WARNING: THIS EPILOGUE CONTAINS NECROPHILIA
Author's Note: I'd already intended on writing an epilogue for this oneshot but after I saw the preview/sneak peek for this week's upcoming episode "Us". I had to add a little more. "Len" is the guy talking to Daryl in the woodsy sneak peek.
Lets all hope my writing doesn't become cannon on the show. :( I think we all agree that Daryl has suffered enough.
Daryl pulled out of the girl's limp lifeless body, tucking himself inside his pants before bringing an unsteady hand up to close her vacant eyes. He didn't dare look at any of them as he stood and began heading for the shed behind the house. If he did he knew he'd lose it. And then he'd die. So instead he focused on doing the last thing he could for the girl who'd come running towards him expecting safety.
"Where ya goin' boy?" Joe demanded as he cleaned his blade on a rag, pleased at the lack of revolt from Daryl in retaliation to him killing the girl.
When he got no answer and the bowman continued walking he sent one of the men after him, not about to let him go that easily. While the others went about their business one of the men wasn't quite finished. He was hard as a rock and frankly pretty pissed off that Joe had killed the girl just to get a point across to the new fuckhead. He kneeled down next to the girl's body, running a filthy palm over the cooling flesh of her breast. The bruises stood out even darker now against the rest of her paling dirt smeared skin. She was still a little warm. And that was good enough for him.
The hand that caught Daryl's elbow was violently shaken off as he whipped around to snarl at its owner.
"Take 'et easy. Boss wantsta know wutchur doin'." the man told him, holding up his hands high near the turban style wrap on his head in a peaceful gesture.
"Gettin' a shovel." Daryl snapped before continuing on his purposeful path to the shed.
The man groaned as he pushed inside her corpse and Daryl's still hot cum warmed his dick more than the rotting flesh surrounding it. He started off with slow thrusts since he didn't have another guy waiting behind him, bitching for him to hurry up.
He faintly heard one of the men reporting back to Joe, saying that Dixon intended to "Bury the dead whore.". He picked up the pace a little after hearing Joe give no order to stop him, jarring her limp body with his harsh movements. He was pissed off that now not only was she dead but soon to be buried too, leaving him with nothing to fuck in the foreseeable future.
Daryl rounded the corner of the house and what he saw made him break. There on the ground was the bearded degenerate defiling her body. He was going to kill him. And then they would kill him. And she would be left unburied.
He couldn't stop himself, he was already running towards the bastard before he realized it, a death grip on the shovel in his right hand.
"Thas right chu dead lil bitch give it up!" he growled lowly, smacking her unresponsive face to the side.
As he got closer to coming he got more violent with his thrusts, increasing in force until he felt something rip inside her and his cock was bathed in red warmth, making him almost blow his load. He was just at the precipice of the end when something metal smacked into the side of his face, knocking him off the girl's body.
Daryl threw the shovel aside in favor of using his bare hands as he unleashed a fury that was normally reserved to be taken out on walkers. He was aware the rest were coming quickly in reaction the man's screams so he made every second last. Inflicting as much pain and suffering as he could before he was restrained.
Joe took in the sight of the man he'd been working to break down. His eyes were wild and fierce. He was covered in blood. He was half way to becoming one of them. Normally he didn't condone necrophilia but as he'd watched Chance touch the girl's body he'd seen a golden opportunity to push Daryl past his breaking point. A plan that'd worked out perfectly.
"Let 'em bury his bit-." Joe began to order the ones holding Daryl, getting interrupted by Chance's protest of "Wut tha fuck!".
"Let 'em bury 'er. We'll have us a lil funeral service. Then he'll get wuts comin' to 'em." he reassured the bloodied man who was trying to yank his pants up and cradle his pulverized face at once.
When he was released Daryl stayed where he was thrown on the ground next to her body for a moment. He didn't want any of them there while he put her to rest. She deserved better than her murderers standing around making her final resting place into a joke for their own amusement. She deserved respect and honor. Not crude comments and sarcastic renditions of her horrible final hours.
"Go find sumthin' ta do!" he bellowed at them all, his voice cracking a little at the end as he moved to gather her scattered articles of clothing.
They all ignored his outburst, watching as he began dressing the corpse, making jokes about "Dixon playin' wit dolls". Daryl didn't even attempt to put her bra back on, remembering he'd had enough trouble getting them off let alone trying to put one back on a girl. With her battered chest covered he moved down, starting at her feet as he worked her underwear up her legs. He paused at her raw knees, spying blood and pieces of her insides seeping out of her vagina. He knew he couldn't let himself cry in front of them. But the pure savagery of what had been done to her hit him fully in that moment. He was glad she was dead as the evidence of how much worse it could have gotten looked back at him from between her legs.
Before his muscles could react to resist a fast hand was at the back of his head, pushing his face towards the gory hole he'd been unknowingly staring at in shock.
"Go on boy, sinceya like eatin' pussy so much have sum more!" Chance cackled, forcing the man's face into the horrific mess he'd created.
Daryl swung out, reaching around to twist the hand holding his head, gasping for breath when he was released and he heard a satisfying snap along with a scream.
"You sick fuck!" he raged, repeating the exclamation over and over near psychotically as he fought to get to the demented asshole.
After what Joe had done Daryl had resigned to kill him first. But now he would be second. After she'd been killed he realized there was no slipping away quietly into the night. He couldn't just leave these men to continue their brutality. It could very well be the governor all over again given the right unfortunate circumstances. He couldn't have that on him. Not again.
His voice was hoarse and barely there by the time he'd calmed enough to be let free. He kept the task at hand in the forefront of his mind. Unsuccessfully attempting to block out the growing red patch that appeared on her yellowed cotton panties once he slid them into place. He handled her body with care, being as gentle as possible while trying to return her to a dignified state.
Once her last items were returned to her feet and tied he grabbed the shovel. He slammed it into the ground, picturing it was every one of their faces he was shoving the metal spade into. He worked relentlessly on the ground. Ignoring Joe when he ordered that a shallow grave was "good 'nough fer tha dead cunt.". Continuing on as sweat poured down his face and washed away her blood. He didn't stop until she had a proper grave.
When it was finally dug he scarcely had the strength to lift her, his arms shaking with the effort. He set her at the edge and got down in there before placing her gently on the ground. The rag from his back pocket was brought forward and he kneeled down next to her, wiping crimson liquid from her face, raking his fingers through her knotted hair a time or two before he gave up and let it be.
After a brief struggle to lift himself from the hole he stood there overlooking her grave with a moment of silence on his part. The others were reminiscing about their grisly time with her, trying to goad him into another outburst. Making him throw the first shovel full of dirt onto her body a little sooner than he'd like.
As he layered more and more on top of her he wished desperately that he had something profound to say. Wished he had known more about her to truly honor her as her body disappeared from sight. But all he had was that she was a good walker killer, a fast learner, and one of the bravest individuals he'd witnessed yet in this horrific new world. He'd remember her for the rest of his days, no matter how few they may be.
He'd barely pounded the makeshift cross into the ground before the first punch hit him in the face. They all joined in, circling around him , each one adding a measure of pain to his punishment. As he laid there on the ground and felt one of his ribs crack he felt he deserved it all. Out of all the beatings he'd taken in his lifetime he felt that one was the most just. An adequate exchange for what an innocent had suffered because of him.
Once they were done they left him there on her fresh grave, leaving him behind to inspect the white house they'd chosen as their shelter for the day. As he laid there broken and bleeding he wished for death. Not for an easy way out. But to ensure that no one else from the group fell into the same trap she had. If another one did before he had the chance to kill the barbaric men he wouldn't be able to cope.
Forcing his pained body into a sitting position with a wheeze and some coughed up blood he took off his vest, draping it across her grave marker. It would be better off if the people he cared about thought Daryl Dixon was dead. And in a way, a part of him had died that day with her.