The End.

He was 55 years old on the day of his death. The children from Woodbury were all in their late teens now, a bunch of pains in the ass in his opinion. They were cute when they were younger, but now they were all brooding, pimply and horny as rabbits. Few of them were even having kids of their own, a bad decision if he ever did see one. Daryl knew if it were up to him, he wouldn't let anyone bring an innocent child into this gone to shit world. Maybe they were just trying to live as normally as they could with what they were given, who knows? Frankly he didn't care. Most of the people he cared about were dead. Sophia was his first big loss, Dale was next, then T-Dog, followed by Merle, damn that bastard went out in style at least, Andrea was next, everyone was fine for a while after that, before age took Hershel, Maggie got bit by her own father, and Glenn tried to live without her, he really did, and he survived a good long while as well, but eventually he couldn't do it anymore. Not after what started happening to the virus. They thought it evolved, people, young and healthy people no less, started turning. The fever would spread and they would go in their sleep, only to return as something else. Glenn couldn't stand that. He couldn't understand how their one chance at survival shrivelled up and died, he said God, that sadistic son of a bitch, was giving up on them, took away their last hope. Unpreventable and inevitable. So Glenn went to join Maggie, wherever that may be. A week or two later they figured out that the people turning had been drinking infected water, still Walker bits in it, and that danger passed. Daryl choked up as he thought about the most recent. Carol. When she passed she didn't turn, one of the Woodbury ladies, a doctor, had suggested a brain tumour had killed her, ruining her brain before she could turn, saying it would also explain the terrible migraines Carol suffered over her last few months. Daryl was somehow glad about that, when she died she was whole. No chunks were missing out of her, there was no bullet wound, or worse, knife wound in her head when she was buried. She had suffered enough violence in her life, Carol deserved to rest peacefully.

He snapped himself out of his stupor, it did no good thinking of the dead. There'd been more than enough suicides in the prison to prove that. Judith ran over to him, she was around eight now, her face was beginning to thin out. Daryl frowned at the thought, thinking of Judith as one of the hormonal teenagers moping around made him feel nostalgic for a time when he could carry her around in her lil' ass kicker box and all she would do is coo up at him. She smiled widely,

"Hey Uncle Daryl, you seen Carl?"

Daryl grunted under his breath, no matter how many times she said it, he's never be fully used to the loving title of uncle,

"I dunno, he's probably chasin' after Beth's coattails someplace 'round here."

Even after all this time the boy was still enamoured with Beth, the older they got the less the age difference mattered. Those two had been through so much together, they were all but inseparable. Judith pulled a face,

"You don't think they'd be kissin' do you?"

Daryl gave a short laugh and shrugged,

"It's possible."

"That's gross. I ain't never gonna kiss no one."

"I hope you don't ever kiss anyone."

Daryl softly corrected her grammar, trying especially hard to weaken his accent. Since Carol died, no one had really been schooling the kids properly, especially since the good portion of them were past schooling age, anyway, but Judith and a few of the other younger kids still needed learning, so Daryl did what he could when he could. Judith frowned,

"I'm just talkin' the way everyone else does."

Daryl didn't know what to say to that, so he just shook his head in disapproval,

"Why don't you go find Carl?"

Judith looked surprised for a second whilst suddenly remembering her reason for talking to Daryl in the first place before nodding and running off yet again. She was good at running, and in this world, she'd have to be, there'd be no rest for her, not until this whole mess was fixed, and Daryl didn't entirely believe it could be fixed, but he hoped. If not for himself, for Judith and Carl and Beth, who still had so much life left to live. He walked steadily over to the kitchen, he never liked it in there, it was full of people cooking and gossiping, two things Daryl decided he was very bad at, but he needed some alcohol to clean out a cut on his arm that kept reopening, so he went in anyway. There was a pause in conversation as he walked through the door, everyone stopping to make sure the person who they were talking about wouldn't be privy to their idle bitching, they all relaxed when they saw it was just Daryl and continued with their chatter, he walked himself over to the storage room quickly scouting what he needed, one of the men pulled him up,

"Hey Daryl, where are you going with the brandy?"

Everyone had been keeping such a close eye on him since Carol died. He hated it. All of a sudden everyone asked why he needed that knife, what he was going to do with that hand gun, why he wanted to go out hunting. He knew he was on suicide watch, this is what happened when people's loved ones pass away. When Carol died, people got worried he'd off himself, or drink himself into a coma, or give himself some kind of cancer with all the cigarettes he'd been smoking. It's not that he was above it, or that he didn't think about it, but in the end, he'd stick around for as long as his people needed him, and he didn't need no damn babysitter to make sure of it,

"To my room."

Daryl finally replied with a certain amount of resoluteness most people knew not to argue with, before walking out and making his way to his cell. He shared it with Carol for the past few years, they never slept in the same bed or anything, except on the really cold nights, and Carol did make sure there were a lot of them, but after knowing each other so well for so long, there was just a rightness about it Daryl couldn't explain. She always slept on the bottom bunk and he on the top, and some nights they'd talk, but most nights they wouldn't, it was comfortable and simple, and he'd even said to her once that if he had ever had love in his life it was surely her, she'd laughed and responded with a simple 'I love you, too', understanding him effortlessly, like she always did. He sighed, plopping down into the bottom bunk, her bunk. He'd taken to sleeping there now that it was vacant, mainly out of convenience, but also because it still smelt like her and on some cold nights he could almost feel her there lying next to him. He unwound the lid from the brandy bottle before taking a swig, then rolling his sleeve up to reveal the slightly bleeding stitches running up his arm, he poured the brandy over it carefully, as to not get any on Carol's mattress and winced slightly at the sting. Just as he begin to dab away the excess liquid, he heard a gunshot followed by a shriek come from downstairs that made his hairs stand on end and his blood run cold. Judith. He jumped lithely, grabbing his crossbow from the ground at his feet, sprinting down the stairs, he saw Rick just a few feet in front of him,

"What the fuck's happenin'?"

He asked in a angry manner, trying to disguise the fear behind it. Rick kept running,

"THAT WAS JUDITH. RUN."

The distressed tone in Rick's voice shook Daryl more than anything. They were both past their prime at this stage, and after sustaining quite a bad injury to his leg, Daryl hadn't seen Rick run this fast in a very long time.

"JUDITH!"

He hollered, hoping for a response, there was a moment of silence amongst the calamity,

"DADDY!?"

They circled back a ways to the cafeteria, Judith was cowered in a corner, a boy, no older than 18 was holding a gun in his shaking hands. Daryl recognised him, his name was Joshua. He was a good kid, yet in front of him his mother lay on the floor, a bullet wound in her head. Joshua turned, pointing his gun towards Daryl and Rick,

"S-stay back! If you move… I-I'll shoot!"

Behind him Judith was trembling in fear. This happened, not often, but sometimes the weight of this world was too much, and people broke. Rick took a careful step forward,

"Joshua, I'm going to need you to put that gun on the floor and slide it over to me, ok?"

"No! Don't you see, Rick!? We can put and end to this, here and now! My mom, she doesn't have to suffer anymore. None of us do! I just need to-"

"What? Murder us all?"

Michonne's voice was a welcome sound from behind them, Daryl saw her in his peripheral vision, hand on her sword, ready to attack if necessary,

"DON'T YOU PEOPLE GET IT!? We're dead already! I'm just trying to help!"

"Son, the only way you can help us right now is if you drop that gun."

Rick's voice was steady, but his eyes were constantly flashing over to his daughter. Daryl knew he needed to get over to Judith somehow, he slowly gestured for her to move towards them, she moved as quietly as possible, and almost made it towards his slightly outstretched arm when Joshua suddenly turned the gun on her,

"Judith, I know it's scary now, but you'll thank me later, I promise, I swear."

"NO!"

Rick yelled trying to stop Joshua, suddenly moving towards him in a flurry of movement, as if in slow motion, Daryl saw Joshua's finger slipping on the trigger, he jumped in front of Judith, blocking as much of her as he could, then there was a loud bang, and Daryl Dixon was dead.