Chapter Text
Daryl Dixon had spent his whole damn life being “Merle’s brother.”
Like it was a surname, a warning label, or some cosmic joke carved into his skin. He grew up to the soundtrack of slammed doors, slurred curses, and fists hitting whatever they could reach. Survival wasn’t something he chose—it was the only language he knew.
He was a hunter.
A loner.
A man who expected nothing because life had never given him anything worth expecting.
Until she showed up.
Beth Greene—smiles, sunshine, and quiet hope on the surface, and a storm underneath. Not the kind you see coming either. She carried scars people didn’t talk about in polite company: depression, suicide attempts, a lifetime spent trying to be whatever her parents demanded. Always “Hershel’s youngest daughter.” Always compared to Maggie, the farm’s golden child.
Until one day she finally broke.
She packed two cardboard boxes—her entire life—and walked off that farm. Got a tiny apartment near the university. Worked long shifts at a café. Joined a survivor support group. Decided she wasn’t gonna live her life as someone’s disappointment anymore.
She wasn’t “Hershel Greene’s daughter.”
She was Beth.
Period.
They met when she was twenty-four and he was thirty-one.
And fate—with its sick sense of humor—decided their story would start in an auto shop.
Beth stormed in pissed at everything: herself, her car, the universe. Daryl looked up from under the hood, squinted at her like she was a part he didn’t order, and offered:
“Car’s a piece of crap.”
Not exactly love at first sight.
She snapped.
He shrugged.
She walked out just as mad as she walked in.
Two hours later—thanks to either destiny or sabotage—she came back ranting about being “a functional adult.” Daryl gave her that half-smirk that meant he was amused despite himself.
He didn’t calm her.
He didn’t argue.
He just fixed the damn car.
She stood beside him handing tools, venting about her life while he listened—really listened.
Before she left, she surprised him.
“I’m singing at a bar tonight. You should come.”
He didn’t know why he nodded.
He knew he was screwed the moment he heard her sing—yellow dress, soft voice, strong presence. That was it. Daryl Dixon was a dead man walking.
Beth wasn’t shy. She kissed him outside his place that night—direct, warm, unmistakable.
She wanted him.
And Daryl wanted her right back.
Weeks later, she told him her past. The suicide attempt. The meetings. The group.
“Like an alcoholic?” he asked gently.
“Something like that,” she said.
Then one Monday everything shifted.
Daryl was waiting for Beth outside the community center, leaning against his bike, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t nervous.
Door opens.
Out steps Merle Dixon.
Older. Rougher. Sober—or trying to be.
The AA sign behind him looked like a joke the universe wrote just to piss Daryl off.
Merle froze, then smirked.
“Well I’ll be damned. Baby brother lurkin’ outside self-help meetin’s. Didn’t peg you for the kumbaya type.”
Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t here for you.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Merle said, taking a slow drag of a cigarette he wasn’t actually supposed to be smoking. “You waitin’ on Blondie?”
Daryl stiffened. “How the hell you know her?”
Merle lifted both hands in surrender. “Relax, kid. Met her a few weeks back. She talks to folks at the door sometimes. Real sweet. Didn’t tell me shit ‘bout you.”
Daryl hated how his stomach flipped.
Merle continued, quieter this time, almost sincere, “She’s a good kid. Didn’t expect someone like her to even say hi to someone like me.”
Daryl didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to process Beth talking to Merle while he was barely holding his own shit together, before he could reply, Beth walked out.
“Daryl! Hey.” Her eyes flicked between them.
Daryl walked away without answering.
Beth didn’t catch up to him that night.
The moment Beth stepped into the apartment, she knew.
Daryl was sitting on the floor against the couch, shoulders tense, head low. Like a storm that had already broken. Beth slammed the apartment door so hard the picture frames rattled. “You left before I could talk to you.”
He kept his eyes forward. "Don't feel like talking"
“Don’t,” she snapped. “Do not use that tone with me.”
He leaned back, jaw tightening. “You’re the one walkin’ in here lookin’ ready to stab someone.”
“I had coffee with Merle.”
“Yeah,” he spat, standing, “I fuckin’ heard.”
Beth froze. “You heard? ”
“From Merle!” Daryl barked. “Guy couldn’t wait to brag he’s havin’ cozy little chats with my girl.”
Beth’s eyes went wide. “Cozy? Are you serious right now?”
“You knew what he was like,” Daryl said, pacing, hands twitching as if he wanted to punch a wall. “What he used to be. You don’t just—just sit around chattin’ with him like he’s some friend from church.”
Beth crossed her arms. “You think I’m stupid?”
“That’s not—fuck.” Daryl rubbed his face, frustrated and scared in equal measure. “I ain’t sayin’ that.”
“Well, that’s exactly what it sounds like.”
She stepped closer, voice steady but hurt. “I’m trying to understand your family. I’m trying to help. You’re the one shutting down every time his name comes up.”
Daryl snapped his head toward her. “’Cause you don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she shot back. “I survived my own mind, Daryl. You think I can’t survive a Dixon?”
His mouth opened—then closed.
He wasn’t ready for that hit.
Beth’s voice softened, but the edge stayed.
“Your brother is trying. And I’m not gonna punish him for things he did before he got sober.”
“That man destroyed half our life,” Daryl growled.
“And he’s trying to fix it,” she countered.
“And you’re takin’ his side?”
Beth’s eyes flashed.
“This isn’t about sides. It’s about you being terrified he’ll hurt you again.”
That one landed. Hard.
Daryl’s shoulders sagged. But pride kicked in, and he barked back, “You don’t get to tell me how to deal with him.”
“And you don’t get to tell me who I can care about.”
Silence.
Thick. Bitter.
Then Daryl threw the bolt he’d been holding across the room. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
Beth grabbed her jacket, tears burning but not falling. “Maybe I will.”
She left.
And Daryl, for the first time in years, felt truly alone.
Then one Monday, at the same old café, they hugged and mumbled a gruff, reluctant, “Sorry.”
“I miss you,” she said softly.
Daryl swallowed hard. “Ain’t good at this stuff.”
“I know,” she answered. “But I still want you.”
He nodded once, gruff. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled—small but real.
“I’m sorry too.”
He pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder.
She holds him tight, breathing him in—the sweat, the forest smell, the safety.
World reset.
A Week later, Beth sat at a corner table, pretending to stir her coffee. Daryl walked in, saw her, then saw him.
Merle fucking Dixon. Merle sat up straighter, gave a grin that was 10% genuine and 90% “cover the panic.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Merle drawled. “Never thought you’d drag your ass in here, baby brother.”
Daryl froze beside the table, face a storm. “Didn’t think you’d show up sober.”
Merle barked a single laugh. “Hey, look at that—he still remembers how to throw a punch with words.”
Beth kicked Merle lightly under the table. “Be nice.”
“Ow—woman, that’s police brutality,” Merle muttered.
Daryl’s eyes flicked to Beth, then to Merle. “Why am I here?”
“Because,” Beth said calmly, “I’m not doing this without you. You two need to talk.”
Daryl scoffed. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”
Merle leaned back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, go on, tough guy. Say it. Say you don’t wanna deal with the fact your brother ain’t dead, drunk, or rottin’ in county jail no more.”
Daryl’s jaw clenched. Beth placed her hand gently on his forearm—silent, grounding.
Merle’s voice softened unexpectedly. “You think I don’t know I fucked up? I ain’t blind, Daryl. I hurt you. I hurt all of us.”He swallowed hard. “But I’m tryin’. For once in my damn life, I’m tryin’.”
Beth held her breath.
Daryl stared at Merle like he was seeing a ghost wearing his brother’s skin.
Merle added, quieter: “She’s the reason, y’know. Blondie here kept tellin’ me you were worth somethin’.” He shrugged. “Didn’t believe her. Still don’t, half the time.”
Beth kicked him again.
Harder.
“Fuck—woman, I’m bruisin’!”
Daryl let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.
“So what?” Daryl muttered. “You want forgiveness?”
Merle shook his head. “Nah. I ain’t earned that. Yet.” He leaned forward.
“But maybe… we start with breakfast.”
Beth looked at Daryl.
Daryl looked at Merle.
And finally—finally—Daryl pulled out the chair and sat down.
Merle smirked. “Look at us. Three idiots in a café. Real Hallmark moment.”
Beth groaned. “God help me.”
But she was smiling.
All three were.
Beth helped the Dixon brothers rebuild something almost resembling a real relationship. She gave them structure, hope, and stability—three things no one had ever taught them.
Then came the breaking point.
Beth introduced Daryl to her family.
Hershel Greene forbid it immediately.
Didn’t want a Dixon anywhere near his daughter.
Told her she was disappointing him—again.
Beth loved her family deeply, but not enough to let them cage her. Not anymore.
She walked out holding Daryl’s hand and never went back.
A year later, she moved into Daryl’s house.
Beth cooks. Daryl leans on the counter, stealing pieces of food. Merle complains just loud enough that she throws a towel at him.
It’s loud.
Chaotic.
Swear-heavy.
And warm.
For the first time in years, Daryl feels like he has a family that isn’t built on fear—but choice.
Beth watches the brothers bicker and smiles softly.
This is what she fought for.
They were a family stitched together from broken threads, but strong in a way nobody expected.
They were happy.
Perfectly imperfect.
And everything was fine…
Until the dead started walking.
That’s when the real story began.