Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead," wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This exists purely because I was challenged to write something of this ilk. And I think I broke my soul in the process, just saying.
Warnings: Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead, adult language, canon appropriate violence, gore, suicide, thoughts of suicide, canon character death and mature content.
Triage
Chapter Three
He'd told himself that he wouldn't do this. That he wouldn't waste time on regrets when the clock ran out. But now – now that he had nothing better to do, he found he could think of little else. He couldn't help it.
He thought about Carl and Judith – little ass kicker – he thought about how Rick still couldn't hold her like he figured a father oughta. How he still looked off into the distance when he thought they weren't looking, held captive by something no one else could see.
He thought about a hundred thousand things he should've done – should have said but hadn't. He'd known better, but somehow he'd let them slip. And Carol, christ. He should have told her when he'd had the chance – when they'd had the chance.
Because they'd had it – that spark – that stupid, niggling thing that was absolutely incomprehensible and yet made all the sense in the world. But now she was gone, or he was. He wasn't sure which anymore. Anger seared across his vision, cloying and red. He'd almost let himself believe it… that he could have this, her, that he could just settle down and-
He shook his head. Happy endings were just lies people told themselves when the lights went out. He should have known better. He should have known it would end this way. Nothing in life was that kind.
His lips curled. Christ, he was pathetic.
He shivered, ignoring the warmth of high noon, ignoring the fever. His mind knocked for a loop at the conflicting sensations as everything around him ceased to make any kind of sense. He felt fragile. His bones were heavy, yet brittle. Jesus, he was cold. He hiked his hips awkwardly as he tried to unknot the sweater tied around his waist.
But his fingers refused to cooperate, trembling and seizing until he fell back, unable to repress the muffled cry that tore through him as his side burned. Fuck. His fingers pressed against the wound on reflex, but it was like trying to patch a dam with tablespoon of silly putty. Fuckin' useless.
She had to be alright – Carol and the others, they had to be alright.
He tried holding onto the present, to take in his surroundings and listen for the others, for walkers. But reality was illusive – slippery and subjective. He was falling, drowning, coughing and-shit!
Get a grip Dixon.
The sun glowed red behind his tightly closed lids, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he held onto consciousness by the coat-tails. He was out of time. He could feel it. He swallowed, gagging, swearing he could practically taste it as the sickness leeched through him, coating him from the inside out – oily and vapid as he struggled to breathe.
His lashes fluttered, tired. He hadn't slept in days. Not since the prison had been overrun. Not since the Governor had-
The world tilted on its axis and suddenly he remembered.
There were voices in the distance. Low hums of sound that could have been people - could have even been his name. But he didn't look. He kept his eyes on the forest canopy. Angrier with himself more than anything when he realized how desperately he wanted to call out to them. When he realized how much he didn't want to be alone.
He let his eyes close. Christ, he was selfish.
Maybe it would be better if they didn't see him. If they didn't know. Wouldn't that be better? Kinder? Wouldn't it be better if they could just move on, live, oblivious to the fact that even if they'd found him, they wouldn't have been able to save him? Wouldn't that be-
A harsh yell rose up, meters away and disbelieving. He flinched.
They'd found him.
A/N #2: This is my first attempt at such a genre, so please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Good lord, this has gotten a tad longer that I originally foresaw – so much for a quick two shot. But really, I am like 95% sure there will only be at the most, two more chapters after this. The next chapter should be up soon!
"If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down? Or speed up?" ― Chuck Palahniuk, (from Invisible Monsters.)