Authors Notes.

This is a Bethyl/Beth/Daryl fanfiction.

I do not own anything, all rights belong to the creators of The Walking Dead.

This story is based around the start of Season 3.

Michonne and Andrea do not get taken by the Governor, he is not part of the continuity of the story.

Lori dies before this story begins, and there were no survivors in the ruins of the prison.

The witching hour that approaches has a host of
Seven plagues, packs of locusts, rats and roaches
Trapped in the throws of attacking that that's closest
Legs aching from the pace that I'm running at
Death chasing, ain't safe till the sun is back

~Parade of the Dead – Hilltop Hoods~

Daryl enjoyed his night-time watch tower duties, he was leaning against the cold railing, watching out over the courtyard, the twilight was almost serene, no sounds other than those of wilderness and the occasional moan of a walker, lurking outside the prison fences. The world had gone to shit, he knew that. Everybody knew that. They'd set up a half-decent home here now though, it had taken a while but they had cleared the prison of the remaining dead, there were no survivors among the ruins. Daryl had thought it ironic that the jail, once populated in mass by criminals and those who had taken an oath to persecute them and guard them in the prison walls, thrived together as inhuman creations.

He spent a lot of time thinking when he was on guard, always the first to volunteer when Rick wrote the rota, they had lost track of days and months, except a few of the women whom had taken it upon themselves to count the time that had gone by, they said it was important to know how long had past and that knowing birthdays and holidays would make their new lives a bit more real. Daryl had kept his thoughts to himself on that one, he didn't care particularly about the dates, hell, he'd forgotten his own age a long time ago, mid thirties – he knew that much.

Tonight he had a lot on his mind, he nibbled absently on the skin of his thumb, he'd convinced himself that he'd kicked that habit a long time ago, but with the current situations unfolding and the near-as-dammit apocalypse, he'd learnt not to care. However, it all threatened to consume Daryl's self-preserved mind-state. With a frustrated sigh he yanked his thumb away, drawing a cigarette out of his vest pocket and lit it, he took a deep drag – wincing at the menthol burn, he needed to stock up on packets next time they were on a run – he stared out across the blackness, he'd spent most of his life in rural Georgia, not really noticing the light or noise pollution that man-kind had caused throughout their reign of supremacy. Since mankind's 'extinction event' as Jenner had described it, he'd realized just how peaceful planet Earth could be when it wasn't being choked by humanity.

Daryl Dixon had never been a man of many emotions, not those that he openly showed around the folk he met, until the apocalypse he was a lonely and angry man, that had no concept of friendship, love or any of the other crappy human emotions. He'd preferred to keep up the tough, iron exterior. He only had Merle and even then, he was absent throughout his childhood, taking many stints in juvenile detention hall or prison. The life he had tried to bury in the inner depths of his mind, the corners of his memory that were hazy in the repressed darkness. He contemplated his new life, he had joined a group of people who he had learnt to care about and defend, he had grown fond of these folk, learning snippets of their lives and pasts.

Rick, he liked him. He'd welcomed him to the group and protected him from himself in his darker moments, he'd never tell him that though, not outright at least. The small smiles and nods were all the pair needed, they understood each other. Since Lori's death though, he'd been different. Started keeping pigs, Daryl couldn't judge on that though, the man had been stricken with grief and was best left to his own thoughts at these times.

Carol, he'd searched for days looking for her poor little girl, it broke his heart when she had stumbled out of the Greene's barn, her milky, dead eyes had made him want to cry. He'd tried his hardest to protect Carol from it all, and from then on she had become a close ally and a good friend, their jokes and flirty banter had kept them both sane in these hard times.

Maggie and Glen, they gave him hope, falling in love and fighting tooth and claw to defend each other in the midst of the death infected world.

Hershel, the man who had held them all together.

Michonne, the woman who had appeared at their gates, two 'pet walkers' and a near-catatonic Andrea in tow, the woman in the hooded shawl. He could relate to her, her eyes hid the demons of her past, escaping through the deadly swipe of her katana.

Judith and Carl, he'd protect those kids until it killed him.

Tyreese and Sasha, a badass brother and sister duo who he respected.

Then there was little Beth Greene, the apple of Hersel's eye and the little sister that Maggie would defend to the death. She was sweet 'n all, and Daryl couldn't deny that he'd had a few thoughts about her when he'd spied her singing to Judith or absent-mindedly wandering around the courtyard doing chores. It made him feel like a dirty old man, so he'd sent the irrational thoughts to the vault in his mind, to linger there for as long as they could.

Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice interrupted his thoughts, "Oi redneck, time to switch,"

"Jesus christ Maggie, will 'ya give me a bit of warnin' next time?!" He snapped at the brunette, she smirked at him with her hand on her hip.

"G'wan get goin', busy day tomorrow,"

Daryl flicked his cigarette over the edge of the tower, snatching up his cross-bow and swinging it onto his shoulder, he nodded at Maggie before hastily descending the stairs, he didn't question what she'd said, every day was a busy day in the god-damn apocalypse. He slipped through the prison doors and into the calm stillness.