Sweet Revenge - Bethyl Fanfic

Chapter One

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The story I tell about Daryl and Beth is my own invention, and it is not purported, or believed, to be part of the Walking Dead story canon. It is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.  

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Beth knew she should feel something about her daddy getting murdered right in front of her. So far, all she felt was numb. She had no idea if she would ever see her sister again, or if Maggie was even alive. For all Beth knew - Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Rick, Michonne, Carl, the baby, and all of the others were dead.  

The only reason she was still breathing was because of the man walking two paces in front of her. As if her eyes were burning a hole in his back - right between the wings - Daryl Dixon turned to look at her.  

Right now he was still Healthy Prison Daryl, his clothes were relatively clean - albeit the blood, his hair was trimmed, but not so far that it didn't skirt playfully over his eyes, and he was only sporting a two-day beard. She had seen Forest Survival Daryl once before, after they lost the farm, and she suspected she'd be seeing him again in the very near future.  

She knew him well enough to be able to read the emotion written in his expression. Anger. Despair. Grief. No fear, of course. She couldn't remember ever seeing the crossbow wielding walker-killer express fear. Sadness maybe - sorrow even - but never fear. She'd seen him angry plenty of times, and she'd seen him self-loath on more than one occasion, but as far as she knew Daryl wasn't afraid of anything.  

He was quiet now, clearly perturbed. Whatever he was thinking - he wasn't sharing it with her - not verbally at least. But she could tell by his tense shoulders, and the way he was stomping through the brush that he wasn't happy. He hadn't said a word since he told her they were at a safe distance to slow down a bit. She was grateful for the reprieve. The back of her knees ached, and her arm was sore from firing the gun so many times. "Ya all right?" He asked her.  

No, she wanted to say, but instead she gave him a stiff nod, crossing her arms over her chest. Beth wasn't ready to talk about it yet. He turned forward again but - after a minute - she noticed he'd slowed down even more. She couldn't help wondering if he was getting tired himself, or slowing down for her. She guessed the later was probably true. He didn't look very tired, just pissed. She wished she had his stamina, but she'd been inside the prison for a long time, and her body was feeling the effects of the mad dash away from the prison, and all the walking they'd done since.  

Beth didn't know where the archer was leading her and she realized - with a small shock - that she didn't care. She knew she should be freaking out about Maggie. Heck, she should have insisted they turn around and go back for Maggie. But if her sister, and the others, had survived the Governor's attack on the prison, they would have run just like Beth and Daryl had. They would have been smart enough not to stick around, with walkers overrunning the place.  

To distract herself from thoughts of Maggie's demise, she did an inventory of what she had on her body. The only clothes she had were the ones she was wearing when they'd high-tailed it out of the prison, and they were covered in sweat, dirt and blood. Beth never took her bracelets off, so she still had those. She had the bug-out-bag that Daryl had the good judgment to scoop up on their way out, and tucked into the bag was the crow-bar she'd armed herself with back at the prison. She'd stopped to wipe the blood and brains off the make-shift weapon after her last walker kill. Just before the attack someone - Daryl maybe - had given her a hand-gun, and she held it in her right hand. She looked down at the gun, and was almost surprised to see the glint of metal under her fingers. She'd been holding the firearm for so long that it felt like it had become a part of her, an extension of her own blood and bone. Even though they hadn't seen a walker in hours, Beth was still grasping the weapon with the anticipation of another run-in.