I have no idea why death-centric fanfictions grab me by the hands and make me write them. It just happens. Read and review, please!
She'd lost too much to care anymore.
She'd lost her home first, and her parents. Though they might have survived the first wave of death, she'd been unable to reach their cells before reception died. She counted them first on her list of dead. She knew she'd never see them again at least.
She'd lost her sister. She'd lost Amy twice, of course. Once to death's cold embrace and the second time to an insane hope that when Amy woke up she wouldn't be like one of them. Hope had failed her.
She'd lost Jacqui. She'd chosen to leave, to live, while Jacqui was blown to smithereens when Atlanta's CDC exploded. Somehow, she'd also lost her hope for humanity's survival when the last place she could have thought of to search for a cure was blown from the map.
She'd lost Sophia, a girl who'd had so much life left in her. Sophia who was innocent and naïve, Sophia who should have lived, who shouldn't have had the unfortunate happenstance of being in the wrong place at the right time.
She'd lost Dale. The man who'd cared for her when she tried to kill herself, the man who had nursed her back to relative mental health. The man who didn't deserve to have his guts ripped out by a walker that shouldn't have gotten that close to camp.
She'd lost Shane, the man who'd finally found the time to train her properly in the art of guns. The man who had slowly lost his mind because of unforeseen problems with relationships and life… and bad decisions. They had all seen it coming but few had acted upon it and only one actually carried out the deed. She considered it good fortune for him to have died before his mind truly broke.
She'd lost Carol who had been so strong after Ed's death, who tried to stay strong but failed to be strong enough after Sophia's. She'd lost her mind like Shane but she'd made a walker bite her to end her misery.
She'd lost Beth. Sweet Beth who had trusted her for so long. Beth who hadn't taken her own life in the end, Beth who had her life stolen from her when her head was severed clean from her shoulders by the same psycho who'd tried to cut through Andrea's brains. Andrea still held those scars on her face, forever reminders of her friend.
She'd lost T-Dog to the Governor. Shot in the back of the head executioner-style. Just because the sadistic man didn't like Rick, just because of what Rick had done to save his group. T-Dog had been a great friend to Andrea and now he was gone.
She'd lost Lori and her baby, Judith, also shot by the Governor. Lori's guts had been blown out of her body in a split second; Judith died when her mother landed on her, most likely breaking her tiny bones. And Andrea had cried for them the most she'd cried for anyone since Amy. The most innocent of lives just gone… gone in the blink of an eye, the bang of a gunshot. Because of the cruelty of one man.
She'd lost Michonne. Turns out the invincible woman had been pretty damn vulnerable when disease set into a small cut in her arm and spread to her veins before anyone even knew it. She died as she lived, though, fighting until the end. She was buried with her sword; no one would touch it after that.
She'd lost Glenn during one of his runs into what they thought was a deserted suburb. She should have gone with him, or he should have taken Daryl or Axel. When they'd waited for a few days, Daryl went in but he came back with a forlorn look on his face.
She'd lost Maggie not because the woman had taken her life but because the woman had died protecting her very own father. He lived, though not for much longer. He grieved more than Andrea ever did; Andrea had lost Amy, sure, but Hershel lost everyone.
She'd lost Hershel not long after Maggie but he was too stuck to the tradition of the Bible to take his own life. He slowly wore away, of course, being unable to eat from sadness, but it was pneumonia that finally stole his life. They couldn't do much to ease his suffering because they might catch the cold, or some sort of cold, too.
She'd lost Axel by simple misunderstanding. The old man, a sort of off-key replacement for Dale, had mistaken an order by Rick. The order cost him his life. He had been a nice man once she got past the fact that he'd once worn orange and chains. He was a loyal man like Daryl.
She'd lost the baby before she'd really even known it was there. Boy or girl, it didn't matter; it had been a rush of blood, a small form just visible in that disgusting pile of her womb. She hadn't cried then, had been slightly relieved that she'd had the good fortune of not bringing a baby into the world. But still, a small part of her mind nagged at her saying it had been a life and every life counted.
She'd lost Rick, too, but he wasn't dead. Nor was Carl, but he'd been lost for a while, too. They were both different now from how she'd remembered. Their minds were stronger, not broken, but they wouldn't let anyone in. Didn't exactly trust like they used to. It was Carl who changed the most, the poor boy. But they were both different, lost despite being alive.
She'd lost too much to care anymore. Except for Daryl. He was her one constant. Her forever.
It was at a Church, oh the irony, where she lost it all. Daryl, loyal to the end no matter how Rick was, followed Rick inside. Maybe Rick had gone in to pay his respects; maybe he'd thought this place was a good hideaway for a while; maybe he'd finally lost his mind altogether. Whatever the reason, the significantly smaller group would never be the same, not with the new people who'd joined… not without those who'd lost their lives just living.
He didn't scream, didn't show that he was in pain when he came out of those cheery red double doors. But they had been together so long that she noticed something was wrong when he came out.
When he pulled her close and kissed her so hard on the lips that her eyes smarted and she pulled away with surprise and confusion, she knew something was definitely wrong. Then she was searching his body, pulling off his clothes not in sexual desire as they'd done so many times before but in frantic need to know. He stopped her, infinitely gentle, but she tried to push away from his hands, tried to continue to search. He grabbed her hands again, more forceful but nowhere near as hard as he might grab someone else, and led her deftly to a spot on his hip. She could feel the heat radiating off of it before she even touched it, knew when she did touch it that her hand would come away with blood.
She didn't realize she was crying—she never cried anymore, not after Lori—until he pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she felt crushed. But she didn't care. She would lose him. She would lose herself. They both hugged, both aware as always of each other's bodies. Finally, he broke away and stared at her for the longest time, searching her eyes.
"Why the hell couldn't you have let it bite you on the leg?" She asked after a while, trying in vain to wipe away the tears, to try to smile to her own half-assed joke.
"Sorry, Blondie." His voice was remarkably calm as he used his favorite nickname for her. "Next time I'll make sure to."
Except they both knew there wouldn't be a next time. It was a poor joke, of course.
Rick was safe, though. He would be safe, wouldn't he? Daryl would have protected him. To the death, of course. Dammit. She could tell Rick knew. But she'd already lost Rick. A long time ago. Except now there was a spark of sadness in her old friend's eyes when he realized that he'd just lost Daryl because of his own stupidity. And he knew from the look in her eyes that he'd just lost her, too.
Because of the position of the bite, it took a while for the poison to set in. They cleared out the rest of the Church and Daryl sat at one of the pews. Andrea stood there, trying to rein her emotions in. They wouldn't, though. They just wouldn't come back. Finally, she sat next to him and laid her head on his arm. There wasn't any need for words. After a while, he got up, made his way to a side room connected to the small Church and she followed. It looked like it had once been used as a safe place; the bed was all nicely made up, and he winced as he settled down on it.
Just that bit of pain brought fresh tears to her eyes. He looked at her as she settled down and brought out her gun. "When the time comes, I'll shoot. For the both of us."
Daryl could see it in her eyes, she knew. That same hopeless look he'd seen back at the CDC. He looked at her, long and hard and she thought he would die just looking at her. She bit her lip, a sign of complete and utter helplessness to her. Finally, he sat forward, brushed the hair out of her face like he did when he'd first confessed his love, and kissed her gently on the forehead, the nose, the lips. Lingered on the lips. A fresh bout of tears spilled over.
"Nah. Wouldn' let ya do it like that. Yer still a good girl at hear'. What'd Hershel say? You kill yerself, you never go to heaven." Daryl muttered, all seriousness.
"You really think I'm still going up there?" She asked but her voice held no tone.
"You more'n me or Rick or, hell, even Carl. Carl murdered, Andrea." Daryl picked her chin up with one sturdy thumb and she could see the pain in his eyes. "Ya wanna die anyway. Let me take away yer pain."
She smiled and wiped her eyes again before handing him the gun. "Are you ready, then?"
"Ya." He said, sitting up a little straighter, pulling her close to him one last time. "Maybe you'll meet him… or her… up there."
She laughed bitterly, "Daryl, the only place I want to go is with you. But it would be nice to get to know our little guy."
Daryl's chuckle came out in a groan. "I think I still love you."
More tears now, gushing out. Memories flashed before her eyes. Literal memories. "I think I still love you, too."
Daryl leaned in to kiss her. She felt his lips, barely felt Lady, her trusty silver handgun, press under her mouth in the soft part of her neck, pointed away from his face, barely even registered the click as he turned off the safety. Only felt his lips, his warmth, his love.
She'd lost too much to care anymore. Daryl was her forever.
Rick heard the gunshots. First one and he assumed it was Andrea shooting Daryl. Then the second and he knew she was gone, too. She'd been gone from the moment she'd seen Daryl bitten. Rick had seen it and he'd felt for her. He'd given them all the time in the world. He'd had the others of the small group start shoveling out a grave. Deep enough that scavengers wouldn't loot it. Large enough for two bodies, side by side.
Carl had gone off on his own somewhere but insisted that he'd be back before too long. Besides, the boy hadn't wanted to see the only survivors from Atlanta apart from him and his father lying there dead. Hell, Rick didn't want to, either. But he still went into the Church, into the side room, to pay them what they owed. A good burial at least, something that would make them proud. What he found there brought tears to his eyes. Andrea, back of her head blown out but still looking somewhat peaceful as she lay draped across him as if she were asleep. Daryl, arm protectively around her, his only love in these past months, the silver gun looking so decisively killer in his hands, looking for all the world as if he'd just rocked his love to sleep in his arms. A smile played across the man's face; the back of his head was blown out, too.
Rick couldn't do it in the end; had to have some of the newer ones help him carry them to their final resting place. They didn't understand why he was doing this extravagant thing for these two people, but they wouldn't understand. It was just him and Carl left in the world now; these people didn't matter. Only Andrea and Daryl did in this instant.
Carl was back before they began throwing on the dirt. Rick had just finished a eulogy about them, his last best friends. He'd gotten very good at saying eulogies as of late. Carl gave the two a final present. It was a stone headpiece, the stone being soft enough for the boy to carve words into it. Hasty but there nonetheless, they would mark the grave of these two for a long while. Rocks could last longer than wood. Though Andrea and Daryl deserved a whole Cathedral.
The boy placed the rock at the head of the grave and helped to solemnly shovel the gravel over their bodies, entwined in each other's arms. Asleep; forever asleep. When it was over, Rick dug up a rose bush, remembering faintly that Andrea had once said she loved rose bushes, and replanted it over their grave. There; as much a Cathedral as he could build.
Carl dug the rock in deep to make sure it wouldn't tip over even in the strongest of storms. Then he stood back and they admired their handiwork. Rick read the words on the rock and smiled, a sad smile that passed in an instant. He put his hand on Carl's shoulder, a rare show of love nowadays, and then nodded his final goodbye.
"You did good, Carl." Rick said but on the inside he was broken. Carl smiled up at him and they turned to back to the group, already having overstayed their welcome.
Besides, he'd lost too much to care anymore.
Many years later mankind would stumble upon this old Church with its once bleached white walls, its once cheery red double doors. They would note the skeletons inside and remember the day when the dead roamed the earth. They would look at the rose bushes lined up in an orderly row though muchly overgrown now and not think anything of them. They would revere this place because it held the dead but there would be so many places like this it would be hard to single it out for something in particular.
And one man would break off from those who didn't remember, who never did know, would walk over to the one rosebush that was out of place and clear away the thorny branches to find that one stone he'd almost forgotten he'd placed all those years ago. Would laugh at his childish handwriting and remember those he'd lost that day, would hope that they were somewhere better with his mother, his sister, his family and friends.
And he would reread the tombstone and a tear would slide down his cheek.
Huntsman, tracker. Loving sister, would-be mother.
Together in life as together in death.
Loyal to the end and forever great friends.
Andrea and Daryl Dixon
They will never be forgotten