Except for three post Coda stories and this entry, a complete chronological list of my Bethy fanfic can be found at on my profile page

This is a story that's been mulling around in my head for some time. I really wanted to write a story with Beth, Hershel and Daryl. This is set during the time they were on the road between season two and three. At the end of season two Beth was a terrified, traumatized teen. She did not change overnight into the confident woman we see in the later seasons. But she did start to change the day she chose not to commit suicide. This is just my attempt to paint the blank canvas that is Beth Greene during this time period. Hope this was successful.

One Icy Night in Georgia

Rick forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel, pushed his shoulders back and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. As the last hour had passed he had hunkered down, his shoulders hunched and tense, driving as though his will alone were pushing the vehicle forward. The past week had been hell. Every time they thought they had found refuge, their sanctuary had been overrun by walkers. Both the number of groups and the dead in each group had been growing as they moved untiringly, restlessly, massing into ever larger herds. Not yet as overwhelming as the herd that had driven them from Hershel's farm, but getting there.

Glancing at the passenger seat of the SUV he was driving Rick was relieved to see Lori had finally fallen asleep, Carl curled against her side. She was struggling to keep up, growing increasingly weak from lack of food and insufficient rest. They all needed to eat more, but Lori had been unable to keep down the little she ate and it showed in the sharpness of her cheekbones and the hollows beneath them. Always thin, this pregnancy was dragging what little reserves she had left out of her and he cursed Shane for that. He and Carl needed Lori.

The short, sharp backfire of a cantankerous engine drew him out of his reverie as he glanced into the rearview mirror. The old blue pick-up that contained Hershel and Beth was enveloped in a cloud of black smoke. As each day passed the rundown vehicle was becoming a greater problem, burning oil and now, falling behind. Rick feared they would lose the truck and with it their ability to carry any supplies they had been able to scavenge, but they may soon need to abandon it. They had been forced to move faster to outrun or evade the growing herds, and it was becoming a liability. But now was not the time. If Daryl's prediction was good, and they usually were, they needed gain ground on the massing walkers and avoid being caught in the middle of the herd they had spent the past two weeks avoiding. That meant moving now and moving fast. Hershel knew of a small church near Darington that might be secure enough to provide shelter for the night - long enough for them to rest and possibly hunt.

The rumble of Daryl's bike caught Rick's attention and he rolled his window down half way.

"Hershel's in trouble," Daryl shouted, the wind carrying half his words away. "I'm gonna…drop back."

"Be careful," Rick shouted. "If we get separated, we'll wait north of here at the mall we hit for gas last week. We can't wait there long. From there we move on to Darlington."

Daryl nodded and Rick heard the bike's big engine revving down as he dropped back to run beside Hershel and Beth.

Rick was not happy with the situation but they had little choice. Adding to his worries dark clouds had been slowly building on the horizon, weighty and heavy with rain, and the temperature had dropped noticeably during the day. They needed to find shelter fast.

~oOo~

Leaning forward in her seat, lips pressed into a grim line, Beth ground her teeth, willing the old truck to keep moving. She could tell her father was fighting with the pick-up, determined to keep it running, trying not to fall too far behind. The engine had begun to cough and sputter with frightening regularity and she could smell the unmistakable fumes from burning oil. She knew her father needed to concentrate so she kept silent, but she did not fail to notice when Daryl dropped back to where they trailed the pack of vehicles, riding for a moment beside them before falling back farther to their rear. Beth glanced back to where he had positioned himself fifteen or so yards behind - clear of the cloud of black smoke belching out of the truck's exhaust pipe, but close enough to assist if needed. He was guarding their back, though Beth wondered what he could really do if they got into trouble. He knew engines and could keep the truck going if anyone could, but if they broke down completely he would not be able to give them both a ride. She glanced nervously over her shoulder a second time assuring herself he was still there, his presence more comforting than she had expected. He was a survivor, and she could not think of anyone else, except maybe Rick, she trusted to keep them safe.

A year ago, even two months ago when they still had the farm, she might not have thought so. No, that was not true either. She had always sensed the goodness in Daryl and although she had found herself uncomfortable around him, it was never a matter of fear. She was uncomfortable because he acted as though he had felt inferior to her. It showed in subtle ways like the deferential nod with which he always greeted her, never meeting her gaze, always averting his eyes when he talked to her as though she was royalty. She was no princess, just a farm girl with an overprotective family.

Truth be told, she had more than once found herself daydreaming about joining the uninvited strangers that had camped on their front lawn. Daddy had not wanted her anywhere near them, but she had watched, from her bedroom window upstairs, eavesdropping when their voices had carried to the house on the hot, still summer air. She had smelled the smoke from their campfires and had joined them when they offered to teach her and Patricia how to use a gun. And more than once she had watched as Daryl left the relative safety of that camp, first to search for that missing little girl, then later to distance himself from memories too painful and relationships too volatile. Despite Daddy's efforts to keep them away, Rick and his people had slowly insinuated themselves into the lives of the Greene family. Beth thought that was a good thing even when it made her nervous - even when he made her nervous.

No, she had never feared Daryl Dixon. He could be coarse and he could be deadly, but she had also seen him skittish as a new colt, like the day Daddy had asked him to sit with her while he tended a colicky horse. It had been after her stupid attempt at suicide when she had been confined to bed. He had prowled her bedroom nervous as a newly caged bird until she had asked him to hand her a pack of cards and he had taught her that silly card game. He had been as patient as a saint and he had relaxed. For the first time she had glimpsed the person hidden beneath the rough and the dirt. But he had shut down like a steel trap when her Daddy walked into the room again. He had always kept his distance, polite and proper after that. Even when he was showing her things she, they all, needed to learn to survive. Polite, proper, distant, but she knew he watched her when he thought no one else was looking. It was like he was trying to figure out who she really was underneath that princess disguise he was convinced she wore.

Another loud backfire from the old truck's exhaust and a mumbled comment from her dad, snapped her back to present. She glanced over her shoulder again. Daryl still rode a few yards behind them. She could see him through the ever thickening cloud of black smoke they left in their wake. Then another sound brought her attention to the front. The splattering sound of sleet hitting the windshield. She sucked in her breath and risked a glance at her father.

"Not good," he said softly looking briefly at her before turning his concentration to the road once more.

The clouds that had been building on the horizon for the last hour were now over them heavy, dark and laden with moisture. The temperature of the air had dropped and what was starting out as rain, would soon turn to sleet and ice. The truck was old and cantankerous and she doubted the heater had worked in the last decade. She suppressed a shiver as the chill permeated the cab of the truck. Daryl had to be colder, exposed to the wind, the rain slowly soaking through his clothing.

"We need to find shelter." her dad said softly

"We can't be that far behind Rick," Beth said. "We can make it to the church."

"I know, baby girl." Hershel continued to drive, but his speed had slowed. "That's what I'm hoping. But these tires are practically bald. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to get enough traction to drive. If this starts to freeze on the road, we may have to pull over."

"What about Rick and the others?"

"They're not going to leave without us unless the situation is dire. We'll catch up."

"And Daryl?"

"There's room in the cab for three." Hershel thought a moment. "Maybe we can get his bike into the back of the truck. We definitely need to get him in out of the weather."

Beth saw her dad's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel and he muttered a rare expletive as the tail end of the pickup suddenly swung to the left. Hershel worked the steering wheel to control the skid, over correcting twice before bringing the vehicle back into line. His face had gone white under his tan, and when he looked at Beth his mouth was set in a tense, grim line.

"Pretty good for not having much practice driving on ice," Beth said lightly, hoping to relieve the tension she saw in her father's face.

"Not bad for an old timer," Hershel agreed.

Beth turned in her seat to look out the back window, checking on Daryl one more time. They were rounding a curve in the road when they hit a patch of black ice and almost lost the truck to that skid. She waited, biting her lower lip nervously. Daryl was not that far behind them. He should have cleared that curve by now even if he had backed off when they had begun to slide. She counted slowly under her breath, trying to estimate his reappearance, but he did not re-appear.

"Daddy," Beth said anxiously. "I don't see Daryl."

"He's probably slowed down because of the ice."

"We can't get too far ahead of him." Beth still saw no sign of the big bike and its rider.

She heard the truck's engine begin to whine as Hershel shifted into a lower gear, slowly bringing the pick-up to a lumbering halt.

"We need to go back, Daddy," she said, trying to keep the worry from her voice. "He may be in trouble. We really need to go back," Beth said again, making no attempt to hide her fear as she pointed out the passenger side window. Shambling through the field of uncut hay to their right were a pair of walkers. They were heading towards the truck attracted by the sound of the engine backfiring.

"Damn," Hershel said. He pulled several feet ahead to the access road for the field and carefully backed the truck up. Hershel eased forward coaxing the truck back on to the road. The rear wheels spun when they met the pavement and for a bad moment Beth was afraid they would never get moving. Then the tires caught on a bit of loose gravel and they started moving slowly in the direction they had come retracing the road towards the curve.

The walkers stumbled out of the field and onto the icy road gnarled fingers clutching at the tailgate. As they stepped onto the slippery surface their legs went out from under them and they crashed to the ground, piles of icy rags and twisted limbs. It was like a horribly bad, slapstick comedy routine and under any other circumstances Beth would have laughed out loud as they struggled to rise. Instead she sighed in relief. They would be safe from that pair at least for a little while. And she made a mental note to remember that walkers did not do too well on ice.

Beth was sure Daryl was in trouble. Even if they had not taken the time to turn around he should have caught up to them by now. As they approached the curve, she saw Daryl's bike on its side in the middle of the road. Hershel worked the truck to the side of the road so the driver's side wheels were on the gravel berm. As they came to a stop, Beth pointed again. A dark, motionless form lay against the trees that ran along the roadside. Before her father could protest, she had opened the door on her side and stepped carefully onto the road. She almost went down herself before she reached the rough weeds that edged the road.

"Daryl," she called in a low voice, scanning the line of vegetation for any sign of approaching walkers. All she heard was the glasslike tinkling of sleet pellets striking the ground and the trees. It was the only sound in the eerie silence after her dad turned off the truck. Daryl was unconscious. He had come to rest about ten feet from his motorcycle, his back against a tree, his left arm thrown over his face, hiding it from view. But Beth could still see the blood matting his hair.

"Be careful," Beth called softly to her father. She needed her dad whole and well. Then she heard the noise they all dreaded, muffled by the underbrush and the freezing rain, but a distinctive as the cry of any predator. She reached for her side and realized she had been in such a hurry to help Daryl, she had left her pike in the truck. Without hesitation, she fumbled underneath Daryl until she freed his hunting knife from its sheath at his side.

"Don't move him," Hershel called quietly from the truck. He had opened his own door and stepped gingerly onto the frozen weeds.

Beth waved at him to remain where he was, certain that he had not yet sensed the imminent danger coming from the woods. Before Hershel could cross the road the walker emerged. It had been a woman, taller than Beth and heavier. Limp tatters of fabric and flesh hung from her arms, torso and face in a bizarre imitation of humanity. Beth knew what she had to do even though she had only killed one walker. Gripping the knife firmly in a hand that had begun to sweat nervously despite the cold, she advanced on the enemy waving her arms to distract it from Daryl who still lay helpless behind her. She heard her father load a round into the chamber of his shotgun, and she motioned for him to hold his fire. They needed to be as stealthy as possible in case there were more walkers nearby. She continued to circle the walker. She had its attention now. It turned away from Daryl and started to follow Beth in the opposite direction. Only then did Beth charge forward as she had seen Rick and Daryl and the others do on so many occasions. With her arm stiff to hold the creature away from her she grabbed a fistful of its ragged clothing, then raised the knife and plunged its blade into the walker's left eye socket. It dropped noiselessly to the ground at her feet. Beth waited, listening as her own heart pounded in her chest, but she heard no other sounds. Perhaps this walker was alone. She looked over her shoulder to where her dad now stood protectively over Daryl's prone form, and her dad nodded approvingly. Only then did she release the breath she had been holding, swipe the knife clean in the icy grass and go back to her father's side.

"Well, done, Bethy," her dad said softly. Hershel knelt by Daryl's side and carefully felt for a pulse, then ran his hands expertly over the man's neck and back before he nodded to Beth and smiled slightly. "He's alive. I can't be sure he hasn't injured his neck or spine but there are no outward signs that he has. Head trauma for sure and there may be other injuries so we need to be very careful when we move him."

Beth breathed a sigh of relief and indicated that she understood. She was beginning to shake, both from the cold and from the adrenalin that had been coursing through her body and now had nowhere to burn out except in shivers.

"We need to get him into the truck," Hershel continued calmly. "There's a tarp in the back. We can use it to slide him over, then lift him into the bed."

"Is it too cold for him to ride in the bed?' Beth's own teeth were beginning to chatter.

"We need to keep him as level as possible until we're sure there are no injuries to his spine. It's not the best situation, but it will have to do. We can wrap him in the tarp to keep the rain off. There was a farmhouse a couple miles back. With any luck we can shelter there."

Beth nodded shivering as the freezing rain crusted her hair and clothing. "Then I'll ride in the back to keep him from moving if he wakes up."

Hershel looked as though he was going to object. Instead he just nodded.

Beth stood and carefully crossed the road to the pick-up glancing in both direction, half expecting to see the slipping, sliding walker duo they had left behind come round the corner. She wondered how long they would pursue a living human or if they would stop once they lost the scent. She shivered again. The tarp was stowed in the tool box behind the cab so at least it was dry. By the time she got back to her father he had pulled Daryl's arms down to his sides. They gently rolled him onto his back on the tarp then dragged him across the road. Beth struggled to keep her footing on the icy road, but was more concerned her father might fall. It took all of her strength to help lift Daryl into the truck without any of them crashing to the ground again. When he was in the back, she crawled up into the bed and her father covered her with the loose tarp. She was beginning to worry that Daryl had been unconscious for so long and prayed he hadn't hit his head too hard.

"Hang on, Bethy. It should only take four or five minutes to backtrack to the farmhouse."

Hershel fired up the engine and for once it did not backfire, then Beth felt the truck move onto the pavement. She knew her dad was driving very slowly to avoid another skid. Although she knew they did not have to travel far, Beth thought they would never get to the farmhouse. The cold had penetrated all of her clothing and she was shivering uncontrollably when she felt the truck turn and heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. The drive was rough, and Beth tried to steady Daryl as they bumped over ruts and potholes and finally came to a stop. Hershel cut the engine as Beth tossed the tarp off herself and stood up in the bed pulling the tarp over a still unresponsive Daryl.

While she had the advantage of standing in the truck, she surveyed the surrounding yard and woods hoping against hope there would be no more walkers.

Hershel came around to the side of the vehicle as Beth was climbing down. "We need to clear the house," Beth said matter-of-factly, though the prospect terrified her. This was Daryl's job, and Rick's. Then she took a steadying breath. And Carl's. If Carl could do this so could she. But she knew her father had not killed a single walker since they had been out on the road. And he had never killed one up close with a knife - only with a gun back at the farm. We need to do it fast so none of them finds Daryl in the back of this truck while he's still unconscious, she added to herself. And we need to do it as silently as possible. "I'll take the lead," she said as firmly as she could, tightening her grip on Daryl's knife.

"Beth,"

"I can do this, Daddy. Just watch my back."

Hershel had parked the truck close enough to the front door to make unloading their patient easier. Beth walked up onto the porch and banged loudly on the front door, then waited. When she heard nothing, she slowly opened the door.

It was a tiny house. Single story, and maybe a small attic or basement. Better than having to do two floors, she told herself. Once inside the door, she banged again on the hallway wall, hoping there would be no response. Her heart sank when she heard a guttural growl from up ahead, the second room on the right she was certain. When nothing emerged from that room she moved forward with her dad behind her. She approached the door to the room and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a single walker, on the floor, apparently unable to rise. Quickly and silently she ran the knife through its forehead and it stopped moving. There were no more sounds, but she and her father cleared the other rooms, the closets, and even rattled pans in the basement stairwell. Nothing.

"Let's get Daryl in here fast," Hershel said when they were sure the house was secure.

On the way out they dragged the remains of the walker to the porch pulling him off to one side. Sliding Daryl from the back of the truck they dragged him into the front room. It had a carpet, and a wood stove. If they could find wood they might be able to start a fire.

Beth assumed the lone walker must have been the owner of the house. He appeared to be elderly, his hair snowy and thin. There were no visible marks on his body so she assumed he died of natural causes and turned alone here in his home. He had boarded up the windows before he died and must have been prepared to ride out this disaster in his home, which meant they could hopefully keep any approaching walkers at bay.

Settling Daryl on the carpet near the wood stove, Hershel began to unbutton his jacket. "Grab those blankets and quilts off the bed in the other room."

Beth raced to the bedroom and yanked the coverings off the bed.

"Why don't we just put him on the bed, Daddy?" she asked.

"It will be warmer here once we get a fire in this stove."

"Do you think it's safe to build a fire?" Beth asked.

Hershel shook his head. "It isn't safe to not build a fire. We need to warm Daryl up. And we need to keep ourselves warm. It's a chance we have to take. I'm just hoping they're only attracted to the flickering flames and not the smell of smoke. The fire will be contained inside the wood stove. Now help me get these wet clothes off him."

Beth felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Stripping Daryl Dixon was not high on her list of secret dreams.

"There's no need to blush," Hershel said a hint of laugher in his voice. "You know the anatomical structures, child. I'm not asking you to seduce the man. We're trying to save his life."

"I wasn't concerned about that, Daddy. I don't think he wants us to see or know about the scars."

"Well, we've already seen and we already know," Hershel replied as he continued to peel the sodden clothes off the unconscious man. "So, help me get the clothes off him before he becomes hypothermic." Daryl's lips were already tinged blue and his skin felt cold. Neither of them missed the large bruise darkening across his back where he had slammed against the tree trunk. She could see the concern in her father's face as he gently palpated the area. "There could be some kidney damage. That bruise is directly over his left kidney."

"How can we know?" Beth asked through chattering teeth.

"Pain, possibly nausea, blood in his urine if the kidney is damaged enough that it's hemorrhaging,

They finished wrapping Daryl in the blankets and Hershel rose to his feet.

"You need to get dry clothing on too," Hershel told her. "We all need to dry off. I think I saw a wood pile behind the house. Before I get dry I'm goin' to load some of that wood on to the porch."

"Let me help."

"No, Beth, you need to stay with Daryl. He's going to be very confused when he wakes up. One of us needs to stay within hearing range to keep him as calm as possible. I don't want him moving around until I have made a better assessment of his injuries." Hershel must have seen the concern on her face because his tone softened and he reached out to brush the stray hair from her cheek. "Maybe you can find some dry paper or other tinder and matches to help start this fire. And see if you can find dry clothes for both of us."

Beth nodded without saying anything. The thought of her dad out alone in the cold rain scared her to death, but she knew he was right about needing someone to be with Daryl when he woke up. Which, she prayed, would be soon because it seemed as though he'd been unconscious for hours even though it was probably not even half an hour since his accident. Hershel got to his feet. Beth remained by Daryl's side until she heard the front door close. Then with a shiver, she rose and went into the bedroom again. The closet door was slightly ajar, and there were two dressers in the room. She found blue jeans, flannel shirts, t-shirts and sweaters. They felt clammy to the touch, but they were dry even though everything was too big on her. She set aside clothes she thought would fit her dad and Daryl, then went back to check on him. There had been no change and she was really beginning to worry that he had suffered a major head trauma.

Her big brother Shawn had been an Eagle Scout. He once told her that as part of a first aid course they were trained to take off their own clothes and crawl into the sleeping bag with the hypothermia victim to keep them warm. She wasn't sure she was ready to do that yet. She would have been more comfortable doing that with a complete stranger because then it would just be a matter of keeping the person warm. She wasn't sure she could remain neutral when the other person was Daryl. She didn't want to think of how Daryl would respond if he woke up to find her naked wrapped in a blanket with him. Or in her underwear and in blanket with him. Or fully clothed curled up with him.

Hurry back with that wood, Daddy, she thought, or I won't have a choice.

"Come on, Daryl, wake up please," she said resting her hand against his cheek. He was so cold, too cold.