"Bitch got me good." Daryl muttered, craning his neck to look at the back of his shoulder where a chunk of flesh was missing. "A fuckin' girl zombie. Who woulda thought..." He managed a weak smirk.
"How can you say that? Like this is some big joke?" Glenn yelled, and it reminded him of the time the kid had yelled when he had tried to burn the dead members of their group. It wasn't necessarily a yell from anger, more from sadness.
"Was bound to happen. Like karma for being an asshole most of my life or some shit. Everyone's gotta die at some point, kid." Daryl said, tugging the Asian down so he sat beside him, intertwining their fingers.
"Not you. It didn't have to be you. Not yet." The first of the tears were already streaming down Glenn's face. "I got cocky. I should have let the others come like they wanted. This is my fault. I'm sorry..." He stops, the words dying in his throat with a choked sob, trying to hold back from completely bawling.
"Now ya stop that. It ain't your fault." He comforted the kid, reaching up to wipe away the tears the best he could manage. "Now buck up, buttercup. You gotta take care of me 'fore I eat your ass...and not in the way that you like." The man added, attempting at humor even on deaths door. The 'joke' fell on deaf ears. Not even a slight blush or shove with scolding like the normal Glenn would have responded.
"Just like a deer, kid. Quick and clean, right through the head. Remember when I taught ya that?" Daryl mumbled, pushing the crossbow into his lap. Glenn did remember that day. The hunting lesson lead to their first time, which evidently the older man had been planning since he easily produced the necessary supplies. But it wasn't just like a deer. It wasn't Bambi in the woods, an expendable animal needed to survive, to feed the group. It was Daryl, the man that tipped the scale of survival in their favor so often. A man that Glenn always thought of as invincible, someone that could survive through anything, especially the zombie apocalypse. But right now the world was proving him wrong.
"No, Daryl, I can't..." He protested, a new flood of tears threatening to come. The idea of killing Daryl was something he had never thought about. Something that he didn't think would ever come up. It shouldn't have been a situation the needed to be planned for.
"You can. You will." The stern reply was more like a command. "Once you finish with me I want you to go on with life. Don't give up. Live for me, Glenn. Remember the time we did have. Remember that I love you and I always will." The words, words that would likely never be said otherwise, drove in the point that this was it. This was Daryl Dixon's final moment. This was the last time he'd hear his voice, the last time he'd feel the rough hands on his face, the last time he'd be kissed by this man. Nothing was left to say, it was the end.
Raising the crossbow, Glenn took aim at his lover's forehead, studying his features for one last time as Daryl let his eyes fall closed and his head fall back against the wall. The trigger was pulled and the arrow flew through the space, lodging itself in Daryl's head. Dropping to the ground along with the crossbow, Glenn held his head in his hand. Through the sobs the final words he'd say to Daryl were uttered.
"I'll remember."