something.

Beth sat on an overturned crate near the center of the warehouse, beside her, Carl was making faces at Judith, and Eugene was mumbling to Rosita about wagon axle efficiency like it was a bedtime story. Maggie and Glenn were curled together near the wall, heads touching, while Abraham stood watch outside with Sasha, arms crossed, still skeptical of everything.

And in the middle of it all stood Aaron, looking sheepish, but sincere, as he addressed the group. “I just wanted to say thank you,” Aaron said, voice catching a bit as he looked toward Eric, who was propped up on a cot with a bandaged ankle. “For what you did back there, I owe you everything.”

Rick, guarded as always, gave a small nod, but it was Michonne who stepped forward with a tired smile. “Just tell us the place is real.”

Aaron met her gaze. “It is. And when we get there, I’ll personally vouch for every single one of you.”

Beth felt her chest tighten—then rise. There was still weariness in her bones, still the shadow of hospital walls and the echo of gunfire in her memory…but in that moment, something pierced through the gloom.

It was hope.

Real, warm, dangerous hope.

She looked across the barn and found Daryl leaning in the doorway, arms folded, watching the group with that familiar scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. When their gazes met, something softened in his shoulders, and Beth smiled.

The RV rattled down the long, cracked road, tires humming over asphalt pitted with age. Dust plumed in its wake as the convoy pushed forward towards the gates of what Aaron promised was safety, the rising sun casting everything in that soft, uncertain light just before morning settled in for good.

They’d been driving all night. The silence inside was thick—weighted with exhaustion, guarded hope, and a dozen unspoken worries. Up front, Abraham gripped the wheel with one hand, the other curled loosely around a half-empty water bottle he hadn’t sipped from in miles. He squinted at the horizon, his jaw working absently as they hit another bump. Rosita was beside him in the passenger seat, the two making conversation here and there. In the back, Beth leaned against Daryl’s side, her head tucked under his chin and his arm draped around her shoulders. She hadn’t said much since they set off from the warehouse and neither had he. She’d dozed against him in fits, jolting awake each time the road curved too hard or someone spoke too loud, but Daryl was always there, solid and steady, one thumb brushing the curve of her arm or her wrist or the back of her hand until she calmed again.

Rosita yawned and stretched out her legs with a quiet groan, boot scuffing the dashboard. “Y’know,” she said, glancing at the blur of highway out the window, “we just passed mile marker 50. We’re finally in D.C.”

Abraham chuckled in response. “Took the scenic route. Nearly got us killed six times, but hey, we made it.”

Rosita smirked. “Feels a lot less monumental with a walker arm stuck in the grill."

“Still counts.”

It was Glenn who noticed first. He leaned forward from where he sat, peering through the windshield. “Guys,” he said, voice tight with disbelief, “I think we’re here.”

Beth stirred from her half-doze as the RV began to slow, blinking slowly as her eyes adjusted to the pale morning light. 

Daryl felt her shift and glanced down at her. “We’re stoppin’,” he murmured.

Shifting away from him, Beth rubbed at her sleepy eyes as she focused on what was outside the window, and froze.

The gates were right there—tall, intact, and astonishingly clean.

“Beth?” Daryl’s voice called gently from the aisle, breaking her from her thoughts as he held out a hand for her to take.

And she took it, shifting out of the seat slowly, stretching out the stiffness in her legs. Her knees still ached from weeks of marching and sleeping in corners. Daryl helped her down from the door, careful and steady. Not because she was weak—but because it was instinct, that quiet thread of protectiveness he never quite turned off when it came to her. His fingers brushed her elbow as she stepped out. The air hit her first, cleaner somehow, cooler. Her boots hit the asphalt and she took a slow step forward, blinking against the bright rise of morning. 

Then she heard it.

Children. Their laughter was distant, coming from behind the walls but it was high-pitched and real. Not ragged and delirious, not fading memories—real children, alive and playing.

It hit her like a weight and a balm all at once. Beth tilted her head back to look at the gates again, the sight too big to process all at once.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, voice quiet, his breath brushing her temple.

“I think so,” she whispered.

He studied her, then reached up and gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She leaned into the touch, just slightly.

Carol stood a little apart from the others, her gaze flitting across the fences, already assessing the angles, the sightlines, the weaknesses.

Rick was already near the front with Judith in his arms, Michonne and Carl at his side. Maggie and Glenn joined them as the others piled out, Glenn’s hand ghosting Maggie’s lower back protectively.

Eugene emerged last with Rosita’s help, “If this is indeed a ruse,” he muttered, “it is convincingly rendered.”

Beth felt Daryl’s hand slide to her lower back, grounding her.

For the first time, Beth didn’t think about what they had to run from, her lips twitching as she dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d finally found a place where they could stop running.

From up front, Rick called, “Let’s move.”

The group moved together, tight and instinctive. Their formation wasn’t planned, it was bone-deep by now. They were a pack, a family.

Beth slipped her fingers into Daryl’s, he laced theirs together without looking as the gates creaked open.

Chapter Text

The heavy metal gates groaned open and sunlight spilled through the widening gap. For a moment, Beth could hardly believe what she was seeing—clean streets, trimmed grass, pristine houses. It didn’t feel real.

Not after everything.

Not after the blood and fire and walkers and loss.

Aaron stepped through ahead of them, waving one arm forward as though he were beckoning them into heaven. “Come on,” he said, breathless, “it’s okay.”

Rick stood at the front, silent, eyes narrowed and assessing. The group behind him had fallen into stillness, as if one wrong step would shatter the mirage.

Beth shifted slightly, Daryl was now a few paces behind her, eyes narrowed and tense, his entire frame coiled like a spring.

Eric limped beside Aaron, Aaron supporting him as they passed the gate.

That’s when the voice came.

“Stop right there,” a young man stepped forward, rifle lowered but hands twitchy. He was blonde and lean with the faint bristle of a mustache on his upper lip, nervous in a way that made Beth’s stomach twist into knots. She instinctively stepped back into Daryl’s space. She didn’t realize she’d done it until she felt his hand brush the small of her back—subtle and grounding. “You want in,” he said, “you hand over your weapons. House rules.”

Rick took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. “Not gonna happen.”

The man, Nicholas, she would learn later, bristled, lifting his chin like he thought he could puff himself bigger. “You don’t get to come in here armed to the teeth like—”

“Hey,” Aaron cut in, lifting a hand. “Nicholas, it’s fine. I’ll explain to Deanna. They’re guests. Stand down.”

Nicholas hesitated, lips twitching with something unspoken. Then he lowered the rifle with a scoff. “Whatever.”

Abraham snorted. “Nice hospitality. Hope this Deanna’s got better bedside manner.”

Aaron turned slightly to address the group, still keeping a hand on Eric. “She’s the founder of Alexandria, she’s the one who built all of this.”

Beth shifted her weight, adjusting the strap of her bag and staring down the pristine street like it might vanish if she blinked.

Second-story curtains fluttered, people were watching them.

Judging.

It made her skin itch.

The group finally started forward. The silence was louder than any walker snarl. They stopped in front of a brick colonial with a wide porch. A man opened the door and waved them in. “Deanna’s waiting.”

Rick turned to the group, his eyes scanned each of them—sizing up their readiness, their tension, their hope. Then, slowly, he looked at Beth. “You got her?” he asked, nodding to Judith.

Beth didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

Rick’s arms tightened around Judith for just a moment longer, and then—after a long breath—he passed her into Beth’s waiting arms. 

Beth adjusted Judith in her arms, cradling the baby close as Rick gave one final glance back at the group before climbing the steps. The screen door creaked softly as he disappeared inside.

The man who had opened the door remained on the porch. He was older, maybe in his late fifties, with soft eyes and hands that looked more like they belonged to a teacher than a fighter. He wore a simple button-down with the sleeves rolled up and jeans, his face was lined in a way that didn’t come from the end of the world but from smiling too much before it. He lingered a moment, then stepped out further, offering a tentative smile to the rest of them. “I’m Reg,” he said, voice calm and kind. “Deanna’s husband.” 

No one answered right away, a breeze rustling the trees. Beth caught Daryl’s movement beside her—just a slight shift closer, protective without being obvious. She felt it anyway.

“You all’ve had a long road,” Reg added, looking them over—not judging, just seeing. “She just wants to speak with your leader first, get a sense of things. Shouldn’t take long.” He gestured toward the porch with an open palm. “You’re welcome to sit and catch your breath. Water’s inside—if you’d like, I can bring some out.”

The group didn’t move right away, their stillness hanging like a held breath until finally, Glenn spoke and gave a faint nod. “Thanks.”

Reg smiled again, then disappeared into the house, the door closing softly behind him.

Beth lowered herself onto the edge of the porch, her knees grateful for the rest. Judith stirred and let out a soft coo. Beth rocked her gently, eyes scanning the quiet street again. It was too peaceful, too perfect, but she couldn’t deny how good the sunlight felt on her skin, and how the absence of growls and gunfire settled snugly in her chest like something warm.

Hope.

Cautious and unsteady, but there.

Daryl sat down beside her without a word, close enough that the warmth of him broke through the anxious knot in her stomach and his knee brushed against hers. He didn’t ask if she was okay, he didn’t have to. 

Beth leaned into him just slightly, gaze fixed on the quiet street ahead. “Guess we wait.” she looked at him, offering the faintest smile.

Daryl looked at her and the way she leaned into him like she belonged there, and how her arms cradled Judith like she’d done it a thousand times. His jaw slackened just a little, the tension around his eyes easing. “Yeah, guess we do.”

___________________________________

The air was clean.

It didn’t smell like blood or fire or the faint, ever-present rot of walkers that lingered everywhere else. It smelled like laundry, cut grass, and sun-warmed brick like an actual porch on a peaceful sunny day.

Judith was still nestled in her arms, softly cooing against her chest. Beth hummed under her breath, not loud enough to be heard, just enough to keep the baby soothed.

The group had settled loosely across the porch. Maggie sat near Glenn on the steps, Sasha leaned against the railing, arms folded. Eugene stood uncomfortably in the middle, shifting from foot to foot.

“I posit this is a trap,” Eugene said abruptly, glancing around. “Too tidy, too…cul-de-sac.”

Abraham, seated in one of the wicker chairs, grunted. “You say that every time we find a place that doesn’t smell like feet and death.”

Eugene blinked. “Statistically speaking, a haven of this cleanliness has an 86% chance of harboring deep-seated dysfunction or cannibalism.”

“You made that up,” Rosita muttered.

“Entirely fabricated,” Eugene agreed. “Still stands to reason.”

Beth let their voices fade, her gaze drifting back to Daryl. She watched as his eyes scanned the street, the rooftops, the shadows, and the exits. “I don’t know what this place is,” she murmured. “But it’s…quiet.”

Daryl grunted. “Too quiet.”

“Still think this is a trap?” She asked softly.

His jaw shifted slightly. “Could be.”

Beth looked around, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe it’s not.” She turned to him, watching his profile—the tight line of his mouth, the way his eyes never stayed still for long. But they landed on her then, softer now.

“Feels wrong,” he muttered. “All this, too…shiny.”

Beth smiled faintly. “Shiny’s not always bad.”

Daryl didn’t answer at first. His eyes flicked down the street again—watching, measuring, cataloging every shadow, every rooftop, every glint off a windowpane, and then he looked back at her. “You trust this?”

Beth considered that. “I want to.”

“That ain’t the same.”

“I know,” Beth adjusted her hold on Judith, resting her chin on the baby’s head. “I keep waitin’ for the catch,” she admitted. “For someone to slam the doors shut and say, ‘Gotcha! Back to hell now.’”

Daryl looked at her for a long moment, his thumb brushing absently against her knee where their legs touched. “Ain’t nobody slammin’ any doors on you,” he said. “Not while I’m breathin’.”

Beth reached out, gently brushing her fingers against his where they rested against her. “I know,” she said softly, lips curling into a weak smile. “I do want it to be real,” She admitted. “Even if it’s not, I just...I want to believe there’s somethin’ left.” Beth nodded down at Judith. “She deserves more than the road and food runs,” she whispered. “She deserves to hear birds in the morning, sleep in a bed, and know what a birthday cake is.”

He watched her, his expression unreadable at first, then something flickered across it—something old and wounded, then new and aching. “You do too,” he said.

Beth looked up.

Daryl’s hand slid over hers, rough fingers lacing gently between hers, grounding her the same way she always did for him without even trying. “You deserve all that,” he said, a bit firmer now. “Birds, beds…hell, even cake.”

Her throat tightened, and she squeezed his hand. “If this place is real,” she said, voice barely more than a breath, “I want that with you.”

Daryl opened his mouth, his grip tightening gently around hers like he was ready to say something he hadn’t quite figured out how to say before—something quiet and certain and only meant for her. He leaned in just a little, close enough that Beth could feel the warmth of his breath against her temple, close enough that her heart stuttered in her chest, waiting. His eyes stayed locked on hers, all the noise of the porch dimming in the space between them. But before the words could leave his mouth, the door creaked open behind them.

Everyone turned.

Rick stepped out onto the porch, his face unreadable for a heartbeat—eyes shaded, jaw tight. Then he exhaled slowly and nodded once. “She said yes,” he told them, voice calm but laced with disbelief. “We’re in.”

There was no cheer, no celebration—just a silence that cracked under the weight of relief. Maggie let out a breath like she’d been underwater, Glenn rested a hand on her back, Sasha leaned off the railing, stiff shoulders starting to fall, and even Eugene looked momentarily stunned into silence.

Beth’s lips parted, her breath caught in her throat as she turned fully toward Rick.

Rick glanced toward her, then toward Daryl, and something like quiet relief flickered through his eyes.

Beth looked down at Judith, whose lashes fluttered as she began to drift off against her chest. Her hand still rested in Daryl’s, wrapped in calloused fingers that had known too much loss and too little peace. For once, she didn’t feel like they were waiting for the world to collapse again. She looked back at Daryl and whispered, “Guess we go find out what real feels like.”

Daryl’s thumb brushed the back of her hand again, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to.

They stood, hand in hand, and followed the others inside. Together.

___________________________________

Beth squinted beneath the glare of the sun, standing with the others, as Deanna Monroe guided them toward a long folding table near the front steps of the armory building. Rick stood a few steps ahead of her, his hand resting warily near his sidearm like he wasn’t sure letting it go wouldn’t leave him gutted.

“We just ask that you check them in,” Deanna said, smiling with the kind of confidence only someone with clean water and electricity could muster. “Olivia will catalog everything. They’ll still be your guns—you can check them out any time you’re going out past the walls.”

Rick didn’t move.

Neither did Daryl.

Glenn stepped up first, gently easing his pistol from its holster and placing it in the tray Olivia offered. Maggie followed with a nod, her own weapon going in next. One by one, the group complied. Noah, Abraham, Eugene, Tara, Rosita…

Then it was Carol’s turn.

The silence broke as she approached the table with the expression of someone who’d just been asked to donate a kidney. Olivia raised her clipboard, clearly expecting one or maybe two handguns.

What followed could only be described as a slow-motion avalanche of absurdity.

Carol drew a pistol from her waistband and placed it in the tray. Then one from her ankle holster. Then from her other ankle. A small revolver from her boot, and from beneath her coat a second, third, and fourth pistol followed.

By the time she was done, the tray was full, and Olivia had gone slack-jawed behind her glasses.

Even Deanna blinked. “Wow.”

Carol smiled sweetly, eyes wide. “You can never be too careful.”

Beth stifled a laugh with her hand, even Rick cracked a tiny smile.

Daryl grunted. “Ain’t even sure how she was walkin’ with all that.”

Beth leaned in, lips near his shoulder. “She’s a magician.”

He didn’t smile, but the edge of his mouth twitched slightly, and she counted that as a win.

Deanna nodded toward Daryl next. “And you?”

Daryl scowled. “Keepin’ my crossbow.”

Olivia looked up nervously from her clipboard. “Um…I think that’s fine if he keeps it, it’s not exactly a quick draw weapon.”

Rick gave Daryl a short look, and Daryl gave an even shorter shrug.

Deanna sighed, smiling politely. “Alright, fair enough.”

Rick finally laid his gun down, slow and reluctant. Beth watched the way his hand hovered over it before pulling back. That weight was still with him, it was with all of them.

Then Olivia looked at her.

Beth hesitated. She wasn’t even sure why the gun tucked into her waistband made her hesitate so hard. It wasn’t anything special—just a small, black pistol they’d found in the drawer of a wrecked farmhouse off the highway, sometime after they’d gotten her back from Grady and before they ever heard the name Alexandria, she hadn’t even fired it outside of practice. It wasn’t some lucky charm and yet, as her fingers closed around it, slow and reluctant, she drew it out and held it in her palm like something fragile.

Daryl turned slightly beside her, noticing the pause. His gaze swept her face, then dropped to the pistol . Quiet and watchful, but his presence grounded her all the same.

Finally, Beth swallowed, gave a small sigh, and stepped forward, setting the weapon in the tray. “I never really used it anyways,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She glanced up briefly at Olivia, then to Deanna who gave her an encouraging nod. Beth took a quiet step back, and felt Daryl’s hand settle for a second at her lower back. It was quick, barely a breath, but grounding all the same.

Deanna clapped her hands together. “Well. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

No one answered.

Chapter Text

Beth stood frozen in place for a moment. There were no groaning walkers in the distance, no wind dragging through burned-out trees, no blood caked on brick or rusted steel. Just birdsong, murmuring voices, and the low creak of wood settling on new houses.

Real houses. The kind with windows that weren’t boarded, with actual porches and clean curtains.

Aaron walked a few paces ahead with Rick, gesturing to two houses that sat side by side with each other. “We’ve cleared these for you. They’re both yours.”

Rick blinked, visibly thrown. “Both?”

“Your group’s large,” Aaron explained kindly. “We thought it’d be good for you all to spread out a little, get your bearings.”

Rick didn’t answer. He just nodded once, clearly still grappling with the idea of space and privacy and quiet.

Beth had already begun to drift from the group. Her boots scuffed the pavement as she moved up the walkway toward the white house—its wide front porch basking in golden light. There was a swing on the right side, and potted plants that were alive. She reached out and touched the porch rail like it might vanish if she blinked. A gust of wind made the swing creak gently, and suddenly, she was back at the farmhouse—The porch, Sun-drenched mornings with Daddy sitting at the table with his bible open, coffee in mason jars, laughter, music. She didn’t realize she was crying until a thumb brushed gently under her eye.

“Y’okay?”

Beth turned slightly.

Daryl stood a few feet behind her, arms now crossed. He looked uneasy in the clean streets—like someone had dropped a wild animal in the middle of a hotel lobby, but his eyes were soft when they landed on her.

Beth tried to laugh, but it came out choked. “It looks like home.”

He looked around. “Ain’t sure I trust that.”

“I don’t either,” she admitted. “But I want to.”

He shifted his weight, glanced at the door, then back to her. “We been runnin’ so long, forgot what standin’ still feels like.”

Beth nodded. “I used to dream about this. A house, a porch swing, safety…It always felt…impossible.”

Daryl looked away, jaw clenching. “Guess it ain’t impossible no more.”

She stepped closer, just enough to bump his shoulder with hers. “You’re not gonna leave me now, are you?” The words came out before she could second-guess them, soft but full of everything she was too scared to say. “You still want this? With me?”

His eyes flicked to hers, startled by the vulnerability in her voice and blinking as though he were stunned by her question. Then, he shook his head. “I ain’t leavin’ you,” he said quietly. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

Beth smiled, teary but sure this time. “Wanna see inside?” she asked, her voice soft.

He hesitated, then gave a short nod. “Yeah, guess I do.”

And together, they stepped through the door and into the quiet house.

___________________________________

The sun had dipped low behind the roofs of the pristine, too-perfect houses, casting soft golden light on clean porches and manicured lawns.

It unsettled Rick more than anything he’d seen in the last two years. He stood just outside the pair of side-by-side homes they’d been “gifted,” arms folded across his chest, beard wild and eyes narrowed like a wolf trying to sniff out a trap. The rest of the group had started drifting toward the doors, glancing around like they were stepping into a mirage. But Rick? Rick was still deciding if this was bait.

Carol stood beside him, arms folded, playing the meek card for the townspeople but sharp as ever in private.

Daryl stood with them, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“They gave us two houses,” Rick muttered, more to himself than to them.

“Generous,” Carol replied dryly. 

“Splitting us up makes it easier if they wanna pick us off.” Rick nodded, jaw tight. “We sleep in one house, all of us.”

Carol inclined her head in agreement. “Let them think we’re settling in while we figure them out.”

Daryl’s silence this time was not a full agreement. His gaze had drifted to the porch across the lawn—where Beth stood just outside one of the doors, her silhouette painted gold by the sun. She had Judith in her arms, the baby asleep against her chest, and she was staring at the swing like it might start moving on its own.

Rick caught the look. “Something bothering you?”

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, avoiding both their eyes. “Place don’t smell like rot,” he muttered. “Ain’t seen a walker since we pulled in.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s bothering me,” Rick said, tone clipped.

Daryl looked over at Beth again. Her shoulders had begun to ease. She wasn’t letting her guard down—but she was breathing again. That had to count for something. He shifted, boots grinding against the clean concrete. “I dunno,” he muttered.

Carol arched a brow. “You trust it?”

“No,” Daryl said immediately. But then added, after a beat, “Don’t mean it can’t be real though.”

Rick looked at him sideways. “You getting soft on me?”

Daryl gave a half-smile—barely there, but present. “Beth’s breathin’ easier,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s enough to make me look twice.”

Rick didn’t answer right away. He just turned back to the house and exhaled hard through his nose.

Beth had stepped back inside now, the screen door shutting with a soft thump.

Daryl adjusted his grip on the strap of his crossbow. “I’ll do a sweep of walls,” he offered. “See em up close.”

“Take someone with you,” Rick said automatically.

“I’ll grab Noah,” Daryl said. “He’s got sharp eyes.”

Carol smirked slightly. “Careful. Too many kind faces around here might start growing on you.”

Daryl grunted and walked off without replying, his shoulders had loosened—just slightly. There was still a coil of suspicion wound in his gut, still a voice telling him too-good-to-be-true always meant it was. But that voice was quieter now because for the first time in too long, he’d watched Beth step into a house, not a shelter. He’d seen her stand in sunlight filled with something other than nerves.

And if that wasn’t worth hoping for, what the hell was?

By the time Daryl and Noah started their sweep, the late afternoon sun had sunk behind the rows of rooftops, casting long shadows across the pavement. The wall loomed tall and smooth beside them - steel plates welded tight and reinforced with scrap that was surprisingly solid. A far cry from even the chain link fence that had once surrounded the prison.

Daryl moved in silence, boots crunching softly along the gravel path that ran between the outermost houses and the wall. He kept his crossbow strapped to his back, fingers twitching now and then like muscle memory waiting for trouble.

Noah kept pace beside him, quieter than usual, eyes scanning upward toward the top of the barricade. “I don’t get it,” he said eventually, voice low. “This thing’s huge. How’d they build all this and stay off everyone’s radar?”

Daryl grunted. “Guess they got lucky.”

They reached the rear curve of the wall, where it bent behind the houses and dipped down toward what looked like an old drainage gulley. A few trees swayed in the breeze beyond the wall, but inside, everything was still.

Too still.

Daryl crouched and studied the seam between the ground and the steel. No gaps, no burrows, no bloodstains, it was secure.

Noah crouched beside him, elbow resting on one knee. “You believe it?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, listening—for groans, for branches snapping, for anything unnatural.

Nothing.

“Not yet,” he said finally. “But I’m tryin’.”

Noah looked at him, the younger man’s expression oddly serious for a beat. “You think we’ll stay?”

.Daryl leaned back on his heels, glancing up toward the sky streaked with orange and gold. “That ain’t up to me.”

“It’s not just up to Rick,” Noah said. “You and Beth? Y’all’ve been through hell, so have the rest of us.”

Daryl looked at him, the name sparking something soft in his eyes. “Beth deserves better than runnin’,” he said quietly. “I figure…if this place can give her even five minutes of peace, I owe it to her to see if it’s real.”

Noah nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “She looked…lighter when she saw the porch swing.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, almost to himself. “She did.”

They stood together in the golden light, wind rustling through the trees beyond the wall. There were no alarms, no screaming, just the odd chirp of birds and the creak of something metal in the breeze.

Finally, Daryl stepped back from the wall, brushing the dirt off his hands. “Come on, let’s finish the loop.”

“You think it’s safe?” Noah asked as they turned back toward the houses.

Daryl hesitated, then gave a small, tired nod. “Well, it ain’t bad.”

“Guess that’s the best we get,” Noah murmured.

Daryl didn’t disagree.

______________________________

Inside the second house, Beth walked slowly through the living room, the hardwood gleaming beneath her boots. It smelled like citrus and clean linen, like someone had scrubbed every corner to get ready for a magazine photo shoot. She cradled Judith on her hip, who was gnawing sleepily on her sleeve.

“It doesn’t even feel real,” Beth murmured.

Carl stood near the staircase, his hat in his hands, staring up at the chandelier like it might fall.

“Feels fake,” he said. “Like a trap set by Martha Stewart.”

Beth snorted. “You think they’re trying to trick us?” she asked.

Carl shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just been too long since we saw anything nice.”

Beth walked to the window, pushing the curtain back slightly. The sunlit street outside gleamed like this was heaven. Trim lawns, picket fences, and two bicycles leaned against a driveway. No guards, no blood, no bodies.

Judith let out a sleepy coo, and Beth kissed the top of her head.

Behind them, the front door creaked open, and Rick’s voice called in. “We’re staying together tonight.”

Beth turned, watching as Rick stepped into the foyer, silhouetted by the fading light.

Carl didn’t ask why.

Beth didn’t need to.

Carl stepped up beside her. “I like it better when we’re all in one place anyways. It just feels…safer.”

Beth glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Same.”

Even in a world that looked like the old one, they hadn’t forgotten what it had taken to survive.

And none of them were ready to let their guard down just yet.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was too quiet.

Not in the tense, gun-loaded way of the woods or the wary silence of ruined towns. This quiet was strange, the domestic sort. Birds chirped and somewhere a sprinkler ticked faintly against a manicured lawn. Daryl had watched it for fifteen minutes already, it felt like mockery. He sat on the porch steps, legs spread, elbows on his knees, crossbow leaning against the railing next to him. His sleeves were rolled up, dirt still smudged on his arms. He hadn’t washed off the road, didn’t feel like he’d earned it.

The front door creaked behind him.

Rick stepped out, beard wild, eyes still scanning like the fence might vanish any second as he leaned against the railing. “Lori and I used to drive through neighborhoods like this,” Rick murmured after a long silence. “We used to point at the houses, say which ones we’d want. Front porches, tire swings…dumb stuff.”

“Well,” Daryl muttered, voice rough, “Here we are.”

Rick’s mouth twitched like he might laugh, but nothing came out. After a moment, he patted Daryl’s shoulder. “I’ll be back.” The porch steps creaked beneath Rick’s weight one, two, three times - and then he was gone.

Daryl sat back and rubbed at the back of his neck. He didn’t hear her footsteps, just the shift of the porch boards beside him, light and careful.

Beth.

She moved slowly, like the weight of the day still clung to her shoulders. Her arms were folded over the shirt she hadn’t changed out of since they got through the gates. Her hair was still tied back loosely, a few stubborn strands escaping to brush her cheeks. She didn’t speak at first—just took the spot beside him, close enough for their knees to touch.

He flicked his eyes toward her as she sat. “Ain’t gotta hover,” he muttered, but his tone was fond, the edge dulled.

“I’m not,” Beth said, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Just figured if I was gonna sit somewhere, I’d rather sit next to you.”

Daryl gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, his knee gently nudging against hers.


“Deanna said there’s a doctor here,” Beth said after a moment, her gaze forward. “Said he could take a look at my stitches, change the bandages, make sure everything’s healing right. She said he’s real gentle.”


He didn’t look at her, but his brow furrowed slightly. “You gonna?”


Beth hesitated, fingers tugging lightly at the edge of her sleeve. “I should,” she said. Her tone was breezy, but Daryl could hear the tightness beneath it. “I mean, I will. I just…” She trailed off, her eyes searching the street as if it might offer the right words. “It just feels…weird, letting someone I don’t know touch me, after everything.”


Daryl’s jaw worked, his voice low. “Ain’t nobody touchin’ you unless you say so.”

She looked at him, voice soft. “I know,” she then gave a small, bashful laugh, “I know, it’s stupid. I’ll go - It’s probably getting gross under there.”

Daryl turned to look at her then, properly. “Ain’t stupid.” he reached over, his hand finding hers. His grip was firm but careful. “I’ll go with you.”

Beth looked at him, startled for a second, then she softened. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, cutting her off before she could downplay it. “Ain’t gonna let no one hurt you.”

Her expression wavered just a little before she smiled, small and honest. “Thank you.”

They settled into a quiet stretch, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

“I keep thinkin’ about my dad,” Beth said after a while, gaze drifting to the houses in the distance. “How he’d smile if he saw this place. The gardens, the porch lights, people waving to each other like nothing ever happened. He’d call it a miracle.”

Daryl nodded slowly. “He’d say you deserved it.”

Beth glanced sideways at him, her voice softer now. “What about you?”

He didn’t answer right away, he just stared out at the road, jaw shifting slightly. “Ain’t used to thinkin’ I deserve much.”

“Well,” She clasped his hand with both of hers now. “Maybe that’s something we can work on.”

Daryl looked down at their joined hands, then back at her.

She smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Even just a little.” A long breath passed between them before Beth tilted her head. “You think you can learn to sleep in a bed again?”

Daryl snorted, shaking his head. “Dunno, might have to ease into it.”

Beth smirked, her thumb brushing lightly against his. “Well, I can help with that.”

Daryl blinked, caught off guard for just a second—but then that rare, lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was real, and it was hers. “I’ll hold you to that.” The porch light flickered, casting a halo around her hair and for the first time since they arrived, Daryl felt truly at ease.

________________________________________________________________

The house was not only clean, but new.

That was the first thing Beth noticed as she eased Judith down onto a pile of couch cushions and bundled blankets in the center of the living room. The furniture barely creaked, the air didn’t smell like smoke or sweat or blood, and the windows didn’t rattle in the wind. It felt like a museum exhibit on what life was like before the fall.

The rest of the group had gravitated into the room after dark. They hadn’t even needed to say it out loud—no one wanted to sleep alone yet. Not in strange beds and not under roofs they hadn’t built. Glenn was on the floor with Maggie, their backs to the wall, Sasha leaned against the arm of the couch with her legs drawn up, eyes never really closing. Abraham had claimed the recliner, one boot off and one on, snoring softly, and Rosita sat near the stairs, her head tilted to the side but alert.

Beth tucked the blanket more snugly around Judith, brushing the baby’s cheek with her fingers. She straightened just in time to catch sight of Daryl by the window.

He hadn’t sat all night. He just stood there like a sentry, arms crossed, back straight, his crossbow leaning close within reach. His eyes scanned the darkness like everything might collapse at any second.

Beth crossed the room to him slowly, her steps soft. She knew better than to crowd him when he was wound this tight. “You should rest,” she murmured, touching his forearm with gentle familiarity.

He didn’t look at her right away, but he shifted, letting his elbow graze hers. “I’m fine.”

Beth’s gaze followed his to the darkness outside the window. Porch lights glowing down the street, neatly trimmed grass, flowerbeds, houses with curtains still drawn like nothing had ever gone wrong out there. “It’s a lot,” she said quietly. “I know it’s strange. Too quiet, too clean, but…that doesn’t mean it’s bad, Daryl.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound more tired than skeptical. Not quite yes, but not quite no.

Beth leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, not asking for more. She wasn’t trying to fix it, just letting him know she was there. She felt him exhale slowly, the tension in his body easing. They stood that way for a moment, his warmth seeping into her side, the silence between them familiar and grounding.

Then Judith stirred softly in her sleep, and Beth gently stepped away, brushing Daryl’s hand as she passed. She knelt again to check the blanket, eyes flicking to the sleeping forms around the room.

A knock broke the stillness.

The group tensed instantly—even behind walls, the instinct remained sharp. Beth saw Rosita sit up straighter and Glenn’s hand move instinctively toward the knife at his belt.

Rick stood first, cautious but calm, and opened the door.

Deanna Monroe stood on the porch, smiling kindly as she stepped in. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Didn’t mean to startle anyone, just wanted to stop by before lights out. See how everyone was settling in.”

Rick offered a nod. “We’re stayin’ close tonight. Just for now.”

“I figured,” Deanna said. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the people on the floor, the walls they hugged, the weariness in their bones. Her eyes softened. “You all stay close like this a lot?”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Glenn said from the floor.

Deanna smiled thoughtfully. “No, I suppose not. But it’s still beautiful. The way you all stick together. Different people, different stories, but a family, still.”

Beth glanced at Maggie, who was already watching her with a soft expression.

Rick’s face was unreadable, but his hand briefly grazed Carl’s shoulder where he sat near the stairs.

Deanna’s eyes landed on Daryl next—still standing at the window, gruff and silent. “And Mr. Dixon,” she said, tilting her head. “Still trying to figure you out.”

Beth smirked without thinking and Daryl glanced at her sideways, catching the curve of her lips. She gave him a small, playful shrug. “He grows on you,” she said lightly.

Daryl’s ears reddened slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Deanna smiled wider. “I believe that.” Then her gaze moved to Rick. “You look different. The beard was impressive—but without it, you almost look…” she tilted her head. “Hopeful.”

Rick didn’t answer right away, but something in his posture softened just slightly.

Deanna nodded once, satisfied, and made her way back to the door.

“You’re welcome here,” she said to them all. “And I hope…when you’re ready, you’ll feel that.” Then she was gone, leaving the door to click gently shut behind her.

A hush fell again—but it wasn’t sharp anymore. The silence was softer, like a breath held just a little less tight.

Beth turned from Judith and walked back to Daryl. He was still at the window, but his stance had changed. Less rigid and more uncertain. She stepped back to his side, their bodies brushing as she leaned into him a little. “C’mon.” Beth whispered, voice low and only for him as she threaded her fingers through his. 

He hesitated for only a breath, then he let her tug him down beside her on the floor, close to Judith and the rest of their group. The room was dim, but not dark.


It was still.


Safe.

Beth leaned into him fully, curling against his side and he slouched back just a little, enough for her to rest comfortably against him. Neither of them said anything to each other, they didn’t need to.

Judith stirred nearby but didn’t wake.

Beth closed her eyes for a second and let herself feel the room. The clean air, the warmth, the nearness of people she loved. And for the first time in a long time, she let herself lean into the possibilities, let herself hope—just a little.

Just enough.