**A/N: So this happened. It's a canon divergence from "Alone", where Daryl actually catches up to the car that caught Beth and, well, you'll see. It is not a one-shot, it is going to be a chapter fic. Enjoy!

Failed her, failed her, failed her.

Daryl's feet beat out the rhythm of those accusatory words as they pounded over the pavement for mile after mile. The sun had risen again and begun to set since he'd failed her, and he was still running, running, never stopping, chasing after her, because there was no way in hell he was gonna stop.

He'd already failed her once. He'd already let her get taken, let her get dragged into that fucking car somehow, watched it drive off with her inside. There had been no way he was gonna let them take her even further from him. So he'd done the only thing he could do: he'd run.

Daryl had been running for so long now that he didn't even feel the pain in his feet anymore. He didn't feel winded, didn't feel exhausted, didn't feel hungry. He felt like all the times he'd been building up his endurance, all the times he'd gotten used to going without food, without sleep, had all led to this. He knew technically it had been to help him survive, but what was the point of surviving without her? There wasn't one.

There was no point in living without the one bright, shining being that he'd only just begun to realize made it all worth it. Because that was what Beth Greene was. The flicker of a match in the endless darkness, sparking, blooming to push away the night that seemed to close in tighter with each day. He refused to let that flame get blown out, get taken from him, not when he'd just begun to not only accept but enjoy the way it shown so warm on his skin and his shriveled, disused heart.

So he ran, and even when he came to a crossing in the road he didn't stop. He spun, gasping for breath and barely noticing, refusing to give in to the urge to fall to his ground and give up 'cause he couldn't give up, not on her, not ever.

Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith.

He chose left, and if someone had been there to ask him why he wouldn't have been able to answer. Maybe it was the same gut instinct that guided him towards a doe in the forest, or helped him lead the way to an abandoned cabin that was just safe enough for the night. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was faith. Maybe instead, some dim rusty part of him could see feel the pull of that flickering flame.

Or maybe it was just luck; because it sure as shit seemed like luck when twenty minutes later he came to a sudden stop at the sight of that damn car pulled over on the side of the road up ahead. Black car, white cross on the back, right there in front of him. He didn't have to wonder what had gotten in their way, because the small pile of dead walkers on the road was all the answer he needed. They must have taken them out quietly, because Daryl sure as hell would have heard some gunshots otherwise.

As if suddenly realizing he was in their line of sight, he crouched down low, partially to keep out of view but also just to catch his breath for a moment and study them. Two men, one bending down to drag a walker corpse away from the car and the other standing by the open back door to look inside. No, not just men, cops. He recognized uniforms like that from a mile away; after all he'd spent a good part of his adulthood avoiding them with his brother. For a second he wondered if they hadn't taken Beth just to try and save her from the walkers in the funeral home. Despite his instincts still clamoring about that too-perfect place being a trap, they were cops, after all. Maybe they'd seen her in trouble and swooped in to save her, maybe she'd been knocked out and hadn't been able to tell them to go back for him...

Then he heard them speak.

Sound carried out in the middle of nowhere, even more these days when there were no people around, no cars on the roads, nothing else making a sound except the wind and the wildlife. Their conversation echoed across the pavement and what he heard made his jaw clench.

"She's a sweet piece, this one. Best we've caught in one of our traps in ages."
"Did you see the way she killed that walker, right before we hit her? Bet she's a feisty one, too."
"Well don't get too excited, O'Donnell. This feisty one is gonna be mine, I'm already laying claim."
"Shit, Gorman, come on now..."

Rage boiled over inside of him not just at their words, but at the way the dark haired one- Gorman, the one who was trying to claim Beth- was leaning over and staring into the back of the seat, where he could only assume Beth was laying. He had to assume she wasn't conscious, not just cause they'd mentioned hitting her, but because he knew Beth. She'd be clawing at them right now, all spitfire and rage for talking to her like that.

Their words were bad enough, but seeing that piece of shit lean in and run his hands over what he could only assume was Beth in the back seat, well, that was the last straw. He rose up with a growl, stumbling forward on exhausted legs, too driven to lay down and give up, now when it came to her. He shuffled towards them intently, his crossbow hanging heavy from his hand as he slowly but surely closed the distance between them.

Gorman looked up and seemed to sigh as he said, "Got another dead one coming," before his attention shifted to the back seat again.

He figured it must have been the way he was walking, shambling down the street like something dead. They couldn't have known that the only death he carried was for them, that his shambling was the gait of a man who had run an entire day and wouldn't stop until he'd brought them down.

The cop in the back by the walkers- O'Donnell, his mind whispered, not that he needed to know the name of the man to kill him- reached for the gun at his waist, but Daryl didn't plan on giving them a chance to put him down, let alone to figure out he was still kicking. At least not until it was too late for them. He should have been too exhausted to even lift his bow, but with her name echoing through his mind and pulsing in his veins and vibrating through his bones (Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth), a fire fueled him that couldn't be denied. In a swift movement Daryl raised his crossbow, sighted on the taller cop, and shot him right through the eye.

It was only when his partner fell dead to the ground that Gorman looked up again from where he was leering at Beth's prone body in the backseat. God, but the idiot was slow to move, and it only made Daryl more angry, knowing that this slow fucker had gotten the jump on him, had gottenBeth. Then again, the way he slowly glanced behind him at the fallen body of his comrade only gave Daryl the time he needed to get close. By the time the cop turned sharply in the other direction, Daryl was just a foot away, fury burning in his eyes.

"Ain't no walker," he growled out as he grasped the man's shirt in both hands and slammed him to the side of the car. "And she ain't yours. She ain't never gonna be yours, and you're gonna regret ever even thinkin' you could touch somethin' as good as her, you piece of fucking shit."

In the minutes that followed, everything was just red and black rage pulsing to the beat of his head, the feeling of bones cracking beneath his fists as he punched and punched until he couldn't tell if the blood on his hands belonged to the cop, or to him. The only thing that could have pulled him out of it was a threat to Beth, and in the end it was a shuffle and a groan from off to his left that broke through the cloud of rage and caught his attention. He looked up from where Gorman lay on the pavement beneath him with his face a bloodied mess, and saw a walker shuffling forward, heading right for the open car door and the brown cowboy boots sticking out of the back seat.

Beth.

Daryl clutched his knife in one bloodied hand, rose to his feet, and stabbed it right through the walker's eye. It's body was still falling to the ground as he spun around and dropped to his knees by the prone body of the cop. His knife hovered over the man's barely recognizable face as he leaned in nice and close and breathed out, "Got anything else to say?"

He should have known that you couldn't beat idiocy out of a man. After all, his father had never managed to beat it out of him, had he? And he certainly hadn't beated it out of the asshole on the ground below him, who took his last breath to gasp, "Only a matter of time... someone's gonna... give your little piece what she... really needs."

A cloud of red rage pulsed in his mind and he growled low in his throat as he pressed the tip of his blade to the man's neck, but he held it back to breathe out, "She ain't mine. She ain't anyone's but her own. But I'm hers, and that's where you fucked up. Cause I'll die before I let anyone touch her again." With that, he slid the knife across the man's throat and rose to his feet. He didn't deserve a mercy blow to the head. He deserved to bleed out here on this hot Georgia road, until he turned. He deserved to spend eternity in hell, but since Daryl couldn't manage that, hell on earth would have to suffice for now.

Every bone and muscle in his body screamed as he rose to his feet, but he only allowed himself a second to stand there in the middle of the road. It wasn't time to give in yet. He couldn't give in yet, because Beth needed him still. So Daryl forced his weary bones to move, forced himself to shuffle to the back of the car and finally peer inside.

She was laying on her side across the back seat, and fuck, if he hadn't already killed both the men who had taken her, he would have done it all over again for what he saw in front of him. There was a cut right across her cheek, still bleeding, a bruise across her shoulder that disappeared under the collar of her shirt, and a matching one purpling the skin of her wrists where it hung over the edge of the seat to dangle down. He didn't have to look any closer at that wrist to realize there was something wrong with it, something out of place. At the very least it had been sprained and at the worse, fractured or broken.

Anger surged hot as a wildfire in his body again and the only thing stopping him from laying back into the now-dead body of that sonofabitch cop was the sight of her sprawled unconscious in front of him, needing him. She was a fighter, she could save herself any other time, but right now she needed him to protect her and keep her safe, and he wasn't gonna fail her again.

He only considered the car for a second. Sure he was tired, sure he could take the keys and drive them somewhere far away, somewhere safe. But cops like this, cops who had cars and traps and talked about claiming girls; they weren't alone. They had friends at the least, but there was a good chance they even had some sort of organization or group. Either way it meant people who might come after them if they didn't communicate, which meant that taking the car risked running into the friends of the same men who had run down an innocent girl and talked of making her their own like she was a possession. Like she was a thing to be owned and used.

In the end it was a risk and the last thing he was going to do ever again was take risks when it came to her life.

So despite his aching bones Daryl did the only thing that seemed logical, the only thing that seemed right. He leaned down and scooped her gently into his arms to pull her from the back of the car.

Daryl tried not to think about how just over a day ago he had been holding her like this only she had been conscious then. He tried not to remember how she had been laughing in his arms and holding him back as he carried her into the kitchen. He tried not to think of flickering candlelight and big blue eyes and her soft, breathless, oh...

(He though he didn't deserve to think about things like that, not right now. Maybe not ever anymore.)

But the weight of her in his arms now gave him unexpected strength as he held her close, as he stepped over the lifeless bodies of the cops he'd killed to save her, and returned at last to the woods. Here at least, he felt right. Here he could keep her safe, or at least safer than out there on the roads where the dredges of humanity stalked and preyed in ways that were somehow worse than those of the shambling dead.

In the woods everything seemed clearer. The rage faded away, leaving behind only concern for the limp girl in his arms. Her flame wasn't out, hehad her, but he felt like that light was guttering with the way she lay in his arms, still, unmoving. "Beth," he whispered, instinctively shifting a hand to cradle her head close to his chest as he strode as silently as he could through the forest. "C'mon, girl..."

He didn't know what was the right thing to say. It was like a goddamn curse of his when it came to her. In the face of Beth and her knowing blue eyes, he was always rendered speechless. It wasn't the chosen silence that he'd perfected over years and years of keeping people at a distance, keeping everything private, never revealing any of his hidden truths. It was the kind of silence of wanting to speak but being unable to find the words. Looking at her would fill him up with thoughts and emotions he'd never had to deal with before, and so maybe it wasn't surprising that he didn't have the words to express them.

But he wanted to, and that was the frustrating part. He wanted to be able to do more than just stare at her in flickering candlelight until she breathed out a soft 'oh' that told him she'd somehow understood even without words. He wanted her to understand with his words, like he wanted to be able to find the words to say now, the right words to pull her out of whatever darkness she might be in and bring her back to him.

Daryl walked for what felt like a mile or two, carrying her heavy in his arms, straining his exhausted mind to find the right words like she was locked away inside her injured body and if he spoke the words she needed it'd be the key to open up whatever was holding her back.

His body gave out before it seemed like he could find the words. Deep in the woods, Daryl pressed his back to the trunk of a tree and sank slowly to the ground, conscious the whole time of the precious burden in his arms. Worth more than anything he'd ever held in his unworthy hands in his entire life.

To his dismay, his inability to find the right thing to say to her just felt like another failure that she didn't deserve, and it was his determined refusal to fail her again that forced him to finally speak.

He didn't know if the words were the right ones, but they were all he had.

"I yelled at you once, for the way you relied on other people to keep you safe. It was an asshole thing to say, but you should know by now that I'm an asshole. Especially when I'm drink. Never did apologize, though, an' I should've." He frowned. "Thing is, I didn't grow up thinkin' you shouldn't rely on anyone. I learned it, cause I had to, from the day I was born. From my Ma, and Pa. But I learned it hardest from Merle, or at least... it was leanin' it with Merle that finally made it stick."

Daryl drew his knees up and adjusted her in his arms, letting her head rest against his chest so her hair spilled down over his shoulder. Looking at her like this he could see that cut across her cheek, dark red with blood, a color he'd been familiar with from far too young an age. "Must've been about 12 or so. Maybe 13. Merle was out of Juvi, but he wasn't ever home. He'd run off by that point, but sometimes he'd call to check in, you know, from a payphone cause ain't nobody had cell phones back then, least, not broke rednecks like us.

His mouth was dry when he swallowed, but Daryl forced himself to keep on talking, his voice low and hoarse in the quiet of the woods. "One time he called, and Dad had been on a bender for somethin' like four days. Beat me every night until my back was raw. Could barely walk. Couldn't even sleep, cause it hurt so bad. Then Merle called. He was goin' on and on about some tail he'd gotten, some chick he had waitin' back in his room, and I was just standin' there, usin' everythin' I had not to cry, cause men don't cry but Dixons don't even know the meanin' of the damn word."

Without thinking about it, his hand brushed lightly over the her head, stroking her hair gently as he took a deep breath. "Took me five minutes to get a word in and when I finally did, I... I asked him to come home. Begged really, by our standards. Dixons ain't supposed to beg, neither, but I did. Told him I needed him here, told him Pa was in a bad place, and he..." Daryl shook his head, hearing the echoes of Merle in his head. "He laughed. He laughed and said 'sure, little brother'. Told me he'd be there when he could manage it. Only he never showed up. Not for months anyway, and by that point I'd already decided that was it. I wasn't ever gonna need anyone again, except myself. I'd convinced myself I was the only person I needed."

The sigh he exhaled was heavy with the weight of what felt like his entire past, every blow to his back, every curse from his father's lips, every laugh that Merle had tossed at him before riding off on his bike to leave him behind. He looked down at her again, his eyes tracing over the curve of her jaw, the flutter of her lashes against her cheek, the scar that marred her perfect skin. "I was wrong." The words fell from his lips in a near whisper, rough and hoarse, half from exhaustion but mostly because it felt easier that way. "You showed me better. Made me realize I don't wanna be alone. I don't wanna be the last man standing, Green, cause that'd mean I'd be standing there by myself. Without you. And I don't want that."

His fingers cupped the back of her head as the other braced against her hip to hold her close, and his voice was a barely audible whisper as he breathed out for the first time since he'd pleaded the words through the phone line to his brother, "I need you."

Even though he'd poured the words out of him, he hadn't expected it to work. Daryl didn't have the confidence to believe he'd somehow managed to stumble on the right thing to say. But time and time again, Beth Greene seemed determine to prove him wrong.

First she groaned, faint but audible, enough to have worry and concern furrowing his brow as he looked down at her. "Beth?"

Whatever fog she was in, it seemed to be pulling back. He could only guess at what was going on in her mind as she came out of it, what she might have been remembering when her body suddenly tensed and she cried out in a low, panicked voice, "Daryl!"

"Shhh, shhh, I'm right here." He smoothed his hand down her side instinctively, the other turning her head, willing her to open her eyes and look up at him. "Beth, I'm right here. I've got you."

When her eyes fluttered open, that deep endless blue was the best thing he'd ever seen, and he fixed on it, afraid that if he looked away she might disappear again, just fade away before her eyes and he'd wake up to find out this was just a dream and she was gone again, gone for good.

Her voice was soft and as hoarse as his as she breathed out in confusion, "Daryl?"

"Yeah. S'me. I'm here. I've got you." He couldn't seem to stop repeating that, like if he said the words again and again it would make them alwaysbe true. (I've got you, I've got you, I've got you.) It would mean that he'd always have her right here, that he wouldn't fail her again, wouldn't loseher again.

Her eyes went wide and the words came spilling out of her in a panicked rush, "I... I... I did what you said, I swear!" The pain and worry that creased her face was like a punch to his gut, cause it made him realize that somehow she thought she'd done something wrong. "I was waiting for you, and there were walkers... they were coming, and I killed one, I stabbed it and then... and then... I don't remember." Her voice broke on the word and she looked so scared staring up at him that he had to fight down a sudden fierce urge to storm back to that road and pound those fuckers even more into the ground, not only for daring to touch her, but for simply daring to frighten this girl who had already gone through so damn much and stayed so strong in the face of it all.

"It was a trap," he said roughly, "Whole damn place was a trap. Too good t' be true. They set them walkers on us, and when you were alone, they hit you with their car and took you away. Wasn't your fault, Beth. You did good." His shoulder slumped with the weight of his shame as he breathed out all low and raggedly, "S'my fault. Should've stayed with you, should've been there. Never should've let them get near you."

"Daryl." Somehow she managed to put as much weight into his name as she had that 'oh', back in the kitchen, what seemed like years ago somehow now even though it was only a day or two. He felt her words coming like the rising tide, and with them the knowledge that his own would vanish, that yet again he would open his mouth and have nothing to say to her even when he wanted to tell her everything inside of him,

But he was saved, if it could be considered saving anyway, by the sudden pained noise she made as she reached for him with her injured hand. "Don't," he said instantly, shifting his hand to gently cup her arm, suddenly aware that she was still curled in his lap. He had no intention of moving her, though. He had no intention of letting her be any further away from him than this, at the moment, unless she wanted to be of course.

Beth didn't pull away. If anything she only curled closer as she blinked up at him with those big blue eyes, bright with confusion and pain as she bit down on her lip and breathed out shakily, "It hurts. My side hurts, too, and my ankle..."

"Must've hit you pretty good with their car. Think your wrist might be broken, and your side's probably bruised too..." It hit him again, the image of it, the thought of those assholes driving their car right into her, hitting her, hurting her. A growl built up all low in his throat and rumbled through his chest until he unexpectedly felt her uninjured hand come to rest on his chest.

"It's okay. I'm gonna be okay, Daryl."

He blinked, and to his surprise he very nearly smiled. Because it was so her, wasn't it? To focus on comforting him, reassuring him, when she was the one laying injured in his lap, she was the one with a cut on her cheek and a broken wrist and a bruised body. He should have been comfortingher, not the other way around, but it wasn't the first time she'd turned something like this onto it's head. Just like that day back in the prison, when he'd come all full of honor and guilt to tell her about Zach, and she'd flipped it all around and asked him if he was okay.

"You'll be okay," he murmured, focusing on her wrist as he gently brushed his fingers over it and tried to find the fracture. "I'll make damn sure of it."

She was quiet for a long time, her eyes squeezed shut as his fingers felt out her injury. It had to have hurt, but she never once cried out or even whimpered in pain. She was so much stronger than anyone gave her credit for, and he could have kicked himself for how long it had taken him to see it.

"Daryl?" His name on her lips pulled him from his thoughts and had him grunting a question back at her as he tugged his bag close and rummaged through it with one hand, still listening as she went on, "What happened after? If they got me, how did we end up here?"

It seemed for a few minutes like he wasn't going to answer, but the truth was he was just looking for the words again. He took his time, pulling a spare shirt from his bag and settled it on beside him before reaching out, searching the ground and pulling over a long stick that was thankfully nearby and looked to be the right size. As he reached his arms around her (he had no intention of moving her, after all) and used his knife to cut it down to size, he furrowed his brow in thought and finally replied, "Went after you."

Simple and technically accurate, but probably not everything she'd wanted. Beth didn't push though. She never did unless he was being a complete asshole who really, truly needed a swift kick where it hurt. She didn't push, but her silence and the warmth of her eyes on his as she studied his face seemed to help pull the words out of him as he cut off the long sleeve of the shirt and began carefully slicing it into four long strips as best he could with his knife. "Ran after you, after the car. Don't know how long."

He squinted briefly up at the sky and then shrugged as he set the blade down. "More than a day. Almost gave up, but... I couldn't. Wouldn't." He shook his head and focused on her injured wrist. First he wrapped it gently in the other part of his shirt to keep her skin from getting irritated by the stick, which he then lay on top of it as a brace. As he began to wrap the thin strips of fabric around her arm to form a makeshift splint, he finally finished, "Found the car on the side of the road, finally. Must've stopped to take out some walkers."

Everything that had happened was far more complex and yet in his mind, it was simple. He had failed. He had run. He had found her. He had saved her. That was it. That was the core of it, anyway. It was what mattered. "I got you out, and I brought you here, and now you're safe." Daryl's hand stilled on her wrist as he looked down into her eyes, his voice gruff but low and firm as he repeated, "You're safe."

He didn't realize his hand was still covered in blood until Beth hesitantly reached out with her free hand and brushed her fingers lightly over the back of his, the pads of them coming up red as she breathed out, "Daryl..."

Maybe she didn't want to know, or maybe she already knew. He had a feeling it was the latter. Beth was smart. She knew him better than most anyone in their group did, these days. She could read him sometimes like her eyes were scanning the pages of an open book. She was doing it right now, peering into his eyes, and though he dreaded a glimpse of judgment in her gaze for even a second, he found that there was none there. If anything, all he saw was pride, acceptance, gratefulness... He wasn't sure if any of that was better, it certainly made him feel awkward and unsure, even a bit embarrassed.

He ducked his eyes but only for a moment, only to tuck in the end of the last strip of fabric, and then he was looking up at her again and breathing out lowly, "Don't matter anymore. You're safe. S'all that matters, now."

At least, she was safe for now, and he was going to do his damnedest to make sure it stayed that way, because if there was one thing that Daryl Dixon could dedicate his life to now and for once not fuck up, it was gonna be keeping her safe. Keeping her alive. Keeping her right there, with him.

The rest of it, right down to the way she was looking at him now , all lit up by the sun high in the sky and shining down on them through the trees, adding it's own light to the radiance in her eyes, well... That was beyond him to handle, at least at the moment, exhausted as he was. If he thought about it too much, he would lose focus, and he'd be damned if losing focus led to losing her again.

He wasn't gonna be the last man standing all alone. Not anymore. Now, he was gonna be the man fighting to keep her standing right at his side, or he was gonna die trying.

"C'mon," he said roughly, sliding his knife into his sheath and pushing himself to his feet with her still cradled in his arms. "Gonna get dark, soon. Gotta find a place to stay."

She was quiet, but he didn't mind. He was content just to hold her close and have her cheek pressed to his chest as he carried her to whatever safety he could find them for the night.

For now, he just had to stay focused on that. Anything else could wait, at least until tomorrow.

**A/N: Well considering I wrote that all in a couple hours, I hope it came out well! As I said above this is gonna be a chapter fic, but I don't know how long it'll be. I don't think it'll be as long as She's Breathing, I need to take some time to map it out, but I wanted to get this first chapter down before I lost it. I will do my best to update soon, but don't expect daily updates necessarily!