intact ➵ beth is alive

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GLENN GO TO TERMINUS — MAGGIE SASHA BOB

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She wants his arms, she wants his arms to envelop her and hold her while she sobs, shaking and crying like she held him when he blamed himself with the deaths he couldn't control.
She doesn't think you're alive.
Beth collapses to her knees, staring at the sign and the decaying walkers. She's not going to Terminus, the old signs warning to avoid Terminus were fresh with dirt and blood while this one, the blood isn't wet. It's caked on and flaking, it's old and has been here too long to rely on.
She keeps on walking, as if it was all she knew how to do.
Maggie may or may not be alive, and she prays she lived through whatever horrific event happened there that made others warn to veer away from the awful place.

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It's rather gross, definitely past it's expiration date.
The granola bar, that is.
For starters, the label reads crunchy! and it's stale and breaking apart too easily for her liking. She almost throws it away.
But she's grown not to be picky with food. At least now she can say she's proudly eaten snake.
(She'd rather being eating that right now.)

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Beth wants to kiss Daryl's stupid face.
These are her legitimate thoughts, because he didn't need to teach her, train her, but he did regardless, and she's a survivalist because of it.
She's tracking like him, and if she could only find a crossbow her size, she'd probably be able to use that to her advantage if she could. The weapon itself was threatening all on it's own--and she could shoot just fine. It was reloading the bolts that took her a while to adjust to, and she'd just need some practice da before she was running along side Daryl.
But Beth knew tracking like the back of her hand.
So when she sees the NO SANCTUARY signs scratching out the original writing, she's smiling like an idiot because it's fresher than the last two signs she's seen.
"I'm coming," she hears herself mumble, and it's the first time she hears herself speak in a while. She misses her voice, speaking to others and murmuring to herself. Singing to her family, to Daryl.
Her gaze drifts from the heavily wooded areas, and back to the Terminus signs, where a single map was pinned, dirty and torn at the edges, but readable.
A black dot crossing along a green line signified where she was, and it reads South Carolina.
"Couple more states." Beth affirms to herself quietly, and almost as an immediate reaction, a bad habit turned natural instinct in this world, she turns around, checking if anyone was there to hear her.
The quietness was too loud, too eerie, and she misses being with someone, so she can speak freely. So that if God forbid a lone walker finds creeps it's way quietly over to her while she's sleeping, she'd have someone to protect her. And she would do the same, she's strong and she's worthy.
She's Beth Greene.
'Tougher than you think, Greene.'
His voice washes over her and it's refreshing, and it's encouraging. Encouraging enough to let her reach for the frayed map and rip it from the nail it hung from and take it with her with the words he'd once said, hanging on to the both of these two things like her life depended on it.

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If Daryl is dead, which she knows she isn't--land man standing an all, she'd be guaranteed that he is watching over her.
This is set in stone for her when she comes across a tiny hidden lodge cabin far in the woods. It's ridiculously small, but it has walls and it has a roof, and before she goes inside, there's no one staying in, so she lets herself in quietly, creeping against the walls, looking around and peeking in rooms.
So unless someone's hiding right behind her, stalking her like a shadow, she's safe to sleep.
Whenever Beth sleeps, she's wary. She's only half sleeping, half on watch for herself.
If she can remember correctly, Daryl told her that that was how he used to sleep when he was younger, when his asshole of a dad who liked his belt far too much would snatch him and--
He'd gotten that far, and that was when his voice had grown too shaky and she had her hand on his upper arm, and before she knew it he was pulling her close, into his arms and chest, shaking.
Beth decides that if she's gonna die before she finds her family, she'd be forgiving, not spiteful. She was shot in her head, if she was watching from their point of view, she would've figured she was dead, too. She understands. She gets it. She's forgiving. She wants them to know that, she wants to rid Maggie of the guilt that's probably eating away at her, wants to rid the Daryl of the sorrow for not holding her back, not being able to run fast enough. There wasn't anything he could've done, he'd done everything and more, and he was still probably dealing with the undying guilt she wish he wouldn't feel.
No, no she's digging herself in a deep hole of her own regret and she's motivated to live, she can't let herself fall back and swim in the regret, in her own guilt.
So she slips into another room, as if she's leaving the negativity emotions behind.
The hallways are short and small, really just a sort of filler between doors, and after checking each one, she'd found no food in the cabinets (she's expected that), but the sight of the cabinets in the bathroom made her want to cry.
There was toothpaste.
There was toothpaste and deodorant and a sort of face cleanser and she was almost positive she was dreaming and that if she touched it, it would disappear and fade away. But it didn't.
So she reaches in and shifts through all the contents inside, finding toothbrushes that looked hardly used (she'd clean them, just to be safe), empty bottles of nail polish, miscellaneous pieces of jewelry to which she had no interest in wearing, and a hairbrush. It was sort of disgusting—there was still a dark shade of brown knotted in the bristles but those were the least of her worries. She'd lived in a world where she went from showering daily to showering whenever she could, and these times were few and far between.
Beth, to say the least, was ecstatic.
In those few minutes her swelling joy, she brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she'd found (which she still cleaned thoroughly), and then with the hairbrush, her hair, after she'd untangled the braid and pulled out the band that held her hair up all together. When she was finished with all the knots, if had been at least a half hour, and after it was free of tangles, it was back up in a ponytail, a tiny braid streaking through.

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Beth doesn't know how to sleep anymore.
She became accustomed to the pills she was given at Grady, and ever since she left she's stayed awake until she physically couldn't, and was asleep before she was even aware she was.
But she's found a method, of sorts.
She remembers. She counts. She sorts memories, recounts of occurrences, decides what she wants to hold onto and remember for an eternity and others, discard as if they never happened.
Beth, she knows and she remembers the moonshine, every drunken dream and memory she had with Daryl. Every fading smile and every hope or wish of what could be, what might be, what will.

DID YOU GUYS READ THE SPOILER FOR 615?? HES TALKING ABOUT BETHHH
wHile im on the subject it pisses me off when ppl r like "daryls gotten soft!! he got his crossbow and bike stolen!! he used to be so tough whyd he bring insulin!!"
um BETH U DUMB SHITS HES NOT SOFT HES LOOKING FOR PEOPLE BECAUSE HE HAS THIS LINGERING THOUGHT OF "What would Beth do," LIKE ITS HIS PERSONAL WAY OF REMEMBERING AND HONORING HER BECAUSE THEY COULDNT BURY HER, JUST LIKE RICK'S WAY OF REMEMBERING/HONORING HER WAS TO GO TO RICHMOND
ok sorry for ranting i had to get that off my chest bc hardwick was being obnoxious ¿??¿?¿¿?