#twd beth

___

You’d been a med student before the turn, on track to become a psychiatrist. You never really knew why you were so set on it; no one in your family worked in the medical field. After the world fell apart, you were lucky enough to find shelter at Grady Memorial Hospital, though you hadn’t been in good shape and had just lost your family when you arrived. You worked your ass off to earn your place there and keep it. In a way, working there almost felt like an internship, which was what you would've gotten to do had the world not gone to shit.

Then Beth showed up – bright, stubborn Beth, who became your best friend despite being younger. She always talked about her family, her group, and especially the man she’d been with before getting, as she put it, kidnapped and dragged there.

Eventually, Beth and Noah, another kid around her age, let you in on their plan to escape. You were skeptical at first, but it was hard to ignore the way Dawn ran the place, how some of the cops crossed the line more often than not. You didn’t agree to go with them, thinking the hospital was still the safest option, but you helped them anyway.

It didn’t work. Noah made it out, but Beth was caught and dragged back. Everything that happened after that was mostly a blur, though some memories remained crystal clear.

You still remembered the day Noah and Beth's group – no, family – came for her and Carol. Remembered how Beth tried to convince you to leave with her, how she hugged you one last time before walking toward them.

You remembered her hugging Noah when Dawn demanded him back in exchange. Remembered the sound of the gun, Beth’s body hitting the floor, and Daryl, the man she’d always talked about, the one she said was like a brother, shooting Dawn without hesitation.

You remembered screaming, your knees giving out, Rick’s voice offering to take in anyone who wanted to leave. You remembered crawling to Beth’s body, holding her, refusing to let go.

After that, it was another blur. Fighting off walkers. Helping bury Beth near the hospital parking lot because you couldn’t give her a proper funeral. You stayed with the group after that, though you barely talked to anyone at first. Over time, shared loss and survival created something like quiet companionship. 

By the time you reached Alexandria, you could finally call them your family too. You’d thought you lost your chance at forming close bonds with anyone back at Grady. Beth showed up and proved you wrong. Then she was gone, and you thought it impossible again, until these people proved you wrong once more. 

___

It had been less than a week since you set foot in Alexandria.

Once the group had settled into the community, Deanna, the town’s leader, assigned everyone to their previous jobs from before the fall. You ended up at the infirmary, having gone to medical school and gained experience at Grady — it was like an internship after all.

That was where you met Denise, a woman with almost the exact same story. She’d gone to med school too, wanting to be a surgeon before her anxiety steered her toward psychiatry. Denise was shy, constantly doubting her own abilities even though she was just as good as any.

You both worked under Pete for a while — the asshole doctor who only got to be in charge because he was the only one with “real” medical experience. He kept the title up until that stupid commotion with Rick. After that, he practically fired himself, drinking his way into uselessness.

Once Pete was out of the picture, you and Denise took over, set up new rules, and made the place actually functional. You took shifts tending to patients, which was manageable most days. 

___

It had been two months since you became the town's doctor.

You’ve grown familiar with most of the people in the community. They were all good people, and you were close. However, you’d surprisingly grown closest to Daryl Dixon. Part of you thought it was because of how much Beth talked about him that finally nudged you to open up. But that wasn’t all. After getting to know him, noticing what you could just from observing, you realized he was more than decent. He was a good man.

You hadn’t realized just how close you’d gotten until you started noticing him hovering around you all the time.

You were with another Alexandrian patient when you saw Daryl walk into the infirmary, as he always did these days. After the patient left, you kept yourself busy with wiping down the table, rearranging supplies while chatting with him about nothing in particular. At this point, he’d come around so often and you’d talked so much that there was simply nothing new left to say.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to the past. You’d told him a few stories about your life before the world fell apart, but you never got far. Daryl always seemed to go a bit tense whenever the subject came up, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the information.

After a stretch of silence, he finally spoke. “So ya were a shrink or sum’?”

“Psychiatrist. I was studying to become one. Yeah,” you said with a small shrug.

Daryl grunted, eyes darting away. Truth was, the topic made him uneasy. He hadn’t gone to college. He barely even made it through high school. Never cared much about it before, but now sitting here beside you, hearing about all the things you used to do, he didn’t feel like opening his mouth. He wasn’t ashamed exactly, just… aware. Of the difference.

Still, he’d come to learn you weren’t the kind to judge. Probably the least judgmental person he’d ever met. Maybe that’s why he kept finding himself near you without meaning to. He didn’t know much about what a shrink — or, as you always corrected him, a psychiatrist — actually did, and he’d even thought at one point that it was just some fancy scam people with money fell for. But looking at you, hearing you talk, he figured you’d probably be a damn good one. Even without the degree. 

It wasn’t until you gave him a look that he realized he’d been fiddling with one of your medical bags. “Sorry,” he muttered, setting it down.

He slid off the patient bed, a spot he’d gotten a little too comfortable with lately, and wandered over to the corner of the room, pretending to inspect something. Same routine as always. He’d just show up, hang around, not a single injury in sight.

You crossed your arms, watching him with a raised brow. He must’ve felt your stare burning through his back because he finally turned around and saw that familiar look on your face.

“What are you doing here, Daryl?” you asked, smiling just enough to be polite. By now, you’d grown close enough and learned enough about him to actually enjoy his company. Still, his constant visits never really made sense to you.

Daryl wasn’t sure when it all started – the thing where he’d find himself in the infirmary for no damn reason. A small cut, a scrape, sometimes not even that. Just an excuse to sit there while you worked. He’d tell himself it was because you were good at patching people up. You were quick, quiet, and didn’t fuss over him the way Denise did. But lately, he’d been running out of believable excuses. 

He looked at you then, mouth twitching like it wanted to form words but gave up when he caught your eager gaze, your lips almost mimicking his. His eyes flicked around the room, finally settling on the medicine cabinet.

“Aspirin. Somebody needs it,” he muttered, nodding like the line made sense. It was a blatant excuse, probably to convince himself because it sure as hell didn’t convince you.

“Okay. Take some and leave. I gotta clean up before Denise comes back. She hates a mess,” you said, brushing past him with a small smirk. He almost made it to the front door when you called after him. “The aspirin, Daryl.”

He spun back, grabbed the damn bottle like it was a lifeline, and practically speed-walked out of the infirmary before you could say anything else. You laughed to yourself, shaking your head before returning to your cleaning.

___

It had been three days since you last saw Daryl. 

You finally got a break from the infirmary. You’d been covering Denise’s shifts, and she’d insisted, more like demanded, that you take the day off. Before letting you go, she’d shoved a small stack of her homemade healthy oatcakes into your hands, muttering something about not letting you starve while you were “off duty.” So here you were, doing nothing, lounging in your house, when there was a sharp knock at the door.

You opened the door to see Daryl standing there. Seeing him wasn't exactly surprising but he never came to your house before. You were just about to ask why he was here when your eyes caught the blood seeping down his arm.

For a moment, he opened his mouth, probably about to offer one of his usual excuses for showing up unannounced, but the sight of your face seemed to make him forget it entirely.

Before either of you could say a word, you grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him inside, plopping him down on the couch. Technically, it was the first time he’d ever set foot in your house and he hadn’t even been invited – unless you counted being physically hauled inside by the owner as an invitation.

“What the fuck, Daryl? Why didn’t you go to the infirmary?” you said as you sat down next to him, checking his wound. 

“Nah. Ya can just do it here,” he said, glancing around your living room.

You stared at him, closed your eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. There was no reasoning with his stubborn ass. You had enough supplies at home anyway. Resigned, you set to work quietly, cleaning and tending to the wound.

Daryl watched you, as he always did, noting the little things — the way your brows furrowed so that tiny dimple appeared between them, the way your lips pressed together whenever a tricky part came up.

“What happened?” you asked as you got up to grab more gauze.

When you sat back down, he hadn’t answered right away. His eyes flicked to yours for a split second before dropping to the injured arm. He explained how he and Aaron had been on another recruiting run and backed into an alley, forced to climb a fence to escape a herd, and in the process, he’d sliced his forearm.

The image made your nose scrunch instinctively, imagining the scrape and the panic of the moment.  “And Aaron? He’s okay?”

“Had a few scrapes, but he’s fine. Denise is fixing him up.”

You froze at that, eyes narrowed as you stared at him. “So you did go to the infirmary. Why are you here then?”

“Ya weren’t there,” Daryl said, blurting it out before you could even finish the question.

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Your jaw just hung there until you found your words again. “I’m sure Denise told you I’m kinda… off duty right now.” 

Daryl’s mind was scrambling for another one of his half-baked excuses. He couldn’t just say he wanted to see you, right? That he liked your company, not because Denise was worse at her job. That you were one of the few people who could ramble all day and he’d listen. That sometimes he even found himself being the one who rambled. That even though he told himself he preferred you patching him up because you didn’t fuss as much as Denise, the truth was he’d come to like your fussing. The scolding. The scrunched-up eyebrows.

He couldn’t say any of that. So he just hummed and looked around the room again.

You sighed, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Like the view?”

“Why’d ya choose this one?” Daryl asked suddenly.

“The house? Oh. Um… because it’s messy and full of stuff? Reminds me of my head.”

That pulled a small smile out of him.

You wrapped the gauze around his arm one last time before continuing. “I’m sure I told you before, but I grew up in a semi-big family. Lot of stuff everywhere. It was messy, but it was home. So this,” you waved your arm around “this feels like home.”

After a beat, you added, “That, and the fact that this one’s the furthest from everyone else. But somehow, people,” you narrowed your eyes at him accusingly, “still manage to find me when I'm clearly off duty.”

Daryl looked almost guilty before giving a short huff, eyes darting away.

“What about you? Did you grow up in a big family?” The question made him tense, his shoulders straightening like he’d been caught off guard. You realized then that he’d never really talked about his past, not in detail. You tried to backtrack. “You don’t have to-”

“Not a big one,” he cut in quietly, “but it sure was a damn mess.” His voice was serious, his gaze fixed anywhere but on you. A part of him still recoiled at the thought of digging up old memories. He’d mentioned Merle before, but only in passing – enough for you to know his brother was trouble, not enough to know what that meant for him.

The only person he’d ever really opened up to was Beth. And she was gone. Maybe you reminded him of her now, not because you knew her, but in the way you made him soften, the way you unknowingly taught him how to feel. 

Daryl glanced at you and caught that look again – the one you always gave people when they spoke to you, like you could see straight through them and still choose to understand. It made him keep talking. He told you just enough for you to know it hadn’t been easy, but not enough to dig too deep. Still, by the time he stopped, he felt lighter somehow. Was this what therapy felt like?

Did therapists hold their patients’ hands when things got heavy?

He tried not to think about your hand in his, though. How small it felt, how steady. Despite the serious moment, he was fighting hard not to look flustered. His eyes flicked anywhere but yours, pretending he wasn’t aware of the warmth spreading up his arm.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been sitting there until he gently slipped his hand from yours. You blinked, startled by the absence of warmth, only now aware that you’d been holding onto him. 

“Thanks for-” Daryl started, nodding toward his bandaged arm.

“Yeah, no problem,” you said quickly, already turning to put your supplies away. “Just- go to the infirmary next time, okay?”

He gave a short nod. Then, after an awkward pause, he pushed himself up and headed for the door.

Sure enough, Daryl started showing up again and again – at the infirmary, at your house, always unannounced, sometimes even at night. But you didn’t mind, not really. He was a pain in the ass, sure, but you liked having him around.

___ 

It had been a week since Daryl showed up at your door the first time.

Daryl had taken his time adjusting to this picket-fence dream of a town. He knew the people well enough to walk around and lend a hand with whatever needed fixing, but apparently not well enough to actually go to that damn party Deanna was throwing. He’d gone, at least to the edge of the house, standing outside and hiding his unease under the moonlight. He’d never been to a gathering like this – people smiling fake smiles, drinking themselves into chatter about nothing.

He was going to give up and walk back home when he heard your voice, familiar and teasing, calling his name from somewhere in the dark.

“I knew you’d do that,” you said, stepping out from the shadowy footpath into the streetlight.

Heat rose to his face. He couldn't help feeling embarrassed, as if getting caught doing something wrong. And the dress you were wearing didn’t help at all.

“I didn’t wanna go in either. I mean… I did go in and grabbed some drinks.” You held up the empty glass, grinning. “I promised Denise, but… really not in the mood for all that.” You sighed, swaying slightly on your feet.

“How much did ya drink?” Daryl asked, noticing your slightly slurred speech and pink cheeks, instinctively holding out his arm to steady you as you wobbled again.

“Hell if I know. Let’s get the fuck outta here.” You grabbed his arm and practically dragged him along, letting your feet take you wherever.

You ended up on your front porch, rambling nonsense the whole way from Deanna’s house to here. That was how comfortable you felt around Daryl. You only ever showed that talkative side of yourself to people you trusted, and apparently, he was one of them.

You were now sitting on the porch rail while Daryl leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Let’s get inside. ‘S gettin’ cold,” he said.

“Fuck you. You’re not the one wearing a dress,” you shot back with a giggle.

Your comment must’ve reminded him of that damn dress. He hadn’t noticed the color earlier under the dim streetlight, but now, under the soft porch glow, he could see it clearly – a simple navy blue dress that somehow didn’t look simple on you at all. It fit you perfectly, and he didn’t buy your earlier claim that you’d borrowed it from some woman whose name he’d already forgotten. It looked too good on you for that. 

Fuck. He was so fucked.

Good for him that you managed to keep rambling and joking, because he was flustered as hell. He hadn’t even had a drink and he was having these thoughts? He almost wished he had, so he could blame it on the alcohol instead of his own stupid heart beating way too damn fast. He barely registered what you were saying until the mood shifted.

Your smile began to falter. “Almost lost a patient today,” you mumbled, tracing the rim of your empty glass with your finger. “Pete swooped in like some goddamn hero.” 

Daryl glanced at you, straightening up. He normally didn’t care to remember people’s names, but Pete’s had come up one too many times. Not to mention that whole meltdown with Rick. He hadn’t been there to see it, being out recruiting with Aaron and all, but he wished he’d seen Michonne knock some sense into the guy.

You gave a small, humorless laugh before telling Daryl about Pete. How the asshole had been gloating about barely being sober and still managing to “save the day.” How he went on about Deanna making poor decisions by putting you and Denise in charge, even though he was the one who’d ruined his own damn life. He hadn’t stopped there, of course, he started rambling about how immature you and Denise were, saying you weren’t good enough to handle serious cases. He was just about to start talking about Rick and his wife when Abraham, who’d been passing by, stepped in and told him off. Properly told him off. You smiled at the thought.

“I can’t help but-” you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t help thinking maybe he’s right. What if I’m not good enough? What if-”

“Hey.” Daryl's voice cut through your spiral. You hadn’t even realized tears were gathering in your eyes until he said your name softly. “Ain’t your fault.”

You sniffled, looking away. “Feels like it.”

“It ain’t.” He said it again, firmer this time, making a mental note to beat the prick’s ass next time he saw him. 

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, trying to laugh it off, and then your laugh turned into a real one. “Déjà vu.”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember? We’ve had this conversation before.” You looked up at his confused face, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “You were still kind of a dick to me then, but I get it.”

Daryl still didn’t seem to fully understand, so you reminded him of the day you first interacted with him. 

___

Somewhere between leaving Atlanta and finding Alexandria.

When the group was dragging their feet down an endless stretch of road, starved, thirsty, and half-dead, you’d noticed Daryl slip away into the woods after telling Rick he was going to try and hunt. You didn’t know what possessed you to follow him, maybe concern, maybe curiosity. Either way, you went after him. It took a while to find him, he was too damn quick for your tired body to catch up. 

The sight you saw was not what you’d expected, he was sat down under a tree, knees up, arms over them, staring blankly ahead, a cigarette between his fingers. You hesitated going up to him then because you saw his shoulders shaking. You didn’t realize he was crying until you heard the noises he made.

You paused for a while, deciding that was not a good time. Your feet must’ve not been light enough because he heard you and immediately stood up, crossbow in hand, pointing at you. After realizing it was you, he lowered the bow and wiped his face, turning away. 

After a long pause, you decided you had to tell him then. “I- I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” 

Daryl glanced back at you then. He looked pissed, or embarrassed, or both. “By stalkin’ me?”

“No. Just-” you breathed in deeply, steadying yourself and your mind. “I know Beth meant a lot to you.”

“Don’t” he warned, turning away again.

“She did. To you. To me. You meant a hell lot to her too.” you stand your ground. “She told me about you. Said you were like family to her, like a brother.” Your voice shook a little. “From what I heard about you, I know you’re probably blaming yourself for what happened again.”

His shoulders went rigid, almost shaking again. You continued, “It’s not your fault. None of it. I think that’s what Beth would say if she were here.” You stared at his back for a moment longer before walking away, leaving him in his own grief. 

___

 “I told you it wasn’t your fault then too,” you continued, your tone light but your smile wistful. “Guess we’ve come full circle.” 

Realization flickered across Daryl’s face, his eyes softened, and his shoulders dropped a little. 

“You were crying then, and I thought- god, I thought you were gonna shoot me for even being there.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. 

“Was thinkin’ about it,” he muttered. 

The two of you laughed quietly, the kind of laughter that came easy after a heavy conversation. 

“Come on.” Daryl gestured for you to finally get inside when you were leaning your head against the porch pole, eyes closed, a sleepy smile on your face.

“I think you-” you slurred something he couldn’t quite make out. He gently lifted your arm and looped it around his shoulder, steadying your wobbly self as he guided you inside. He plopped you down on the same couch where you’d tended to his wounds, the same couch where he’d spent time half-listening to your rants. It was wild to think how much closer you’d grown over the past week, just sitting here in this living room, which had slowly started to feel familiar to him. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been in your house, but it was the first time he hadn’t been invited and just let himself in. Shit. He had to leave.

You got comfortable the moment your head hit the pillow, feeling a warm blanket tucked around you. You were conscious enough to remember the earlier conversation with Daryl but not enough to question the blurry figure leaning over you. Because if this was real… why would he be tucking your hair behind your ear so gently, like you were the most delicate thing in the world? 

Sleepily, you grabbed his hand, and he almost jerked it back before realizing what you’d done.

“I think you just made my heart flutter there, Dixon,” you slurred.

Daryl silently thanked every god he didn’t believe in that you were too drunk to notice how red he’d gone. His heart was hammering in his chest. He barely registered your words before you mindlessly tucked his hand under your cheek, shifting to rest your face on it.

Fuck. He had to leave. Now.

You’d shifted again, tucking his arm and holding it tight. Daryl could have jerked it back. He really could, but he didn’t. Not when he saw your brows finally relax, when your face softened, your breathing evened out, your lips-

What the fuck?. Why was he looking at your lips? The thought made him snap, jerking his arm away just hard enough to stir you awake, your brows scrunching again.

He stood abruptly, cursing under his breath, hoping you wouldn’t notice the mess he was in. You didn’t. He gave a long sigh and slipped out your front door, moving quietly back toward his house.

All the way home, he struggled to steady his breathing, to calm the storm in his chest. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept replaying the warmth of your touch, the way your presence seemed to settle something inside him he hadn’t known was so raw.

It hit Daryl then, slow and unwelcome: all this time, it wasn’t just your hands patching his wound. It was your care, your steady voice, the way you made him feel alive. His chest tightened, his stomach flipped, and a truth he wasn’t ready to admit surged forward. He was probably in love with you.

And like every other time he felt exposed, he shoved the thought down, pretending it didn’t exist. He’d deny it as long as he could. He was inexperienced, stubborn, a coward in matters of the heart. So for now, he’d let you patch him up, let your warmth pull him in again and again, until maybe, someday, he found the courage to stop running from the truth.

___

if you enjoyed my writing pls leave a like to show me some love! feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated greatly♡

》 Part 2