Hello! Welcome to my very first Bethyl fan fiction! I've written stories in the past, but always of the Dramione variety. So this will be a first of sorts for me—new show, new characters, new genre, new platform, new everything, really. I've done quite a bit of research on The Walking Dead front (ask my Tumblr followers, who continue to follow me, despite my inevitably annoying, yet thorough live blogging in the last few weeks).

The research will come to be particularly applicable here, as I'm going to follow the two characters from early in season two through to beyond their separation in the fourth season. The bulk of this will be canon, simply following the characters through a combination of scenes we've already seen to provide possible thoughts and reactions behind the interactions and scenes I've created to give us further insight into their relationship.

For the conversations that we've already seen, I think it's important to show a lot of details on the internalizing both of these characters partake in. They are both thinkers, not necessarily talkers. When they choose to speak, it's for a specific reason. But, more often, they stay quiet and observe, which leads to a lot of interesting internal things to explore. At least, in my opinion anyway.

That being said, I'm going to try to keep this as canon as possible. Some changes may come down the line, but I'm going to try to stay away from that. After all, in a ship with as much evidentiary support from the source material as Bethyl, embellishment isn't truly needed, is it? :-)

Chapter 1—Selfish

There was so much blood, but none of it was human. Whatever doubts may have infected her mind previously, allowing hope to cling to every possible crevice of her brain, it was gone now. The revelation prompted another round of tears to reek through her body, as she convulsed against Patricia once more.

The surrounding area was dropped once more in to stark silence, as the gunshots finally finished ringing out. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing of those who had fired, adrenaline undeniably pumping through their veins, and Beth's sobs. She brought two hands up, one to rid each eye of the tears that inhibited her vision.

It was then that she saw it. It would appear the travesty was not done, as she had briefly hoped was the case. Another girl made her way out of the barn.

The change in the group could be felt instantaneously. Carol released a sob of her own as she sprung forward. Beth, being aware of the circumstances that had prompted the group to stay with them as long as they had, discovered directly what the underlying implication was. In a flash of recognition that seemed impossible considering she had no previous acquaintance with the girl, she knew this was the one they were looking for.

Daryl Dixon lunged and caught Carol at the last moment, preventing her from approaching her daughter. Beth bit her lip, as she battled to keep a groan of complaint at bay. The blood is not human, she reminded herself.

For it was the blood, in the end, that proved to her that her father had misguided her, misled her. The decaying fluid that leaked from every hole punctured through the creatures could do nothing but confirm that her mother was not sick. She was, in fact, deceased.

She had briefly felt cheated; she still did, if she were to be completely honest with herself. But, as the tears continued to erupt from her eyes, she couldn't help but turn them in the direction of the poor grieving woman, who did little to fight the hold that the henchman had on her. She erupted in another round of tears of her own, as Beth felt a twinge of pain for the collective of the group.

Beth had admired the adherence to which they had pursued the girl, of whom she was now ashamed to admit she couldn't remember her name. The dedication with which they had served and the hope with which they had carried out the task was now taking its toll, as each member of the group looked more bereaved than the last, with the only possible exception being in the form of Shane.

But even as the Sheriff stepped forward and removed his gun to eliminate what Beth struggled to acknowledge they saw as nothing resembling the girl they had once looked for so adamantly, she found she couldn't keep her eyes off of Carol and Daryl Dixon. She knew that Daryl had particularly troubled himself in the search, going so far as to earn several injuries in the process, including taking one of his very own arrows to his side. He held Carol in his arms, but it seemed as if very little, if any, of his focus was dedicated to her. His eyes stayed trained on the little girl, up to the very moment that Sheriff Rick placed a bullet in Carol's daughter's head.

The sound drew Beth's attention once more, as another wave of tears hit her. She felt shaky, as if she hadn't eaten in over a week; an excessive fatigue and weakness overtook her body in protest. Her feet moved forward on their own accord, as she cried out for her mother, the woman she had believed to be merely in the waiting for a cure until this very morning.

She knew she shouldn't. She really did. But she couldn't resist. Her mother's arms were outstretched, almost as if they were reaching out for her. She had to embrace her, one last time.

It was a decision she paid for dearly, as she discovered her mother wasn't truly dead after all. Suddenly, several pairs of arms grabbed her and tried to release her from her mother's hold. It was then, under the direct scrutiny afforded to her by her sheer proximity, that she could actually see the bullet holes in her mother's body. The darkened blood still leaked from the piercings, and, yet, she still managed to come after Beth, mouth agape and teeth decayed.

That was it, she reckoned. That was the moment the innocence left her.

:::~:::

Daryl clenched his fists as little miss First Sheriff's words hit him like a brick to the gut. Selfish? She had the guts to think he was selfish? He had been in a shitty mood before she had come to see him; now he was damn near unapproachable.

"Selfish?" He yelled, knowing he was beyond the point of caring. "Listen to me, Olive Oyl. I was out there looking for that little girl every single day. I took a bullet and an arrow in the process! Don't you tell me about me getting my hands dirty! You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride," he ended with a scoff.

"I'm done looking for people," he added, just to make sure she didn't come looking for him again. This group was done, broken as far as he was concerned. And he didn't need her riding him to fix it. He wasn't blind, he could see the future written all over the wall of that shitty RV; it was only a matter of time till things fell apart. Nothing he could do about that, he reckoned, so he made his peace with it and kept to the shadows as much as he could.

When she finally wandered off, Daryl felt as if he were being pounded in the gut with guilt. He kept telling himself that the pain of Sophia's loss didn't touch him—that he didn't feel in any way responsible, that he had gone above and beyond his call of duty as the muscle of the group. But there was still this nagging pressure, this belief that if he'd only been faster, smarter, more prepared—maybe he could've succeeded.

That was partially why he had no interest in going to look for Rick and Glenn. He knew it was in the interest of the farmer's daughter—Lori had made sure to tell him that in the hopes of motivating him to do something about it—and he just couldn't bring himself to do it again.

He had earned it, he told himself. Despite whatever Olive Oyl may have said, he knew he had been more than his fair share of selfless lately. He couldn't say he was surprised by her having the guts to say that to him. No one seemed to pay much mind to him, except when they needed him for something, of course. Then he was the most fucking valuable person left on the face of the earth.

Selfish, his ass. He couldn't do it again. He wouldn't. Not caring, he knew, was far easier.

:::~:::

She should feel selfish; Maggie had told her as much. This situation, in which Beth definitively declared what it was that she wanted from this life, now that she knew the horrors it had the ability to exact, reeked of irony for her.

Maggie had often told her as a child that to be strong you had to demand what you wanted. Compromise and kindness are key, of course; but speaking out, declaring your intentions, and making your opinions known is a crucial first step towards finding a suitable compromise for all involved, or so she had been told.

Now, it would appear that was only the case for when those who surround you cared for what you had to say. If your opinion was unconventional, it was apparently better left unsaid.

She should feel terrible, Maggie told her, for putting her father, sister and Patricia through the potential of losing her on top of the losses suffered from the barn. But, try as she might, she simply couldn't muster it up from within.

She knew what she wanted. Shouldn't it be that simple? Why did no one understand her point of view? She had been exposed to the horrors of this world in the most hideous possible way, after an extended period of downplayed deceiving.

Beth knew it wasn't her daddy's fault. He hadn't maliciously misguided her or led her astray; he had genuinely believed her mother and the others were simply ill and in need of a cure. Regardless of intent, this was where they were. She now had a stack of bodies in her yard, loved ones that she had now suffered the loss of twice instead of just once.

Ending it was her only option. All she could see in her future was more loss. Eventually, wouldn't they all die in this way? Weren't those creatures—Walkers?—wasn't that just an undeniable future? Weren't everyone's days just numbered? Tallies to be nicked off?

When she explained her position to Maggie, it would appear that ending it was not her only option. She should, instead, continue to live, despite her misery and her conviction that with this life came only forced compromise, surviving and raw pain. She understood that it was selfish to make this decision without consulting others. But, were they not equally selfish, disregarding her deepest wish?

Andrea came to stand guard over her. Beth waited, expecting yet another antipathetic adult. When no disapproving words came her way, she prompted her, the silence serving only to add to her discomfort. Once she gathered that Andrea actually agreed with her, that she needed to be able to make her own decisions, Beth barely registered any further words spoken on the issue. Suddenly, Andrea had opened the door and not only allowed her to pass, but encouraged it.

She was in the bathroom before she knew it. She acted blindly as she looked for something to break the glass. It all seemed to pass in a blur—the hairdryer, a tight grip, a jolt as the force of hitting the mirror shot back on her arm, a groan as she realized she wasn't even strong enough to succeed in breaking the glass on the first try. A second attempt came and went as quickly. She knew she must hurry; Andrea bought her minutes, not decades. A few more strikes and she had managed to break a few shards free, enough to get the job done. Assisting her father in repairing various injuries around the farm over the years had provided her with enough knowledge to at least do this correctly.

She gripped the glass, mindlessly noting that her fingerprints smudged over the shiny surface immediately. Beth hesitated for a meager few moments, as a flicker of indecision sprung to her throat, causing it to ache. She disregarded it and quickly struck at her wrists.

Yes, she had more than managed to do enough. Pain ripped through her, straight from her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder, before spreading to her brain. What had she been thinking? She started to cry once again as she saw the blood drip down the sides of her wrist to fall to the tiled floor. How could she have been so naïve? So childish? Had she honestly expected no pain to befall her after such an action?

Either way, the pain had done its job, she thought, as she heard sudden banging on the door. Maggie broke through and apologies immediately erupted from her lips.

She promised on that day to never be so selfish again. That was a promise she intended to keep.