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WALKING DEAD FINALE TONIGHT!

Oh and here's another chapter!

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The journey was not unpleasant.

They ended up leaving the car. An electrical tower had fallen on the road, the vehicle stagnant. They spent the night in the Civic, heating on full blast as they waited for daylight to greet them again.

For the last four days they travelled through the woods. The cold an angry temptress, bitter and ready to freeze them off piece by piece. Brooke had taken to killing walkers and taking their clothes, and Daryl would've judged her for it if he wasn't so damn cold himself. They burned the bodies for warmth at night, dry wood was scarce beneath the snow.

Daryl still couldn't place his new companion. He still held a firm belief that something, what ever that something was, was off with her. Still she wasn't unbearable, the opposite in fact.

She was quiet a lot of the time. She divided her attention to Judith well, never mommy-coddling her. She kept up with him, killed walkers, made shelter, found food. Was she an expert on everything, hell no, but he didn't worry as much about her fucking everything up as he thought he would.

She was capable. She was ready to learn. Hell, she looked at him like an expert. She was always asking him why he did the things he did, expanding her knowledge and all.

He believed survival wasn't something you were taught, but learning the basics of anything never hurt anyone. She was that kind of girl. She wanted to pull her weight and she didn't honk her horn about it.

She didn't sleep though. Didn't eat much either, though that was to be expected. Food was a luxury now, he figured she treated it as such. She was pragmatic that way.

The sleeping, however, always alone and never at night. She must've been going on three, maybe four hours a day. Quick naps when Judith needed changing or feeding. Daryl always found her nearby, knife by her side, head covered with her hood, dozing.

He knew she knew of his observing. He was the one that would wake her when she fell asleep. They couldn't be stuck in one place for too long. Besides, he didn't want to deal with her getting frostbite because she snoozed in the cold.

It wasn't making her any stupider or dangerous. She didn't sleep but she was still sharp. He decided this was habitual to her, her lack of routine was how she functioned. She still jumped when he woke her though, still lurched away.

By the fifth day, they were on the outskirts of Worcester. They were closer than he'd like; there were more walkers when you were near places of post dense urbanisation. They tainted the snow, frozen, barely moving, dead but still living.

He never knew he hated snow until the world ended. White like sheets, ready to be stained. That's what they all were now, stains.

Judith seemed to agree with him. She didn't like how cold the pretty fluffy white stuff was. Brooke was trying to change her mind, was telling her all the fun stuff they could do with it.

"If you lie down on your back, and move your arms, you can make angles in the snow. Isn't that neat?"

The kid had no fucking clue what the hell she was talking about. Daryl had her on the sling, it was his turn to take her. Judith was faced forward, her body in direct view of everything in front of her.

Which included the girl handing her a fist full of snow near her face. The baby looked at Daryl in a near plea. He intervened.

"Kid don't give a shit if ya make cool stuff with it."

She looked up at him, pout present in her face. She removed it promptly, "Come on Judith, snow's fun, right?"

She shook her head. Daryl smriked. Brooke on the other hand sighed and dropped the snow, dusting the flakes off of her red fingers.

"Suit yourself Judy, but I'm telling you snow is fun."

"Goin' be a while 'f ya want to change her mind."

She took the lead again, boots crunching through the dead vegitation and cold earth, "She's just scared because she's never really played in it before."

"Not like she's got a chance t'."

"Maybe one day, you never know she might."

"Not 'ere."

"No shit, not here. Maybe if we knew no walkers were around."

"Haven't seen any for a while."

She stopped and thought, looking at the baby with a smile, "Hmm, maybe there's time for a quick one."

Quick one?

He frowned. She wasn't going to be stupid because she wanted to prove a point, was she?

"W'atcha goin' do? Make a snow angle?"

"Yes."

"Ya fuckin' retarded?"

That did it. If she thought about doing it then, she sure as hell was doing it now. Her head raised a fraction, her sign of protest, before she walked a little brisker to a spot with few trees.

She did that, the head thing, when she felt challenged. It was another one of her oddities. It was almost comical if it wasn't so damn pretentious.

He saw her check the ground, inspected it for anything dangerous, before turning.

"Hey Judith," There was an excitement to her voice that had little to do with the fun and more to do with rebellion, "I'm going to make a snow angel now."

No she damn wasn't.

"Stop bein' stupid."

"I'm not being stupid Daryl, I just want to show her."

"'S just snow. 'S no point forcin' her t' like it."

"I'll be quick."

He shook his head, "Ain't savin' your ass if somethin' gets ya."

"Wouldn't count on it."

She was crazy. He didn't know if he wanted Judith to see that kind of batshit looney she was being. Kid watched her though, mesmerised, large green eyes taking the figure laying down in front of her in. Brooke's arms and legs spread as far as they could before coming back to her sides. She repeated the motion three times, on the third cycle she sat herself up right and stood up.

Her back was wet. She'd get cold. Stupid girl.

She was right though. Judith looked at the disturbed patch on the ground, confused at the new shape. He saw her, her eyes calculated, her mind dazed at the concept of making shapes out of snow.

She looked up at him, smile spread on her face. She had a look asking him if she could try. He leant down and kissed her head instead.

There was no way in hell she'd be doing that here.

"Ya happy now?"

The girl nodded, smug, "Think she might have a change of opinion."

"Don' care w'at she's thinkin', she ain't rollin' round in the snow. She'd get sick."

"Fair enough, spoil sport." She patted herself down, excess snow falling from the creases of her clothes. She turned, picking up her knife that fell during her escapade. No sooner did she bend down when she turned her head, grin now replaced with the creases of a formed frown.

The movement caught him on guard. She only tensed like that when she saw something, something strange. In this life strange meant dangerous, he wasn't going to guess if it was or wasn't. Hand by his knife hilt, crossbow ready on his back, he was prepared.

Whatever she saw she didn't take her eyes off. She crouched, knife gripped tight as she made her way to whatever startled her. Daryl's gaze followed her, his body close behind, footsteps precise in keeping her pace.

She got up, walked with a practiced care, and made her way between snowy trees to an open plain. Through the woods, illuminated by the winter sun, the snow gave off muted hints of colour between the whites. Upon further inspection he realised the colours were not of a natural source, far from it.

This was a camp. On the ground, covered in bright reds, yellows, blues, the snow sprinkled on top of them, were people.

Dead people.

If any one of them were walkers, if all of them were walkers, then she'd just lead them into a spring trap slaughter fest. His crossbow was in front of him, his arms raised at a high awkward angle to accommodate the child strapped to him.

This place was not safe, this grave yard in the snow.

They needed to leave.

She realised this too. They were still far enough out to make a break for it, they both saw each other and nodded to retreat. Her curiosity was sated. This was not worth exploring.

He made his way between the trees and out with caution. When he turned to check on her, he found her stood still. Slack, eyes on a body.

She tried his patience. This was enough.

He walked back over, smacking her arm with the back of his hand. She looked at him before speaking, her voice soft.

"Someone killed them."

He observed the body. A woman, older than both of them, eyes looking up unblinking. She was white, the kind of pale death painted on people. She'd been dead a long time, her skin fell, the decomposition of her body present in her gaunt frozen features. Between her knitted brows, a gaping hole promised her death as undisturbed.

He looked around. If they were walkers they would've moved to them by now. Not a sound. No movement.

"Not safe. Gotta move."

"We should burry her."

He grabbed her arm and spun her so she was looking right at him, "We gotta go. Now."

She was vacant. Her eyes had the sort of dullness he knew was not inclined to the mentally present. He'd seen that look, that not quiet there gleam, before.

Gone was the fire. It was distant in her eyes, you couldn't feel the heat, as if behind several layers of tempered glass. Muted, blurred.

It terrified him. A slow, building sort of terror that spread from his mind through to his core. He swallowed it like bile, held back the urge to shout at her and tell her to get a fucking grip.

It was, thank God, short lived. No sooner did his words sink in when he saw the fog lift. Her gaze sharpened, her thoughts no longer so far away. The transition was fast, fast enough to miss the whole thing, to question if it happened at all, like a play against his intuition.

But Daryl knew.

Daryl saw it.

She nodded, her head bounced with a force too brisk. She shook her arm free, walked ahead without a word. His eyes rested on the corpse, transfixed on the bullet wound on her forehead.

Even he forgot what dead dead people looked like.

It was rare to see them so stationary.

Hand on Judith's head, other holding the crossbow, he passed the trees a second time and left the morbid plane. No words were mixed, no words would be he thought. She trudged through, knife at the ready, cautious as ever, but with a thick aura of melancholy around her.

They were far from any town when the sun set, taking to the road for shelter. He didn't have to ask, she was already a step ahead, breaking into a spacious black Land Rover. He watched as she took off the shroud underneath the steering wheel, turned on a switch, grabbed a screwdriver he didn't even know she had from her pack, jam the flat end into the ignition and manually start the car. It wasn't going anywhere, it didn't need to, they just needed the heat.

She got into the back, flattening the seats so they'd have enough room to sleep. Daryl climbed in, closed the door behind him and joined her, unclipping Judith. He reached forward and cranked the heating as high as it would go, checking the gas and battery in the process. The car was fucked but it worked. Shame, it was convient.

She was quiet, not unusual, but she was quiet with Judith. They sat in the car, doors locked, cold, and cruelly quiet. The baby was sat on her lap, her favourite book open, the girl reciting the rhymes from memory. Her tone lacked luster, Judith became frustrated. She resorted to singing to her, soft, off key, gentle singing.

Daryl was working on his crossbow when she started. He didn't care if she started belting so long as it wasn't too loud. He looked up when he recognised the tune. Her recital was not one of expected classics like "Hey Diddle Diddle" or one of the songs the purple dinosaur sang to the kids. She sang "November Rain".

Gun's 'n Roses "Novemeber Rain".

When was the last time he heard that?

Mid way through she stopped, her grip on Judith curled. He realised her defensive stance was a response to him staring. He then realised he was staring and, neck pink from the reflex, he forced his eyes away.

Well course he would be staring. Not at her, it wasnt about her, it was about the song. He'd been taken back, he couldn't remember the last time that happened to him, the last time a memory just threw itself open in his mind.

He was in Georgia. It was hot, Merle was with him and he wasn't high. This was the beginning of his military days, he was better then, did drugs less. They were outside, radio playing, both leant against Merle's truck, beers balanced on the hood, cigarettes in their mouths and just talking. It was ordinary, dull actually. They talked about parts for Merle's bike, talked about girls Merle fucked, talked about a lot of Merle, but it was a good day. He didn't know if it they'd listened to the song, he didn't know if they'd listened to the band, but he was back there. For a split second he was with Merle.

"Sorry, I'll stop."

He shook his head, hoping he didn't sound to earnest, "Don'. 'S fine."

She was quieter. He had to strain to listen. But again, he felt his past lull him back to that day in the sun. Back with Merle talking shit. It would come to him in waves, the memory would start and end and repeat, it would not progress. It didn't need to.

He thought about Merle a lot. Thought about him everyday, but he never missed him, not really. Now, he listened to her sing, pitchy, she messed up a lot of the words, but it unearthed something he thought he buried inside himself.

It was more than sadness, it was pain. It burnt. Irritated his chest to the point that he felt starved for oxygen. His eyes stung, he was aware of every wet molecule bonding together and distorting his vision. He had a lump he couldn't swallow down because it stopped the air he craved for pulsing through his body. It flooded him, drowned him, suffocated him until he forced himself to suppress the insatiable urge to gasp.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, blinked back anything that resmebled that pain, choked it down despite the hurt. He nodded, clearing his throat.

"Fine."

She shifted. Judith was asleep in her arms. He didn't know how long she sung for. Didn't know if he was happy or disappointed she stopped.

He crawled forward, helped her set the girl down on the padded seat, her tiny body wrapped tight in that hoodie of hers. Acting on habit, he kissed Judith's forehead, her face relaxed, her small lips parted ever so slightly as she slept.

They needed to find food for her soon. He added it to his mental list of things to do tomorrow. The torch was starting to flicker, they would need to find batteries too.

He turned to Brooke, "Can rest if ya want."

She nodded, "It's okay. You sleep. I'll keep watch."

"We're fine in 'ere. Turn the torch off, shouldn' bring attention t' ourselves."

She didn't respond. He decided to address it.

"Ya don' sleep."

She frowned, "I sleep."

"Durin' the day. Not at night."

She shrugged, "I don't like sleeping at night. It's not safe."

He weighed the argument, "Just as safe as durin' the day. 'Cept less people are out at night."

She wasn't paying much attention. She was sat with her knees to her chest, her gaze at the window that had fogged up from the heat.

"Ya afraid o' the dark or somethin'?"

"Yes."

That threw him. The answer couldn't be that simple could it?

"'S just the dark."

"It's not the dark." She said, "It's what's there that I can't see."

She looked at him now, reached over at the torch and switched it off. Blackness. His senses caught off guard by the sudden absence of light.

He felt her grab and jerk his arm forward. The light was on, without warning. She crouched there, hand on his arm, eyes on his eyes.

"See what I mean?"

He did. He didn't think it proved much of a point though, "Things gettcha durin' the day too. 'S no poin' bein' scared o' whatcha can't see."

She let go and sat back down again, "Easy for you to say. You're a one man killing machine."

"Don' make much difference. Still human. One o' these days I'm goin' die like the rest o' them."

She smiled, "Bet you'd be harder to kill then."

"Dead?"

"As a walker."

"Nah, won't be. Prob'ly do it m'self, make sure I don' turn."

"Be a bad day when you die Daryl, closest thing to a clean up crew this world has."

He shook his head, "Don' care for the killin'."

"No?"

"Only thin' that matters 's the girl."

She looked at Judith. The fire was coming back in her. He could feel it.

He figured he push some more, "Why'd ya want to burry her?"

The torch flickered. Her eyes widened a fraction, and, as per, she caught herself again. She recollected herself in an instant, her features smooth. The glow of the torch gave her skin a marbled quality to it, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, they looked like stone against the light.

She looked back to her spot in the window, "She just, I don't know. I didn't like her there."

"S' ya wanted t' burry her."

"I didn't want to look at her." She said, "At any of them."

He believed her. The remark was cold. He remembered the look she had, he decided it wasn't as distant as he first thought.

He'd seen it before. He'd never given it, it was special, rewarded to those of a certain caliber. There were specifications for that kind of look.

Rick used to get it, it would come to him and stay with him for an extended duration of time. It was different to the madness that sickened his mind, it was personal yet detached. Carol would get it too, her's was deeper, painful, brief, it would plague her and be done. He recalled Merle again, he only ever looked like that once when someone mentioned her.

It was greater than loss, he decided. It was an unrequited yearning. An infinite unfulfillment.

"Why?"

"I just didn't. She was dead." she said, "Sometimes you don't like seeing that."

He nodded, "Ya forget they're people."

"No. I never forget that."

"Then w'at?"

She didn't answer. She didn't want to. Daryl felt a chill, his hands notably colder all of a sudden. He went to check that the heater was on. It was, but it wained.

"'S cold."

She nodded, "I'm worried it'll get too cold for her."

He reached over and held Judith in his arms. She stirred, her body relished the new found warmth. He looked over at the girl.

"C'mere, 's warmer."

"It's okay, I'm fine over here."

He sighed. He was trying.

"Brooke," his voice was light, unaccustomed to using the name, "C'mere."

She was going to fight. Going to. The motion was automatic, she was going to fight.

But she didn't.

She crawled, slid almost, by his side with the torch. Again, without thinking, she reached over to pet Judith's hair. Daryl watched as she showered her with affection, something she did whenever she was near her. She sat next to him after with the torch in hand, looking ahead of her at nothing in particular.

"Ya don' need t' worry."

"Hmm?"

"'Bout sleepin'. Can sleep 'f ya want, I'll be awake."

She paused, "Don't worry about it Daryl. I'll sleep when I sleep."

"An' the light?"

She looked at him, her lashes curtains that hid her thoughts. She had big eyes, he hadn't seen them up close like this. Big brown eyes that looked black as nightfall in the dark car, opaque, unreadable.

He saw the fire again.

Then he saw nothing. In a microsecond the sound of the torch switching off accompanied the darkness. It was the kind of dark that people feared, the blindness that comes when you know your eyes are open but they show you as much as when they're closed.

Give it time and he'd see. The shapes, the varying shades of shadow, the cold glare of moonlight, white and upsetting against the familiar black. Sure enough, pupils dilated, vision emerged, he began to see.

Light, or rather the absences of it, made things seem different. The car felt colder, but he'd wager against it. Where they sat looked bigger, but it wasn't. He turned, she was a part of the darkness, only her profile was outlined in the soft light.

This was what she was, he decided. The little of her he saw was the little she showed him. The light just emphasised it, drew out the truth with ease.

Again she looked ahead. He looked ahead too. They sat there for sometime, neither sleeping. She out of choice.

Sleep wasn't coming to him. He wasn't going to force it. He sat with his eyes closed, and just waited.

After a while, after a long while, after a near hour, perhaps two, perhaps three, she spoke.

"I should've buried you."

He frowned. This was not to him, this was not to the car. This was to the darkness. This was, whatever this was, confession.

He could hear it.

Those four words thickened the air. He didn't understand how someone could say something with such a lightness, but have it weigh so heavy. He breathed in slow, the cold air rough.

When he breathed out, he felt sleep take him. When he woke up, cracks of yellow sunlight cooing him, she was asleep. She had her head on his shoulder, her body curled by his side.

Her mouth parted at a slant, steam rising from her every exhale as her breath embraced the cold air. The cheek closest to him pressed by his arm, the creases of his shirt imprinted on her skin. Her eyes, the ones that carried the deep purple bags, were shut loosely, and he saw the remnants of the fading bruise she procured from the library.

Everyday when he woke he'd get up and go. They would wake, and they'd be gone. His internal clock was precise, it was the early hours of the morning. Instead, despite it all, he closed his eyes, curled his arms tighter around the snoozing child, and sat there.

She only got three hours, maybe four, a day. He could give her another. Another wouldn't hurt.