Words On Paper, Lift My Soul, a walking dead fanfic

This story is set during the fourth season episode "Us".

A complete list of my TWD/Bethyl fiction with links can be found at the "My Brain on Bethyl" page of my tumblr blog. (Apparently I can't post the link here. I am maddieamber on tumblr.) There is also a complete list of all my Bethyl fanfic on my profile page here on this site. (I hope to get the rest of the missing stories, mostly drabbles, posted here shortly.)

Also fanfiction dot net won't let me use an asterisk to separate Beth's journal entries. So I've used a italics and a double 88. Hope that isn't too annoying and that it is understandable. Now to the story.

Words on Paper, Lift My Soul

A damp chill slowly crept through layers of clothing into his bones, as the unforgiving concrete of the depot floor tormented his aching muscles. Daryl had covered his face with his arm when he had first lowered himself down onto the floor, trying to obliterate the ugliness around him, waiting as one by one Joe's men settled into sleep. He shifted slightly to ease his body and as he did his hand brushed the hard rectangle concealed in the inner pocket of his vest, safe from view. He lowered is arm until his right hand rested on the small book feeling the firm square lines. He imagined the tattered green cover, rough around the corners, its pages covered with her delicate script. He had only seen the inside of Beth's journal twice, once when he came to her cell to tell her Zack had been killed, again when they sat around a meager campfire after the Governor had destroyed their prison refuge. She had been methodically feeding its blank pages into the feeble flames encouraging the damp wood to burn.

Beth would not have intentionally left her diary behind. He was certain of that. She had carried the little green book in her back pocket, guarding it like she would have guarded Judith. It meant that much to her. That's why he stopped for a split second to grab the small volume as he was running from the funeral home. He had spotted it on the floor near the window she had pried open to escape. It must have fallen from her pocket or her backpack as she was squeezing through the small opening, barely wide enough for her to slip her slender frame through. He carried it now, inside his vest in the pocket nearest his heart. It was all he had left of her, except the memories - of her voice, her eyes, her smile, her strength.

As he lay on the cold cement floor, surrounded by the restless sounds of Joe and his men, he waited for their breathing to settle into the steady pattern of sleep. After his altercation with Len in the woods, Daryl was afraid to even think of Beth until the others were all sound asleep. He had allowed his troubled emotions to become too transparent, and among these men, that was dangerous. He would not make that mistake again. None of them could ever know about Beth. If any of them even thought about her it would be a desecration of her memory. There were things he would never share – things that would never become part of Joe's "us".

Resting his hand on the small book he felt a reverence most reserve only for the bible even though he had no idea what was written inside. He could only assume it contained her thoughts, her hopes, her prayers, who she really was. Back at the farm, the first time they met, she had seemed so frail, sheltered, guarded by her family. During the long months on the road before they found the prison he had begun to know her. He quickly found out she was tougher than he had thought, but he still had not given her a chance in hell of surviving. She had proven him wrong. More than once. Proven them all wrong.

When despair threatened to overtake him and feared he would never find her, the little book gave him peace. When he was at his lowest, his doubts were greatest and grief engulfed him, he knew he would always have this small part of her. That was when the temptation to slip inside the journal's pages became overwhelming. He wanted to peek inside and see what made Beth Green, Beth. Not that long ago, Beth had reprimanded him for reading the diary of a dead-woman-turned-walker they had encountered in their travels since the prison fell. He had not understood her insistence that they respect the woman's privacy. Daryl had argued the woman was no longer alive to protest. Beth later conceded that little diary was all that was left of the woman who wrote it. It was her only legacy, her life history. If no one read it the woman would be completely forgotten. While he believed Beth was still alive, he had no intention of letting Beth be forgotten. Ever.

But despite the small measure of peace Beth's diary brought him, it was also a crushing weight pressing down on him. Torn between the obligation to defend her privacy and the need to find solace in her words the urge to read her thoughts was becoming too strong to fight. What if this was all he had left of her? Would he ever be lower than he was now surrounded by Joe's minions? Would he ever need Beth more than he needed her now? She was right. He did miss her so bad.

Rising silently, Daryl picked up his bow and stole quietly from the depot into the night air. He needed to clear his head, to put distance between Joe's marauders and his thoughts. The air was crisp, the sky remarkably clear and the scent of autumn was in the air. Dry leaves crunched underfoot as he walked away from the building they were sheltered in. A full moon shone overhead casting sharp bright light over the depot yard and the railroad tracks. He sat down on one of the wooden ties, crossing his legs. He genuinely intended on reaching into his pocket for one of his remaining cigarettes. He really did not plan to pull out Beth's journal, yet he found himself holding it reverently in his hands staring at the cover. It looked grey in the bright moonlight, but he could picture the color perfectly. He riffled once through the pages like he was thumbing a flip book, half expecting a magical moving picture to appear. Then with a sigh and a silent request for Beth's forgiveness, he opened the book.

For a moment he just marveled at the beautiful precision of her handwriting. Admiring something for which he had no skill himself, either in substance, putting words on paper, or in execution. The lines flowed, not with frilly flourish, but with strong, graceful, elegant strength, uncluttered by unnecessary loops and whorls, and she did not dot her "i's' with those silly little hearts. His own attempts at cursive were unpracticed and childlike, consisting mostly of signing his name and little else, and he hadn't done much of that in the last two years. Suddenly overcome with guilt, Daryl slammed the book shut, holding it between his palms as he closed his eyes, berating himself for becoming a mental peeping tom. Slowly he steadied his wildly irrational thoughts, willed his heart to stop pounding a wicked tattoo against his ribs and opened the book again. It did not take long for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight and to become accustomed to her handwriting. He was soon engrossed in her thoughts.

Time to start a new diary. Somehow the old one doesn't seem important anymore. Who cares about schoolwork and dates, dances and football games and the name of the hottest new band? None of that matters any more. The only thing that matters is survival. Daddy tries to pretend that everything is still normal, but we all know that's not true. No matter how normal we pretend life is here on the farm, I know it's not normal outside these fences. I won't tell Daddy that. He wants to protect me, to protect all of us, from the ugliness. But I heard the news reports before all the radios went quiet. I want to pretend I'm not scared. But that would be a lie.

Momma tries to put on a brave front, but I can see the fear in her eyes. Thing is, I don't know who she's more afraid for - herself, Daddy, or Maggie, Shawn and me. She eats very little and has gotten so pale. She hasn't been sleeping either. I hear her walking the floors at night, or sitting on the front porch rocking in her old rocking chair for hours on end. She told me once it was a comfort to her because that old chair held all the best memories of the happiest times when we were babies and the worst she had to worry about was a soggy diaper. That's where she would hold us when we were fretful, rocking until we settled. I hope she settles. But it is so hard for her not to worry.

Momma is sick. So is Shawn. Daddy is frantic because there is nothing he can do for them. Their fevers are so high. Daddy doesn't think they will make it through the night. I can't lose Momma and Shawn both. But what scares me more is what they will be in the morning.

Otis put Momma and Shawn in the barn. Daddy says we can care for them there until they (whoever this mythical they is) find a cure. He's sure they will. He says the CDC can find the cure for anything. We just have to keep them safe until that happens. He says they will be themselves again after the cure. But I've crawled into the hay mow and seen them down below. They are so far from being normal.

It's been a month since I've written anything here. Where did the days go? Silly question. The days all seem the same and run one into the other. Until today. A man brought his son. He came running up through the fields to the house with the child in his arms. The boy was bleeding badly. Otis accidentally shot him when he was hunting. Daddy says he needs surgery or he won't live through the night. The boy's name is Carl.

Otis is dead.

The rest of Rick's people came today. In a caravan. One of them road a big motorcycle. I could hear it coming long before I saw it. Daddy said these days only an idiot would ride something that made that much noise. Maybe not an idiot, but someone who is really confident they can defend themselves. I wanted to meet them, but Jimmy was being stupidly overprotective. He said Daddy didn't want me associating with them. Said they wouldn't be here long enough to bother getting to know. What if they are the last people alive outside of us? I can't not learn who they are. I'm so mad at Jimmy. All I wanted was to introduce myself.

I ran in to him in the stable. The man with the motorcycle. I went down to do chores like I always do, feed the horses and muck out the stalls. He was standing there in the shadows like a ghost, petting Nellie. He didn't say much. Didn't even say his name. He was polite enough. He seemed so confident. So sure of himself. He kinda made me catch my breath. I wasn't afraid of him or anything. Just intrigued. I can't help wonder what he and his friends think of us.

I hate them. I hate them all! They killed Momma and Shawn. Killed them for sure. This time they aren't coming back. I don't know if I want to come back either. I don't know if I want to keep going.

Daryl was here in my room with me when I woke up this afternoon. He said Daddy asked him to stay while he tended to a colicky horse. I was wrong. I thought he was so confident. But really, Daryl was as skittish as a colt. I think he was afraid to be alone with me. Not afraid of me. But afraid of what people might think or assume of him. I have to wonder what happened to make him so distrustful of people.

He doesn't like me much I could tell. Maybe he just doesn't like what I done. It was stupid cutting my wrist like I did. I could see in his eyes that he thought it was stupid too. I was wrong. I know that now. I hope for the rest of my life I'm not just remembered as the girl who slit her wrists because she was scared to keep living. I know I was wrong. Now I have to make them all see that it was a mistake. It's not who I am.

Before Daddy came back Daryl taught me the silliest card game.

Daryl slammed the book shut and closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands, the book pressed to his forehead. He always thought he was good at hiding what he felt, but even back then she could see right through his bravado. He had been nervous being with her alone in her room. Didn't matter none that Hershel had asked him to stay. He had always known how other people back home looked at him and Merle like they were unsavory hoodlums not to be trusted. He would have never been allowed near a Beth's family much less asked to sit with their daughter, alone, in her bedroom. Families like the Greenes scoffed at him, held him below their standards, flaunted all the things they had that he did not. He had held those ugly thoughts inside him until, loaded with moonshine, he had finally exploded, throwing everything back in her face that he had once seen as 'privilege'. And she'd stood toe to toe with him and tossed it right back, with more balls than a lot of his so-called friends would have shown. Yeah, for a long time he did think she was just a weak willed girl who attempted suicide to get her family's attention. He knew now just how wrong he had been. Had finally begun to understand just how much she had endured.

His mind churned around her words and though he felt a nagging pang of guilt he re-opened the book and began to read again. There was a long blank gap that must have been the time they spent running after the farm was overrun and before they found the prison. She had re-discovered her journal after they had secured their new sanctuary, and in the months of stability there, before the Governor's final assault, there had been many entries, some mundane, recounting of the day to day life at the prison, some heartbreaking, as she chronicled people they had lost, some light and cheerful. Most of the last revolved around Judith.

Judith held her head up while she was on her tummy. Carol said she'll be rolling over next and then the fun begins! Once she starts to crawl we'll have to watch her all the time. "Or put a leash on her," Daryl says. He pretends to be gruff, but I see how he melts whenever he's around Judith. I still remember how he fed her her first bottle. He saved her life finding her that formula. He always thinks of her when he's out on a run. The child has more dolls than I had when I was a kid. I think every time Daryl sees a doll he brings it back for her. We have enough to share with the other little girls too. One of the newer girls, Mika, is such a sweet heart. She loves to help me care for Judith. Maybe they can grow up to be best friends.

Dolls must be getting hard to find. Daryl came back with a bag of children's books. That was so sweet. I asked him if he wanted to read to Judith. He just said 'Nah' like he always does and looked embarrassed. But I noticed he was listening while I read to her later in the day.

Was up half the night walking Judith. Don't know what got into her. Colic or something. She seems too young to be teething, but that could have been it. I tried to keep her away from the others so she wouldn't keep people awake, but this place echoes so much with all its bare cold cement and steel. I ended up out in the yard. It was chilly, but I wrapped Judith up in all her blankets. Just when I thought I couldn't walk another step Daryl was there. He must have been on his way outside the fences for an early hunt. He took her from me. I swear there is something about the man's touch. She quieted almost immediately. He just talked to her real soft and she watched his face, grabbing at his nose and beard. She was asleep in minutes. I started to thank him, and he just said, 'You did all the work. I was just here for the take down.' He never takes credit for anything.

Reading about Judith made Daryl's heart ache. He almost wished he had never peeked into Beth's world. Losing the baby was the one sorrow he and Beth had never discussed. He knew Judith's loss, and the loss of the other children had been devastating for Beth. It had to be. It had been devastating for him. When they found little Noah's boot on the railroad tracks, covered with blood, walkers devouring unrecognizable human remains beside it, he had struck out in anger, killing them all. But Beth had wept. For the first time since her Dad died he had seen her cry. And he stood like a jackass and just let her cry. He had been so dead and numb inside he couldn't even move to comfort her even though he shared her grief.

She didn't write about the time she spent alone with him, wandering aimlessly with no goal, no purpose, while he was emotionally lost, closed off, confined in his own wallow of guilt and grief. She didn't write again until they both got lit on moonshine and burned down that fucking shack.

Then it was like a light was turned on and the words blazed out of her, talking whether he answered her or not, laughing, full of hope. That was the part that took him longest to understand. How she could hope. How she could still believe good people existed. In the long run it didn't matter whether he understood or not. It was enough to be in her company, to listen to her talk, to watch silently as she filled the little book with pages of perfect script using a pen they had found at the shambled remains of that country club.

She wasn't without moments of sadness, even grief, like when they'd seen that gravestone in the cemetery leading to the funeral home. The one that had said 'beloved father'. Not only had they not buried Hershel, they hadn't been able to end him either and that had eaten at Daryl for a long time. They had ended Sophia's life, and Dale's, Shane's, Lori's, Merle's. They had never let one of their own turn. Except Hershel.

I'm so glad we talked, even if we were both pretty drunk at the time. I wasn't so drunk I can't remember everything we said. I never thought he would open up about himself, but he was surprisingly frank. I'm sorry I pushed him so hard. He was pretty angry with me when I asked him if he'd ever been in prison. I felt so bad that I made him cry. It was scary at first, but I just held him. Held him like I know he would have held me. But ever since we burned that old house and the still, he's been so different. Patient. More open. It's still been rocky sometimes. He gets angry with me. And I still push too hard. But it's so much better than the silence.

The days are getting shorter and colder. We're going to have to find someplace before winter comes. Someplace that will give us some shelter. But even if we can't we'll be okay. I know that now. We'll be okay, and some day, we're going to find the others. Maggie and Glenn and Rick and the rest. I know we will. Daryl has been so patient with me. He's teaching me to track and hunt. Even to use his cross bow, though I don't know if I'll ever be able to arm it.

I thought about Daddy today and how much I will always miss him. I hope he's with Momma now. And Shawn. And all the others we've lost. If he could hear me I'd want to tell him that I'm gonna be okay. I'm really going to be okay.

We found a place. It could be a safe place for us. I don't know if Daryl will agree to stay here, but it would be wonderful if we could. Even if only for a while. It's a funeral home. And funeral homes used to freak me out. Because of the dead people. I always said I could never live in a funeral parlor knowing there were dead people in the basement. Now the truly dead no longer frighten me. There is something peaceful knowing these people were going to get a proper burial. That someone cared enough to do that. There's food, at least for a little while. And beds, with real sheets! I could have a room of my own again.

It's time to go eat. If I start now, maybe I'll make it to the kitchen before he whisks me off my feet again and carries me. Not that it was a bad thing. He can be so sweet. He doesn't know how much he means to me. I would never have gotten this far without his help. He is such a good man. I wish I could convince him of that. He's not the man he used to be when he was with Merle. He's a good man. Daddy would approve.

It ended there. Daryl knew all too well why. And like the books blank pages, there was an aching void in his heart where Beth had once been. He never thought he could hurt this much. But he had to put it away. Out of his mind. When he faced Joe and his men in the morning his mind had to be as blank as the books final pages. He could give them no clue of who had once so filled his existence with light and life. Closing the book he carefully returned it to the inner pocket of his vest. "Thank you, Beth," he said softly. "For keepin' your light lit for me."

Rising slowly he trudged back to the depot. There were a couple hours of darkness before dawn. Hours to prepare himself for another day of denial.

8888

She had been back with them for almost a week. Though part of him dreaded returning it to her it had to be done. He needed a moment alone with her away from her sister's protective circle. Pulling her aside after their evening meal as he was heading out to take first watch,she had come eagerly. Standing under the drooping boughs of an old oak Daryl slowly reached into his vest pocket withdrawing the book he had kept there for so long. He saw Beth's eyes widen and a broad smile lit her face.

"I never thought I'd see this again" she said, a girlish laugh bubbling out of her. "You kept it for me all these weeks. Oh, Daryl, thank you so much." On tip toes she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a grateful hug. When she finally let him go, she turned the diary over in her hands several times before she flipped through its pages.

"Was it good?" she asked.

Daryl felt the blood rush to his cheeks, felt the tips of his ears burn. For a second he almost denied reading her journal, but his scarlet cheeks surely gave that away. Instead he looked down at the ground feeling for all the world like a child caught shoplifting. Then he felt Beth's cool fingers on his forearm seconds before the same hand was under his chin lifting his head so she could look at his face. His eyes remained downcast behind a fringe of unkempt hair, but there was no hiding from Beth Greene as she brushed the hair from his eyes.

"I'm glad that you read it," she said softly. "I want you to know who I am. I don't ever want to keep secrets from you. I'm alive as long as I'm in your memory and this diary is my history. I won't hide anything from you." Standing on her tip toes once more Beth's lips met his in a kiss both gentle and powerful.

Just like Beth.

(end)

Thank you so much for reading this. I based this largely on my own head cannons and the stories I've written to fill in the gaps that the series skipped. If you are interested these can all be found at "My Brain on Bethyl" (link at the beginning of the story). These are all here on .

Some of the stories I've specifically had in mind are

"First Encounter" – Beth runs into a then unknown Daryl in the stables on the farm

"Afternoon at Hershel's" - Daryl stays with Beth while she recovers after her suicide attempt

"Promises Broken" – Post "Still" – Beth and Daryl find a woman who has turned and Daryl picks up her journal.