Omg. The season finale. Guys. I can't even handle it! So, yeah, I'm writing/posting this while I'm supposed to be getting ready for work, ergo, I didn't have a lot of time to edit this, so if there's any grammar mistakes, pardon me. I hope you all enjoy this, and if you haven't seen the finale and don't want it spoiled, DON'T READ THIS! Otherwise, read, enjoy, and R&R if you please!

Warnings: Gore, attempted rape, really psychologically/visually messed up stuff. Squeamish people look away. Spoilers for 4x16 "A"

Disclaimer: I don't own TWD. Obviously. It'd be nice though...

It was amazing how small the world could become in just a fraction of a second. In the space of what was probably less than a heartbeat, Rick's mind shifted from musing on survival, of what they'd left behind, of how fortunate he really was still have his son and a woman he'd grown to truly trust and depend on at his side, to thinking about something that might have been close to a future, to pure and unbridled rage.

The cool muzzle of the gun stroked against his temple almost lovingly as a band of thugs emerged to surround them on the road. Rick could only pray that Carl stayed down, that he didn't try to interfere and somehow get killed. These bastards meant business, Rick could tell. The braying of the one who held the gun to his head boasted of confidence and swagger, and scalding bloodlust, but it was barely a warm through compared to the heat roiling inside Rick.

When he heard Daryl's voice, it almost didn't register with Rick. He looked up enough to see the sight of his old friend, the man who he could call his brother without any hesitation, and it was almost as if he was staring at a ghost. He couldn't quite get it to mean what it was supposed to. It gnawed at him that he wasn't more moved by the sight of his long time companion, but the emotion that should have been there was drowned out in an acidic sea of violent hate.

Daryl tried to diffuse the situation, and how ironic that all was, since when he'd first met the man, he'd been the one with violent outbursts, impulse problems, and a legendary temper. That was the shocking thing about Daryl though- the end of the world had brought out the good in him. If Rick was another sort of man, he would have tasted the bitter tang of jealousy that he couldn't be more like him, but it was washed out by a craving for the taste of salt and copper, the hot slide of life force spilling all over him to fight off the frigid chill that had been closing in around what remained of his heart.

The monster grew only more agitated and enraged when the other thugs began to beat Daryl, savagely kicking at him, shoving his head into the hood of the car, driving fists and steel capped boots into his body, but all of that was nothing in comparison to the roar that overtook him when one of the remaining men yanked open the car and hauled Carl out.

"You leave him be!" Rick snarled. His eyesight began to wash out; all he could see was the man wrestling Carl to the ground. Inwardly Rick urged his son to fight back, and oh how he could see Carl trying so hard, his bloody palm fighting to grip his knife to defend himself. He heard the scrape of a metal belt buckle as Carl whimpered and cried out, still continuing to struggle as his cheek scraped hard on the asphalt, blood blooming across his face. At gunpoint he could do nothing, all he had left was his voice.

"This was on me! This is me!" Maybe, just maybe, he could re-direct their attention, so his son and his friends wouldn't suffer one of the most awful kinds of deaths.

All the while the thugs jeered and laughed and threatened and the monster roared through Rick, snapping the bars that held it back like candy canes. The man above him jeered, hollering his intentions loud and clear.

"First we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we're gonna have the girl. Then the boy. Then we'll shoot you, and then we'll be square." Mirthless, lusty laughter floated through Rick's ears and any semblance of reason or logic Rick may have had left incinerated.

This was not the first time Rick and the beast within had met. The animal inside that on several occasions had lent him so much strength, strength to do what was necessary, and come close to destroying what he held so dear. He could see it so clearly in his mind's eye, a large empty space with a single light bulb overhead, highlighting a small circle and the rest of the room cloaked in darkness. Rick stood on the one side, the cop who'd given his hat to his son, his badge still on his belt, the python strapped to his hip. Face clean shaven and pale, hair clipped short, unruly curls held back by a civilized blade, hands only slightly calloused. Shoulders slim, limbs unscarred, the bones of his face unbroken by dozens of fights.

And on the other side of the circle of light, still partly shadowed, was the monster. It could live within Rick's skin, because it was Rick. It had his same body, only slightly different. The shoulders were more broad, the fingers tougher, callouses thicker and much harder. The face was bearded, the curls wild, falling against his forehead like a pelt, and there were scars tracing over skin beneath tattered, road beaten clothes. But what set them truly apart was the spattered coating of scarlet blood, smeared everywhere against the monster's skin. It dripped from the bridge of the nose, little droplets catch on the torn, bitten lips. More of it washed over his hands and pooled at the floor. It coated his cheekbones and jaw, coloring him brilliantly, leaving almost none of his skin showing, just enough to contrast against the ivory tone that it had once been. Still though, even that was not as disturbing as the eyes. The eyes were completely inhuman. Yellow and glowing and slit down the middle like a wolf's eyes. When the monster met his gaze, the lips parted and wicked sharp teeth that couldn't have been human grinned at him.

Rick hadn't always known that this part of himself existed. He had not felt its power until the day he'd murdered Shane. That was the first time the monster had escaped and tasted blood. The blood of the first kill, and ever since then, Rick had known. It had terrified him at first, the thought that something so brutal could live inside him. He had tried to deny it, but Shane's ghost had haunted him regardless.

Lori's death had unleashed it again. The mad, mad grief had broken down the bars and let the creature loose. He'd destroyed every Walker left inside the tombs, entirely on his own, using only the power that the driven mad monster gave him. When Glenn had approached him to try and bring him back, he had not realized that it wasn't Rick who controlled the body of his friend. He'd come too close and the monster had struck, blindly shoving Glenn viciously into a wall, ready to rip his throat out for interfering. And ever since then, the monster lay so close to the surface.

It had seen the Governor, but had not recognized the man as a kindred spirit. They were not the same. Rick's inner demon was born through the blood of pain and loss, deprival of the only semblance of life he'd had that gave him strength to hold on to the way he had survived for so long. The Governor allowed his own monster to rule at the head, but the goals were so different. The Governor sought power, to collect, to own, to dominate. Rick, and his own monster, couldn't have cared less for such things. Grief and pain had been the seeds to conceive his demon. The first battle Rick had arranged so the monster wouldn't have a chance to escape. Those months ago it had still terrified him and filled him with terrible guilt. When the confrontation with Tyreese occurred, a man who was innocent and blinded by his own sense of horror and desperation over the loss of a woman he loved, it had briefly occurred to Rick's conscious mind this was not the time or place to let the monster loose. But he hadn't been able to stop it. He hadn't been able to lasso the creature and haul it back in time before he savagely beat Tyreese so hard that Daryl was forced to intervene and drag him away. Maybe, if they survived, and they had a moment to just breathe, Rick would thank his long time friend for being brave enough to get between the monster and his prey. Not many were brave enough to risk it. The guilt over the incident had felt good in some ways. It whispered in Rick's ear that he was still human, that he had not completely lost his mind, that all the things Herschel said were true. He could come back, he didn't have to lose himself in a tidal wave of blood and death. He had good things still, things to coax the human to come out again. For as long as he could, Rick had held onto the guilt.

Not anymore.

He crossed the space and stood in the center of the light. The monster approached, the shoulders slightly rounded in preparation to jump into battle at the slightest hint of provocation. Rick the man exhaled long and slow as the monster let out a ragged, throaty chuckle.

"This is you, Rick," it said to him. "You're fortunate to have something like this inside you. Those without it lose the ones they love."

"Maybe," Rick the man answered back. "But you're not the only part of me."

The monster shook it's bloody head, more of the liquid spattering off to its side. "I'm not." The voice was torn, as though speaking around a mouthful of fangs. "But the more you fight me, the stronger I become."

Rick nodded, his skin tingling in anticipation, his mouth running bone dry as the craving for salt and copper slid against his tongue.

"We have work to do."

The monster grinned and the roar of a not entirely mindless animal filled the space in between Rick's ears. His eyes returned to the nightmare unfolding around him and now nothing seemed terrifying anymore. He would not lose his son. He would not let these maggots violate him, nor the woman at his side. He would not allow them to beat his brother to death. The monster would lend him the strength to protect them, so long as he satisfied the desperate craving for blood.

Rick lunged, striking at Joe, the thunder crack of a bullet discharging into the ground as the two of them began to struggle. A steel toed boot caught Rick underneath his ribs, aggravating old injuries, but the monster was not to be put down so easily. Hatred and rage and protective instinct surged through Rick, lending him so much more strength than any fool would have been able to overcome.

It wasn't like this with the Governor. True though Rick had felt the gush of rage and infuriated anger come over him as they had tried to beat each other to death in the prison yard, it wasn't like this. That had been fueled by intense grief. This had no part of sadness in it- this was all hatred, all fury, something so powerful that there was no hope to even try to wrestle it into some semblance of control. This was the threat of losing his son, the audacity of these monsters to come into his territory to try and take what would only ever belong to him. The animal inside roared with territorial fury and lunged up to all fours, baring salvia coated fangs. The muzzle of the gun was still pressed against his cheek but with a snarl Rick ripped it away and flung the gun elsewhere and even as he and Joe struggled, he didn't hesitate. He wanted to feel it so desperately his throat was practically burning, like skin left out to dry and bake in the heat of the Georgia sun in July.

The taste of salt and copper flooded into Rick's mouth as his teeth sank deep into Joe's throat. There was no human part of him left to squirm with revulsion. The monster had gathered itself around Rick's skin and reveled in the taste of his enemy's lifeblood gushing down his throat. This was his true nature. Not the entirety of it, but he could not go on denying it to himself. In a dim, quiet corner of his mind, he was grateful Herschel was dead, so the old man couldn't see him like this, and even though he was grateful, there was no sting of guilt, no twitch of remorse, nothing in him to say that this was wrong. The human in him agreed with this ending, and with the monster's methods. The world had shown its hand over and over again, its desire to push him to the breaking point, its willingness to take without remorse the only things Rick had left in the world to make the next heartbeat worth feeling. Now it was time to push back. It was time he stop worrying, and he start using what he'd been gifted with to defend what was his.

Michonne struck down her own assailant and Daryl, having gained the upper hand on his own enemies while they'd watched in horror at what Rick had done to their leader, struck them down with ease, dispatching them without much trouble. Rick turned now to the man who had a hold of Carl, still pinned to the ground, whimpering with terrible fear and panic. The parent in him could see the child in his son, the desperate plea for his father to protect him, overwhelmed by the terror and the trauma of his circumstance. Rick would answer that call. Never would he let his son believe that his father would not protect him with every last iota of strength in his bones. The monster nodded its head in agreement and lolled its blood-slicked tongue out, chest heaving in eager anticipation, craving more.

Rick drew the knife off of the first man he'd killed, looking down at the corpse, his throat torn open wide from his teeth, a stinging flicker of satisfaction rolling through him, before turning towards the man who had a hold of Carl. Michonne had a gun trained on him, and Daryl, freed from the people who had tried to kill him, stepped forward to help. The monster took hold of Rick's teeth and tongue, his fingertips shaking with almost eagerness.

"He's mine."

The man tried to surrender, but it was far too late, and the monster howled with satisfaction as Rick watched every twisting scream of muscle, skin, and flesh as he split Carl's attacker open, neck to belly, stabbing again and again and again while he begged and drowned in his own blood, screeches quickly dying down to ragged heaves as Rick continued to sink the knife in, pull and twist it loose, only to have it return once more. The monster, excited to a near frenzy, mouthed against his ear, urging him to continue. He could feel the press of the animal inside against his back, at his ribs, pushing underneath him to rub against his belly, folding all over him like the second skin Rick knew it truly was. He was blinded to the knowledge his son and friends were watching. He'd pacted with the monster, and now he had to honor the agreement.

Later, when all was quiet and the sun had risen, Rick leaned against the tire of the car, breathing slow and softly. He leaned his head back just a bit, trying to taste a breath that didn't echo salt and copper. He heard the footsteps of his brother coming back towards him but Rick wasn't quiet ready to come back into reality just yet. He didn't close his eyes, but he still saw inside the dark room where his two halves faced off, the one spattered with so much blood that it ran from his teeth and dripped off his hair, every circular step leaving a bloody footprint behind.

"We did it," the monster said, an exhausted sort of grin on it's face.

"Yeah, we did," Rick responded. He was not despondent, just tired. The monster's rage had wracked his frame and he desperately needed to recover.

"I'll always be there, Rick. I'm always there if you need me." Yellow eyes glowed as a bloody tongue flicked around serrated fangs. Scarlet salvia fell from it's lips onto the floor as the bowed in shoulders shivered with both exhaustion and anticipation. "But this is the price for what I give you."

"They're worth it." There was no hesitation as Rick spoke.

Daryl approached him, dampening his bandanna with some of the only water they had left. Rick looked up at the man as Daryl offered him the damp cloth. "Should save it for drinking," he said.

Daryl shook his head. "You can't see yourself. He can."

Warmth bloomed in Rick's chest as he accepted the offering. Daryl was right. He'd done what was needed, in more ways than one, but Carl didn't need to see the monster unless absolutely necessary. He knew it existed, he knew his son was not so frightened by it that it would damage their relationship, but there was no need to expose him more than what was necessary. He'd pacted with the monster, the price almost being choked by salt and copper, but what he had bought, he'd gladly pay the price a thousand times over.

And when they found their family, in the darkness of that train car, so many of them terrified as they looked upon his face, he felt the monster uncurl once more, stretching its spine, long tongue curling around dripping fangs, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

"More to buy, the price is higher," the monster rumbled, its eyes casting on the many faces of his family, and the ones they had found on the road that they were willing to protect as well.

"I'll pay it," Rick said firmly.

Looking from each and every face, from the ones he didn't know, to the ones he loved so dearly he'd die for, he knew he had a reason. He'd buy these lives, but they came with strength too. They'd feed the human in him, to keep him strong, to give him a reason to go on, to keep fighting. The salt and copper he'd offer to the monster to buy their protection, it was a price he didn't care if he paid with a thousand lives. These people, his family, were the only thing worth paying such a price for. And now he'd show them that it was different from before. He'd show them his willingness to pay this price. He'd show them a glimpse of what he was capable of.

He knew the monster gleamed through his own eyes as he paced the car, peeking out the small slices that let light in, trying to see out as his gaze switched from the outside to them. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out." The monster had a hold of his throat and tongue, diffusing through his veins and muscles, sinking deep down into his bones, enveloping him in warmth that would buy the lives of his family.

"Find out what?" someone asked.

Rick turned back to them. The monster gaped a fanged grin but the human was less crazed, filled with complete and utter determination.

"That they screwed with the wrong people."