Hello and welcome to our first cowritten fanfiction. I want to try and keep this short but there are a few key things that need to be taken care of first.

Firstly, this is a cowritten story, while I am chomping at the bit with a billion ideas racing through my head, my co-author and husband does work full time, so updates to this story may not be speedy but I hope (and think) they wait will totally be worth it, and so there is no confusion each chapter will be "signed" by either Amarie (me) or Aaron (coauthor/husband) so you'll know who it was written by.

Secondly, we will be writing this story in an AU in that Sophia and Shane are both still alive and there is an OC thrown into the mix. It's basically our brain child and what we think would happen with our OC.

Lastly; this story is rated M for a reason, or a few, mostly language, sexual inuendos, and violence. Not sure how far the sexual inuendo will go, that is to be seen.

We sincerely hope that anyone who reads this story enjoys what they read here and becomes a fan. We welcome all feedback, questions, comments, constructive criticism.

*Disclaimer* We do not own The Walking Dead or it's characters! We are just borrowing them lovingly and promise to return them unscathed and intact...mostly. We do however own our OC(s)!

With no further ado, Welcome to Redeeming Darkness. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Far From Home

"All the places I've been and things I've seen, a million stories that made up a million shattered dreams, the faces of people I'll never see again, and I can't seem to find my way home."-Far From Home; Five Finger Death Punch.

XXXX

Humanity as I knew it was no more. It ceased to exist the moment my junior high science teacher and next door neighbor bit a chunk out of a little girl's ankle as she screamed and struggled to get out of his hold.

The world was fucked, and if anyone else is alive, they knew it as much as I do.

The sound of the KLX is the only thing that can be heard not that I mind it much; I've come to prefer silence compared to some of the noises I've heard. Eighty six days since the world went to shit and go figure it would be in the hobunk back woods of some no name town in Georgia that I would find peace and quiet.

I feel the chill running up and down my arms, knowing it'll be dark soon and the last thing I want is to be chasing the sun all the way back to the rig. My own stupid fault, went out a little farther than intended and stayed longer than what could be considered safe, but a nice dip in a cold creek couldn't be passed up when it's been twenty eight days since anything resembling a shower has been had.

Have to give it to Small Town U.S.A though, not many D-Comps around. Sure a few stragglers but as far as I've seen it's nothing like it was in the big cities. The big cities where people were corralled and promised safe haven were nothing but colossal failures and an all you can eat buffet for the forsaken walking dead, and the bombs did nothing to help the situation. Just drew the D-Comps in and those who survived the governments "help" didn't stand a fucking a chance.

The ground is rough and bumpy as I run the dirt bike parallel to the woods. Woods I don't dare go into. I've seen one too many horror movies and there is never a happy ending for a girl who ends up alone in the woods this close to night fall.

It comes out of nowhere, a flash of rotted skin and I manage to swerve just out of its reach but the bike is out of control sending me straight into the dreaded woods and even as I try to slow down as the fear slicks over my body like oil.

I don't know how or why but I'm flying, soaring over a world that has gone to hell, body seemingly weightless, until the sickening crunch and then it comes in waves, the pain washing over me, seizing me, my mind damn near useless as I try to think over it, take stock of what's broken. I can't. All I can do is lie on the ground staring up through the trees in the woods I had never, ever wanted to find myself in.

XXXX

Time has become something that doesn't matter anymore. Not in this new world. There seems to be too much and too little of it now. Seconds, minutes, hours, all blend together as I stumble blindly through the woods my left arm hanging limp and useless at my side. The pain had been so real at first, hot and furious as I managed to drag myself to my feet, thankful for the helmet, even when I pulled it off and felt the blood trickling down the side of my face, pooling in the hollow of my throat. The cuts, bruises, potential broken bones, none of them matter anymore. Doesn't matter how my hip screams from the weight of my bag smacking against it, or the way my lungs ache as I breathe, I'm numb to it all. Only one goal in mind as I prop myself against a tree dragging in a labored breath, survive.

'Just a minute, just rest for a minute,' the voice in my head murmurs to me as I slump behind a log, legs stretched out in front of me as my one good hand roots in the dirty tattered cammo bag for a bottle of water. I find it, pulling it out untwisting the cap with my teeth before drinking deep. My hands freeze when I hear the rustling of leaves and twigs, and I cringe recognizing the gurgling sound and snapping of teeth.

'RUN!' the voice in my head snaps at me so loudly and suddenly that I bullet to my feet tearing through the woods. I look back just once, a quick movement over my shoulder and see them coming.

D-Comps.

Only a few coming out of the woodworks to hunt their prey and under different circumstances I'd take care of them myself, but the accident changes what I would do into what I wish I could do. The breath wheezes in and out of me as exhausted legs carry me as fast as they can and I burst through underbrush ignoring the sting of the brambles before stumbling up a small incline, my foot catching on something sending me and my bag sprawling, pain waking up and roaring loudly as my body connects with the ground.

Someone's screaming. Loud, high pitched screams and it takes only a second to realize that the sound is coming from me as I pull myself across the dead grass lifting my face to see the tall chain link fence surrounding an ominous building. I feel the hand clamping around my ankle and I roll over kicking my combat boot to the undead face of a man the sound of crunching bones not bothering me at all as I scramble back my hand reaching for the gun that might as well be a million miles away from my grasp.

"Walkers!" a voice booms out as I manage to get myself to my knees and lift the gun and before the trigger can be pulled a searing pain glides across my cheek as an arrow hits with a sickening sound right in the forehead of my assailant and with a shaky breath I give myself over to the darkness I had been fighting so hard against.

Daryl's POV

He didn't mind being on watch duty much, not when it was just him, his crossbow, and a big ass fence protecting the patchwork group that has become family to him. A better family than the one he was born into that for damn sure. His boots make little noise as he paces the wall, eyes trained on the darkness.

They'd come a long way since the massacre at the quarry that claimed Amy. So much shit happening in what seemed like a blink of an eye, and unbelievably they came out mostly unscathed after losing Jacqui at the CDC. He still didn't understand suicide. Sure the world had gone to shit but the way he figured it, if you fought and survived the worst of the worst, and this was top of the fucking list for the worst of the worst, you were meant to be alive. The Greene farm claimed a few more. Mostly from the Greene's group, people he didn't really know, and though he could understand the loss, it didn't affect him. Losing Dale though, that hurt the group. Glenn and Andrea the worst, but the group felt it, carry it with them.

He'd come a long way from the volatile man who nearly shot Rick in the head for leaving his brother handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta. Course he was still volatile, but he knew how to harness it now, for the most part. A good deal of the rage in him dying away when Sophia, who had been lost and separated from her mother Carol for weeks, was found safe and sound, tucked in the cupboard of a ramshackle backwoods farm house.

He'd found her. Even when the others swore he never would, telling him on a daily basis that he needed to embrace the inevitable truth and stop chasing the dead. Yet, he found her. Trembling and half-starved, eyes wide in her face as she blinked at him and tried climbing on unsteady legs, reminding him of a newborn deer taking her first wobbly steps outside of her mother's womb. He checked her over of course, to be safe, and when he found not a scratch or bite under the dirt, grime, and bruises he easily hitched her up on his back, the young girls arms locking around his neck and her little legs around his chest.

He remembered now, on a clear night like this, the way she sobbed into his back for the first forty five minutes of the trek back, before falling asleep. He'll never, in all of his life, forget the surge of happiness he felt when he arrived back to the farm and delivered the half asleep weeping girl to her mother, and he would never get the picture they made out of his head. The older woman on her knees cradling and weeping over the child she thought she lost. That was the first time someone ever thanked him, and with that he sealed his place within the family. And he was okay with it.

He didn't know then, hell, didn't know now why he had been so bent on finding her. The closest answer he could come to was that he wasn't going to lose someone else, not if there was a damn thing he was able to do about it.

Merle being gone still stung deep down, it didn't matter that on a good day he hated his abusive drug addled older brothers fucking guts, he was blood, and having not found him still brought him nearly screaming out of nightmares at night.

Not so much since they found this new place and the fact that nobody can kill Merle but Merle serves as cold comfort, despite the fact that every passing day takes him closer to facing the inevitable truth.

Funny, he spent his whole life trying to avoid spending any amount of time in the joint, and here he is, prowling the perimeter, comforted by the gates that separate him and his 'family,' from the dangers of the outside world.

The scream piercing the night sky pulls him from wandering thoughts as the first slick fingers of adrenaline start coursing through his blood. His eyes squint through the darkness trying to pinpoint the source as someone runs up behind him.

"Daryl, what do you see?" Rick's voice is tight with anxiety.

"Can't tell, not from here," Daryl mutters, slinging the crossbow over his back as his hands curl around the fencing and he starts climbing.

"Daryl, don't. We don't know what's out there," the other man says but he shakes off the hand lying lightly on his ankle.

"It could be Andrea, I don't know bout you sheriff but I sure as fuck ain't leaving her out there."

He easily scales the fence jumping down and stays low to the ground as he stalks in the direction of the scream. The scream raises again sending chills over his bare arms as he reaches the peak of a small hill.

Walkers clamber out of the woods, but his eyes are quickly drawn to the girl on her knee's gun raised as a half-naked dead man walks towards towards her snarling teeth ready to sink into her.

"WALKERS!" he bellows raising the crossbow letting it fly.

Fear slides down his throat when he watches the walker and the girl go down together, and for the few seconds it takes to reach them he worries he killed her too, whoever she is. He studies her for a second before swooping down and gathering her and the discarded bag up. One arm hangs grossly at her side and he can tell that wherever she came from was as close to hell as anyone could get too out here without dying.

"Open the gate!" he screams as Rick, Glenn, Hershel, and T-Dog stand guns cocked and ready and as soon as the gate is opened enough for him to squeeze through he does being sure not to cause any more harm to the unconscious girl in his arms. The gate is closed up tight behind him before he takes a few seconds to study the broken and bloody body in his arms a colorful tattoo of a sparrow just under the girls collar bone standing out to him in stark contrast to the bruises and blood, surprised when her eyes swim open, revealing the most beautiful mix of green and blue he's ever seen staring up at him, agony written over every inch of her pretty face.

"That's tha' way Lil' Sparrow, keep those pretty eyes open fer me." The words are barely out of his mouth before the pretty eyes roll closed again.

Cate's POV

The voices are watery as I try to force my eyes open but they refuse to budge, leaving me frustrated and full of fear. It doesn't take a lot of imagination nowadays to know what happens in surviving groups. I've seen my fair share of depravity and more than half had nothing to do with the flesh eaters.

"Catherine Cooper…Tehachapi, California, 1992."

"She could be a danger…what if she's with a group…"

"Don't be stupid, she's just a baby….."

"Dislocated shoulder…Daryl hold her down….she's gonna come up swingin'."

The pain rockets through me as the sickening snap and pop echo off the walls and I sit up struggling against the hands holding onto me, faces swimming in front of cloudy eyes before everything collapses back into the inky darkness.

"Catherine, darlin' if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes," the rumbling voice is soft, and close to desperate as it swims through my head and I groan trying to turn my aching head to the side, wishing the voice away, but I can't move. My body is reduced to nothing more than a mass of aching limbs and muscles that refuse to work at all.

"Rick, I'm here ta take over fer ya, Lori 'n Carl are waitin' to eat with ya," a new voice joins the party in my head but this one is familiar, which seems illogical.

'Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought,' the voice dances through my skull in a whisper and I have to agree. There is no other conceivable reason for anyone to be familiar to me here.

"I'ma be honest with ya here, Lil' Sparrow, we all thought you were a goner once Hershel got ya cleaned up enough to find out what all ya managed to break in that pretty little body of yers'" the voice rambles on as I search my memory, anything to tie this voice to a face, "Yer still here though, aint'cha? So you need to open those pretty eyes of yers so we can find out what all we need to be knowin' bout ya."

"Your grammar sucks," the words slip through my lips before I can stop them and I feel the mattress sag a little.

"Knew you was awake," the voice sounds humored by my remark and with a whimper I force my eyes open immediately sorry when everything swims and my stomach pitches with my rolling vision.

"I'm going to puke," I mutter and in what seems like a blink of an eye I'm rolled onto my side a bucket held under my face, a hand holding my hair out of the way as I heave foamy acid and water. My body protests and sweat covers me as it fights a losing battle against the pain.

"When's the last time ya ate a decent meal?" the man asks once I push the bucket away from my face, but I don't answer the question intent on watching him as he crosses to the long counter dumping the bucket into a sink. He's tall. Not outrageously so, but then again at five foot nothing most people seem tall to me. He wears baggy pants and a sleeveless black shirt revealing incredibly tanned and muscle riddled arms, shaggy brown hair covers his head, and then he looks over his shoulder eyes flashing.

"Blue lightning," I murmur feeling the haze settling over my brain again as my eyes grow heavier and heavier.

"Hey, hey, none a' that, Lil Sparrow, stay awake," his voice slips away like a whisper in the wind.

So...how was it? Great, Fantastic, Terrible, Snooze fest?! Let us know! There's a nifty box right down there where you can write to your hearts content and we would love for you to use it!

::Amarie::