The first story I've written for The Walking Dead - it was just begging to be written, I couldn't help myself. After that somewhat unfulfilling finale, I wanted to write a bit more on one of my favorite characters, Milton. Please let me know what you think. I can't promise I'll write any more fics for the fandom anytime soon as my inspiration seems to be rare in terms of writing fictional pieces, but maybe the wait for Season 4 might surprise me.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Walking Dead universe.
"You need to hurry…"
The end was near, and it was nearing far too fast even though he knew that scientifically, he was beating the odds for surviving this long. But every second he could hang on meant another second Andrea would have to make it out alive. Another second he could get one last glimpse of her, the one good thing left in this tomb.
Part of him wanted to scream at her for taking time to talk to him, to check on him, he just wanted her to get the hell out and drive something through his brain so he could stop predicting the worst-case scenarios she'd face once his soul had left this earth. Yet, part of him, his fading heart, was positively burgeoning at the thought that someone cared so much.
Dying gives you an ungodly amount of time to think about things, you see.
She needed to hurry. She needed…to get out of her chains to give him a proper goodbye. Hopefully with another peck on the cheek. And then a good stab in the head.
She was so beautiful, even with her face contorted in an unsettling mixture of desperation and fear. Panic, that's what it's called. Maybe he should be panicking right now. But it was becoming rather hard to care when breathing was becoming so difficult, and even keeping his eyes open was a Herculean task.
Hercules. A man of courage…strength. Somebody he could never be. He wished he could have been that for Andrea. But his courage came too late.
It was getting late, wasn't it? It certainly seemed time for a nap at the very least… maybe if he just closed his eyes for a second…
No. Eyes shot open again, focusing again on the angel in chains. Maybe she could be his angel, looking over him, guiding him onto the afterlife. He didn't really believe in an afterlife though, did he? He couldn't remember…things were getting so fuzzy in his brain…
She couldn't be his angel. She was never his to begin with. And she needed to make it through this. For him.
What was taking so damned long? She needed to hurry.
The urgency pressing upon him, the only thought left in his mind, he tried to express this to her, yet all was coming out were soft, quick puffs of breath that weren't taking her concentration away.
Good. Maybe she'll get out of here in time.
It wouldn't be long now, though. Maybe a couple minutes, at most.
In the end, he wasn't angry with Philip. Not really. See, even if Philip did terrible things, Philip brought her into his life. No matter how fleeting their shared moments seemed. No matter that she slept in Philip's bed. Because now, now she was looking at him…and oh, fuck, she isn't going to make it is she?
His entire body was screaming yet everything was becoming a slow whisper. A whisper she couldn't hear. She doesn't know it's happening, does she? His eyes were struggling to stay open for one more second, one more second and maybe she would be safe.
His eyelids drooped downward and he prayed that they would open once more to see her perfect, clear and not cloudy green eyes. To see her perfect, angelic face…
That prayer was heard, and when Milton opened his eyes again, he saw beautiful green eyes staring back at him. For she truly was an angel.