Hello all! I am back with another one-shot.

This is based off a dream I had not too long ago and it has haunted me. So, I decided to write it down. I warn that it has religious beliefs and views in it from the Christian Bible. So if you have scruples then please leave this page immediately.

I grew up with the scripture that will be used here and it is also rather personal. My grandmother's father was killed by his tractor rolling over after a bridge broke and landed on top of him. The gear shift stabbed him through the heart. He didn't feel a thing, but the ironic thing is, is that the day before (A Sunday) he spoke about Revelations in Sunday School. After they finished the book his students asked to learn about the Four Horsemen and the Seven Scrolls again. The next day he was killed and my grandmother found his Bible sitting open with the very scripture that is going to be used in this one-shot. So, to have this dream brings back a lot of memories. Good and bad.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Walking Dead, the Bible, and I most definitely do not own Johnny Cash or his musical influence. They all belong to their respected owners. As a lowly and poor writer I just borrow them.

Review if you wish, but no flames. Though, a small review wouldn't go amiss. Feedback is what I desire.


AN: There is a hint of DarylxBeth.

This is dedicated to my Great-Grandfather, Fooks. May you rest in peace.

Somehow, after all that time, how long had it been? A year? Two years since the world went to shit? Who knows? Who kept count anyways? There were things more important than keeping track of the days. Nothing really mattered except surviving. Though, it led to many questions on how the world ended in the first place. Was God's way of showing his disgust with mankind's behavior? Or was it just the downfall of man from their own stupidity? Was greed the reason for humankind's downfall? Was it some unstoppable disease that has plagued the human body, wreaking havoc? Whatever it was, someone must've seen it coming. Or, at least, witnessed a sign to the end of the earth. Wasn't that how the world ended in all religions? With signs?

The tracker and hunter hadn't thought about that dream he had. He had, momentarily thought about it, after the dead rose and people began turning into living corpses, but once survival kicked in all thoughts of it vanished. He dismissed it as coincidence and focused on living through the day.

It was only after the attack of the prison by the Governor where everyone was separated (and Herschel brutally murdered) did the man think of the dream again. It began to haunt him internally. He stopped believing in coincidences and now he wondered if it had been a warning to him. The tracker couldn't be for sure what it meant. He needed a second opinion to hopefully ease the eerie guilt off his chest. As it so happened, he was sitting across from the one person who would listen and not think him a paranoid asshole. She would understand.

The shaggy haired man glanced across the fire to his companion with his sharp, dark blue eyes. The small blonde haired girl had her knees pulled against her chest, her blue-green eyes staring into the crackling fire. Her chin rested on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. She wore an expression of boredom and exhaustion. Her face was smudged with dirt and the remnants of blood remained.

"You know tha Bible, right? Yer daddy havin' been a scripture man an' all."

Beth's eyes shot up to Daryl. He barely spoke a word the last few days and here he spoke to her. Hearing is gravelly, heavy accented voice was like listening to music. She beamed on the inside, glad for the momentary distraction from her thoughts.

"Yeah, why?" Beth inquired curiously.

Daryl suddenly regretted ever bringing it up and curled away from her, his eyes falling to the fire.

"Nothin'," He mumbled.

He didn't know why he wanted to tell her, but it had begun to eat at him and she was there. She was a pain in his ass, but there were rare times when she sounded wiser than he. Regardless, he needed to tell someone to share the fright he felt that night.

Disappointed, Beth released her legs and sat cross-legged, her eyes soft and curious.

"What is it, Daryl?"

Daryl's blue eyes slid up to hers, not surprised by her urgency to know what he wanted. He shouldn't have opened his big fat mouth. Now, he wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Never mind," He replied a little louder.

Just shut the fuck up, Daryl! Keep yer fuckin' mouth shut!

The young blonde girl across from him clenched her teeth. Damn that man! Speak! She knew just how to make him do it.

"Come on, Daryl!" She complained, using that whiny voice she knew he so hated.

The ruggedly handsome man scowled at her in warning.

"Please! Talk to me. I wanna know what you were gonna say!" Beth begged, her eyes growing big which made her look like a child.

Those big, expressive, needy, pools of eyes. She looked so little and adorable like Judith was...

Aw, shit.

Daryl sucked his teeth before spitting over his shoulder. "It weren't nothin' important."

"Doesn't matter." Beth shot back quickly, not wanting to lose.

A little taken aback by her quick retort, Daryl eyed her before sighing heavily.

"'fore tha world went ta shit...I had a dream." Daryl began.

Eager, Beth urged him on. "What happened in it?"

The crossbow wielder looked into the fire, recalling everything like it had happened yesterday.

Daryl pulled himself from bed, glancing at the annoyingly bright red lights of the alarm clock. Another sleepless night. The lean, but muscular hunter pulled on an old pair of jeans and buttoned up a sleeveless flannel shirt. The young man shoulder his crossbow and after shoving a hand roughly through his messy, freshly cut hair, he stepped from his room and slipped into his boots.

He glanced into the living room and saw Merle sprawled out on the couch, his drugs sitting on the old, crappy, scratched up coffee table, the smell of marijuana still fresh in the room. About a pack of empty beer cans were scattered around his asshole of an older brother. The TV was muted on some stupid ass cartoon that Merle liked to watch when he got high.

With a roll of his eyes Daryl walked from the piece of shit called a house and inhaled the fresh night air. The only light came from the full moon that sat nestled in the sky. Daryl situated the bow on his arm and headed into the forest. He walked for miles, stopping to watch as a squirrel climbed into its den in a tree. In the distance, an owl hooted. Crickets sang their song, soothing the tracker who spent most of his life in that very forest. He knew it like he knew the back of his own hand.

With the drug fumes slowly exhaling from his lungs, Daryl found a familiar sense of serenity as he reached a small creek. The water bubbled through the ground and trickled down the rocks softly. Daryl stepped over it, hearing the subtle sound of a frog splashing into the shallow water. He reached the large oak tree he attempted to climb up as a child. He placed a calloused hand on the rough bark with something akin to affection.

Slipping the bow from his shoulder he slid down the length of the tree until he touched the cool grass. Daryl leaned back against the tree, resting his forearm on his bent knee.

He sat in silence, listening to the songs of the night. When his dad beat up on him, lashing out violently, the youngest Dixon brother would escape into the forest to nurse his bloody wounds. The cover of the trees was his little and temporary safe haven. He could forget about the pain and the sadness he felt there. He could escape to that dream world where pain and sadness were nonexistent. Though, like all childish dream worlds, they disappear with the passing of time. For Daryl, he grew up fast and with that his happy dream world was destroyed, burned from its foundation and the ashes were washed away by anger and frustration. Daryl Dixon knew little happiness.

As the younger Dixon sibling sat against the tree a sudden exhaustion swept over him like someone had dropped a blanket of sleep over him. Gently, he tilted his head back until it hit the trunk and his dark blue eyes closed. He had no strength to fight the blanket. His mind dropped deep into a black void like most nights that were dreamless. It was like he was floating on a black lake, just moving with the motions of the ripples. This time was different. A white, eerie mist crept around the limp tracker's figure as he breathed deep in sleep's spell. The fog coiled around him, almost embracing his lean body.

Four creatures approached from the mist, silhouetted in darkness, just inches from the bright beam of the moonlight. They were a legend that was yet to be seen, yet there they were, making an appearance in the most haunting of ways.

Suddenly, Daryl was jerked awake as the mist squeezed around him, causing him to choke. He blue eyes snapped open and his heightened senses from years of hunting spiked. His eyes found the four creatures and he lunged for his bow and pointed it at them, his heart skipping to a racing start.

"Come and see." They said together with voices mixing between high and low pitched.

A cold chill ran down the hunter's spine, his usually still hands trembling at the intimidated fear that crept over him. The hairs on his arms stood up as his skin crawled. Never in all his life had he experienced such fear. He wasn't afraid of anything, but at that moment, it felt wrong not to fear.

He was dreaming. He had to be.

"Who are ya?" He asked, cursing himself for the slight tremble in his voice.

In unison they stepped forward and Daryl knew he had to be dreaming. Did he smoke a joint and not even realize it?

This is some fucked up shit!

The creatures were all different, but the same. The first creature was like a lion with eagle-like wings and eyes that covered its whole body. The dark eyes seemed dead, yet...alive. Daryl's eyes flickered to the second creature that took the form of a calf with the body covering eyes and wings.

What the fuck?

The third took the form of a man, but even then he looked too perfect with dark mane and facial hair. Eyes covered his body along with the fucked up eyes that never blinked.

Daryl felt his vision begin the spin as overwhelming disbelief filled him, causing the trembling in his hands to grow. His crossbow was visibly shaken as another chill crawled across his skin. He had the urge to tuck tail and haul ass back to the house. He didn't have the strength to shoot them and his finger seemed to be glued on the trigger, never pulling away or towards it.

The fourth creature looked like an eagle copying the other creatures with the wings and eyes. It walked upright with the man, the talons curling into the ground. Sweat began to bead on Daryl's forehead as he inhaled deeply, sincerely considering that he had accepted the joint Merle offered him before he went to bed and now he was paying for it. What man in their right mind thinks up shit like this?

"Who are ya?" Daryl repeated.

"Come and see." They repeated in that haunting unison.

The creeps ran through Daryl and human instinct to run kicked in, but his feet body was anchored to the ground.

"See wha'?" Daryl asked quietly, his bow lowering in the slightest.

"Come and see."

By some miracle, feeling returned to Daryl's body. However, without his consent, his arms pushed him to his feet, dropping the crossbow by the tree. His feet carried him towards the creatures who turned and began floating into the mist. Daryl turned his head, willing his body to turn and run, but his mind was detached from his body.

As he disappeared into the fog, curiosity replaced the urge to flee. Where were they taking him? What did they want him to see? Without fear of what lie on the end of the fog, he let his body follow. Daryl kept his eyes focused on the creatures who didn't disturb the mist. Their bodies just went through it like they were a part of it.

Moments later they stepped from the fog and Daryl followed moments later. The ground began to shake as thunder rumbled through the sky. Daryl's usually calm heart was racing away in his chest, the sweat beading from his skin. He was nervous, very nervous. Once the rumbling settled his eyes landed on the lion which spoke in a deep voice.

"Come and see."

Daryl's eyes looked up to the open hill, one he'd never seen before. His heart froze when a white horse appeared and a man dressed in white sat on him with a bow. The man's head bowed in the distance and in his hand appeared a crown of gold.

"He went forth conquering, and to conquer."

Daryl jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice that echoed in his ears. He zipped his head around, but found no one around him. He turned his attention back onto the white horse. Quickly, the rider spurred the glowing white horse into action and before it reached the trees it vanished like a ghost. Daryl stared on, as the first creature stepped back and was suddenly cloaked in darkness then vanished. Confusion swept over the Dixon and his eyes fell onto the second creature, the calf.

"Come and see."

Daryl's blue eyes lifted up to the hill to see a red horse gallop from the rolling fog. His rider was dressed vicious looking armor and with a flick of his wrist a large sword appeared in his hand. The voice returned in its creepy, yet narrative speech. It was like an old man was explaining the picture to him. Though, it still didn't help.

"Power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another."

The horse snorted in the distance, smoke coming from his nose and the dangerous looking rider released the tight grip on the reins and the red steed lunged into action, their forms vanishing like the first did.

What in fuck's name is going on?!

A haunting, medium pitched, gravelly voice spoke. It was the third creature, the man.

"Come and see."

Daryl's tan skin crawled as the hundreds of eyes bored into his face. Mentally shaking off the creeps, he averted his attention to the third rider that rode from the fog. A black horse emerged with a black, hooded rider whole held a pair of balances in his skeletal hand. A voice spoke amidst the creatures, reminding Daryl of a creepy ass old man's voice that were always around in horror movies.

"A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."

"There shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows." The aged man's voice said.

Daryl swallowed, his mouth dry as the black rider slunk into the shadows, vanishing instantly as the moonlight left them. Daryl cringed when the third beast disappeared before him, leaving the eagle.

"Come and see."

Somehow, something was familiar about the whole thing. It struck some familiarity in him, but from where he could not remember.

Suddenly, his thoughts and strength was shattered by a blood curdling shrill. It slunk from the fog, almost curled into itself. It was the skeletal form of a pale horse. The horse's mane was limp and without shine. Its skin was hinted with green and yellow, like a decaying corpse, yet it breathed and moved like it was at full strength. Its rider was a being Daryl had seen before.


He carried the scythe staff in his skeleton hand, the black hood covering his skull head, his bare teeth forming a deadly grin. It was a grin that knew something someone else didn't. It wasn't a good thing either. A black form followed the pale horse. The shape was hard to make out, but he could make out the shape of a demon or the Devil himself. Daryl knew what it was and he shuddered as the stench of burning flesh reached his nose. A gust of wind blew through him, echoing the tortured screams of lost souls that were burning.


"Power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth."

All of a sudden, the skeleton head snapped towards Daryl, its black sockets staring deep into him, seeming to burn his soul. He lifted his other skeleton hand and curled his fingers into a fist, leaving his pointer finger taut, pointing straight at the stunned hunter. The teeth opened and a blood chilling, echoing voice followed.

"You shall be the one who stands last." Daryl released the breath he had been holding when the arm lowered and the skull turned away.

The dead horseman vanished instantly on the hill. Daryl's eyes flickered to the beast which vanished when Daryl's eyes blinked. Suddenly, it grew deathly cold, goose bumps rising along Daryl's bare arms. It was an artic gush of wind blew straight at him, literally knocking the man from his feet. His back impacted the ground, hard, knocking the breath out of him. He stared up at the black sky, dazed.

Out of nowhere, Death's voice screeched at him, making the feeling return to his own body.

"Last man who shall stand! Run! For Death will always be near! Run! For running shall be the survival of you!"

Instinct of flight locked in and Daryl crawled to his feet. His head spun around for a quick glance and his heart leapt into his throat to see Death spur his horse into action, running on those skeletal legs straight for him. His scythe was raised, ready to take strike and take off Daryl's head. Like a snake Daryl snapped his head back and ran into the trees, pushing his legs faster. He could feel the cold breath on his neck, smell the stench of rotting corpses, and he could hear the breaths and steps of the pale horse as it chased him. He caught glances around him, but the trees all looked the same. For all he knew he was just running in place. Isn't that how it was in all dreams?

The dark trees zipped past him as he ran, his lungs getting ready to burst from his chest. His legs ached, the muscles turning into lead. He told himself to keep running. Suddenly, it all sounded quiet behind him. The horse's hurried hoof beats were gone and the arctic air had stopped blowing. Daryl glanced behind him and his suspicions were correct. Death wasn't chasing him anymore.

Maybe he found som—

All of a sudden his foot caught on a tree root. A profane curse slipped from his lips as his body headed down towards the ground. He never felt the impact for he blacked out.

Daryl jerked awake in his bed, sitting up from a dead sleep. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his chest heaved as he inhaled deep, relieved breaths. He glanced around the room to find that he was in his shitty room, everything was the same and his crossbow was where it always was. The tracker released a deep breath and fell back against his pillow. Daryl laid there on the bed, calming his racing heart, his thoughts turning to the most fucked up dream he had in his whole life. Never a man to question something so insignificant he shrugged it off.

A few minutes later he rolled from his bed and walked into the living room where Merle was still fast asleep, like he'd left him. Daryl went to the door, grabbed the truck keys and left, closing the door behind him, careful not to wake his drunken brother. The sun was starting to rise in the distance, painting the sky with dark orange and purple. The crickets chirped in the distance, the fireflies starting to fly away from the rising sun, but a few of their lights blinked in the distance. After he climbed into the old, blue truck he started it up, inhaling the scent of smoke, peppermint and alcohol. As he headed down the drive he flipped on the shitty radio with the messed up volume button.

The station was the middle of playing a Johnny Cash song. It had been a long time since he heard the specific song and turned the broken knob, the volume of the song rising a little. His head moved to the beat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as his body showed its enjoyment of an old and good, discovered song. Daryl glanced into the slowly lighting forest and an eight point buck caught his gaze. His dark blue eyes lit up.

There's a fuckin' nice one.

Once he passed it he turned back to look at the abandoned road. When his eyes registered what was in the road his heart stopped in his chest. His natural instinct had him jerk the wheel, sharp and to the right, sending him straight into a tree. The front of the truck slammed into the trunk, sending an unbuckled Daryl forward. His skull hit the windshield, causing a shattering crack to echo in the truck. His chest protested as it slammed into the thin, black steering wheel. The ribs deep in his chest cracked.

The darkness claimed Daryl and he felt no pain. His forehead pressed against the top of the steering wheel, his arms hung midair at his sides. Blood slid down his forehead, over his eyebrow and down his eye lid. Crimson began to soak the front of his shirt, spreading across the material at a fast rate. Outside, there were silent steps, but they made visible tracks in the dirt road.

The rider kicked his steed closer, the wheezing breaths of the horse followed at they drew closer to the truck. The radio was still going, good ol' Johnny was still singing that song. The black hooded rider pulled his horse to a stop beside the window where the driver lay draped over the wheel, blood dripping from his body. Death was near. The black hooded rider leaned over, skeletal hand outstretched. His pointer finger touched the man's forehead.

The cut skin knitted itself back together, the blood soaking back into his body, taking back the damage that was done. It was like replaying a moment on a TV screen rewinding to undo what had just been seen. When the blood was back inside him, Daryl gasped, his eyes popping open. His body was thrown back against the seat violently. The truck's shocks groaned in resistance. His hands were held up in the air as he gulped in air, his lungs contracting from loss of air.

Johnny Cash's song sang eerily in the background, coming to a quick close. Feeling a presence beside him, Daryl slowly turned his head towards it and his racing heart jumped into his throat. He stared up at the black hooded skeleton who wielding his scythe.

"You shall be the last one who stands."

Daryl's vision went blurry then, the world started to spin, a terrible pounding in his skull. His head went numb and fell against his chest as unconsciousness claimed him again. It was then that Johnny's song ended, but he spoke, reciting a phrase from the very scripture that would haunt the tracker forever.

"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts and I looked and behold: a pale horse and his name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him."

"That's pretty weird, you thought you were actually awake during that?"

Daryl looked up from the fire to the blonde girl across from him.

He nodded. "Merle woke me up, tellin' me I was moanin' in my sleep 'bout death and horses and eyes. He thought I was drunk off my ass, but I wasn't."

Beth smiled, her mind spinning as she let Daryl's dream soak into her head. Daryl pulled a strand of grass from the ground and glanced down at it, using his other hand to rip it to pieces.

"A month later the world went ta shit."

Beth's blue eyes shot to his face with wide, bewildered eyes, feeling the thousandth cold chill run down her spine.


Daryl glanced up at her innocent face and nodded, his blue eyes dark and lips thin. His skin crawled at his own words and he let the pieces of grass fall to the ground beside him. Eerie silence hung between them and the fire. Beth suddenly felt so cold even though she was sitting right in front of the fire. She wrapped her arms around herself, her hands grabbing her arms and surprised to find them freezing. She studied Daryl's face, a hint of butterflies in her belly. He really was handsome. Her eyes fell to the fire in embarrassment. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

Stop, Beth. He's too old for you. He saved your life, yes, but that's no excuse for startin' to crush on him.

Shaking away the thoughts and feelings the redneck was starting to invoke in her and considered the scripture he had heard in his dream. She was surprised he remembered it at all. Scripture was rather difficult to memorize due to the words that sounded like they were put in the wrong places to make a correct sentence. After all this time he still remembered, that made Beth reconsider her own judgment towards him.

She'd seen the look in his far off eyes as he retold the story of his dream. She'd felt his fear, fear she didn't know he could feel. Daryl wasn't afraid of anything, but that dream scared him. She would freak out too the world ended after having a dream like that. He wouldn't ever admit that it scared him and Beth wished he would…admit it to her and no one else at least.

Backtracking, Beth realized that the dream and the quick occurrence of the dead rising was big coincidence, too big of one.

Beth looked over at Daryl. "The scripture is from Revelations. The horse and riders you saw were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse from the Bible. I remember Daddy tellin' me and Maggie 'bout it one night. We wanted a scary story and Daddy gave one to us from the Bible…" Beth chuckled weakly as she looked back fondly on the memory.

Daryl watched her thoughtfully, thinking that she looked pretty in the firelight.

"Their jobs were to initiate the Last Judgment, that's what Daddy said at least. They each had a different job like Death, the one that seemed interested in you in your dream. The others were famine, war, and, I think, conquest or pestilence. I'm not really sure, but for some reason you had a dream 'bout them…" Beth trailed off, meeting Daryl's emotionless eyes.

He would think what she was going to say next was crazy.

"Why do ya think I did?" Daryl asked nonchalantly, but instinct told Beth he was feeling the exact opposite.

"Ya want my honest answer?" The young girl asked.

Daryl nodded, throwing a stick into the fire. Beth bit her lip before speaking then just decided to tell him regardless of his reaction.

"I think it was to warn you that an apocalypse was coming…"

The rugged man across the fire gave her an exhausted look. Daryl never believed in bullshit like she was starting with. He believed in fate and luck and they gave him nothing but shit. Then again, the Dixons were known for their infamous bad luck.

Beth held up a small, bony hand. "Please hear me out."

Daryl's eyes flickered and he just sighed.

"I'll take that as a 'go ahead'." Daryl shot her a sharp glare which she ignored. "Think 'bout it, Daryl, Death seemed to follow you. He even saved you from dying. One of Death's job was to deliver souls to God for judgment. He didn't take yours…he gave it back…that has to account for somethin'. He let you live for a reason."

The last Dixon brother's eyes gazed into the fire, her words soaking into his mind. Beth swore he was starting to consider it. It did sound convincing.

"He even said: "You shall be the man who stands last". He said that after he gave your life back in your dream. If that's so then how many times in your life have you cheated death before this dream? How many times has Death kept you alive outside of dreams? That has to mean that you were meant to go through this. It means that you, Daryl Dixon, will outlive us all, you won't die or change…you will be the last man standing."

Daryl's dark blue eyes tilted up to look into hers, his face void of emotion.

"I don't wanna be tha last man standin'."

Beth's eyebrows furrowed. "Why not?"

"'Cause I don't wanna lose no more people I care 'about."

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered quickly and a lump formed in her throat. Daryl's eyes stared intensely into hers. Daryl cared about her.

"'Cause if I'm tha last man standin' that means all the people I care 'bout will've fallen. I don't want that. I'm tired of losin' people, Beth."

His voice was firm and weak, the gravel in his voice enhanced from the low tone. It shook Beth to her core. Tears began to blur her vision as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. That had to be the first time he opened up to her and told her how he felt.

I always knew there was a good man underneath.

Beth sniffed and smiled weakly at him. "Me too."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably at the sight of her tearing up. He didn't like crying women and he didn't know what to do or say. He'd never known one long enough to learn.

"Don' cry." Daryl whispered.

Beth giggled embarrassedly, wiping her wet eyes. "I'm not,"

A corner of one end of his lips curled upward at her childish response. Daryl averted his eyes out into the darkness, scanning the trees for walkers.

"Do you think we'll find Maggie and the others?"

Dark and light blue locked together. Daryl and Beth stared at each other, one begging an answer, the other unsure, but sure at the same time.


Beth's chin trembled as the tears returned. She curled her legs closer to her chest, hugging herself. She didn't want to believe that. She wanted to see her sister and Glenn again. She wanted to see Carl, hear Carol's voice, and listen to Judith as she cooed. Beth wanted her Daddy back, she wanted to hug him and feel the protection and warmth he offered. Her Daddy was dead and there was nothing that could change that, but there was no guarantee that the others were actually dead.

Weren't you supposed to get a feeling, a feeling of knowing? A feeling that someone is dead?

What did Beth's instinctual feeling tell her? She felt that Carl, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Judith and Rick were alive. They had to be. If they weren't then Beth would truly be alone. She feared being alone.

"Do ya think they're dead?" Beth inquired like a lost child.

Daryl swallowed. "I don't know."

Beth's voice grew with determination. "I don't think they are. I think they're alive and trying to find each other."

Irritation rose in Daryl. "Where would they go ta find each other?"

The teenager, now adult, bristled at his tone. "I don't know!" She snapped.

Daryl let her tone fly, but next time he wouldn't.

"What about that place called Terminus?"

The rugged tracker's eyes shot over to her. "Ain't that the place that's supposed to be a safe haven?"

Beth nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I saw it on a wooden post by the train tracks. Could we go?"

A bad feeling rose in Daryl at the mention of that place. If it seemed too good to be true then it usually was. The same could've applied to Terminus. Daryl just had a feeling that it was overrun with walkers. All the other safe havens were. What would make that place any different? Woodbury had to be the only place that was successful, but Woodbury wasn't no safe haven. Just the exact opposite. That place could be the same thing...or worse.

Beth saw his answer in his eyes before he could verbalize it and she wasn't going to accept it.

"Why not? It's perfect! If Maggie and Glenn are separated they're gonna be lookin' for each other and if they find the map then they'll go to it lookin' for the other! Carol and Carl and Rick are probably doin' the same thing! Why can't we?"

"Yer key word is 'if'. And even if we get there, there's no fuckin' guarantee that Maggie or Glenn or any o' tha others are gonna be there. Place could be overrun fer we know." Daryl reminded and Beth deflated slightly.

She swallowed. "So? You're gonna be the last man standin'! You've survived this far I think you might be able to survive what's at Terminus!"

Daryl hated it when she argued and he hated it that she was using his dream against him. He wouldn't lie when he said that her using his dream against him stung him. Shaking off the burn, his anger grew. She wasn't thinking. She was so naively putting her life on the line for a stupid 'if'. Daryl's face darkened dangerously.

"No, we ain't goin'."

Beth's feathers were ruffled.

Wrong answer.

"Please, Daryl! What've we got ta lose?"

"Our lives!" Daryl snapped harshly.

Beth scoffed. "I'll die before you will."

That hit Daryl right in the chest, causing his bubbling anger to melt away. An uncomfortable feeling set in at the thought of her dying.

Death's voice echoed in his head.

"You shall be the man who stands last!"

"No." Daryl growled.

Beth looked away childishly, grimacing.

Tense silence fell between them for the next hour. No walkers came by, but fear of some walking up on them wasn't what kept them stiff and tense. For that hour Daryl had a lot to think about. He thought about Terminus and the 'what ifs' of going. What if Beth was right? What if they ended up bumping into Rick or Maggie there or on the way? What could it hurt to go there and just see? If it wasn't good or overrun they could turn back. What did they really have to lose? They didn't have much but each other and there would be a time when that wouldn't be enough.

With a defeated sigh from Daryl, Beth looked over at him with a scowl. He looked into her eyes as he answered.

"We're goin' to Terminus."

Beth smiled at him triumphantly, causing there to be a small twist in his chest at her smile.

That morning, after stomping the fire out, they set out for Terminus. The walk was long, but they were both determined. After the few stray walkers they took out Beth whispered to herself, gazing at the handsome tracker.

"You shall be the man who stands last."

As their journey of hope continued, the odd couple was unaware that wherever they went, someone or something followed them. Or rather…followed Daryl.

"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts and I looked and behold: a pale horse. And his name that sat on him was Death. And Hell followed with him."

The End

Well, there we are. Please review and leave criticism, but no flames. If you wish to do none then so be it. But a little review would be appreciated. Feedback is what I want.

Thank you visiting. I hope it was alright. I hope Daryl and Beth were in character. I would love to do a longer Daryl Dixon FanFiction and I have one in process called: Blackbird Song. Please check it out.

Again, I do not own The Walking Dead, the Bible, or anything affiliated with Johnny Cash. They belong to their respectful copyright owners.

I hope to see you all again.

Happy Writing!