AN #1: Here we are. Thanks for hanging in there with me, guys! I love you!

Disclaimer: I do not own or write for AMC/TWD. I am only writing for fun; no profit going on right here!

OoO

His heart was pounding into his chest, through his veins, spurting adrenaline and pure fear into every orifice of his soul.

He had to find her.

He had to find her.

He had to find her now.

He went away from everyone else, surveyed the muddy ground and saw a cacophony of footprints that he almost screamed at in frustration.

But then he held his breath, held his palm to his forehead and leaned over to shine the light on them.

The masses overlapped each other, over and over again, but he could very clearly see a trio – all three of them – heading in a direction where there were no flashlight beams and screaming voices.

She was out there with a psychopathic teenager and probably a tornado, without a flashlight.

He took a deep breath and started, walking quickly, trailing the weak light over the ground and into the woods beside the house. Carol had left a very clear trail; clear boot prints, smashed branches, and trampled leaves almost made it too easy on him.

It's fine.

It's going to be okay.

He was running now, waiting in sick anticipation for each crack of lightning to be followed by its boom of thunder, looking around with too eager eyes as he tore after them, gasping, choking on the cold rain.

It was cold, so cold, and all he had were his Superman pajamas that Mama had bought him last Christmas, but it was almost Thanksgiving and they were threadbare and oh so cold.

The cold chilled him to the bone, rain leaking through the face of his hoodie and drenching him from head to toe. He knew he was getting close, he had to be getting close, but he had to run, he had to run as fast as possible because the monsters were chasing him and just ahead of him and he had to save her, he had to save her, he couldn't fail her.

Dead blue eyes, snarling mouth.

Would she look like her daughter when she turned?

She was fine. They were fine. They were fine.

He slipped in the mud, landed face-first into a smear of rotting leaves and wet dirt, spitting the grit out of his mouth and wrenching the yellow flashlight from the mud, its beams playing across the trees in a way that he couldn't handle, he couldn't handle it, this fear, this ominous horror.

And then a guttural scream, just ahead of him. Screaming that kept on and didn't end, high pitched and horrified and blood curdling and all he could do was run, run, run.

Merle was calling him, Daddy was calling him, but he kept running, kept running until he got to the creek and then he was slipping and falling, and he was wet and cold and the monster was coming for him, it was chasing him, it had Merle but it wasn't satisfied and now it was going to get him and he was going to die, and it would be over, it would all be over, and maybe just maybe maybe maybe he could see Mama again maybe maybe maybe please God please.

He heard himself screaming her name, his voice cracking as he burst through the trees into an overgrown pasture with grass shoulder high. He screamed for her and she screamed more, not at him, and then the gun went off and one of the girls was screaming her head off, but not the same, it wasn't the same, she was screaming in anger and disgust.

He followed the path of worn grass as the second gunshot went off, and Carol was still crying and screaming and he didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something.

He saw it, and without thinking he pulled up his crossbow, and he did it.

Merle's whole face was blood, all blood, no nose or skin, just blood everywhere, covering everything. His shirt and pants were ripped up, barely hanging, and Merle was walking funny and he knew what Daddy had done, he knew it because sometimes he did it to him while Merle was out with his friends.

There was blood everywhere, and he was being nice, nicer than he usually was, and there was water making skin-colored paths down his face and he thought he was crying and he had cried too when Daddy had done it so maybe Merle was crying.

He told him to come down, climb down, that he hurt too much to come and get him, just slide down and he'd catch him and they'd go home and get changed and get to bed.

But the monster was here, the monster was close, and he didn't want to go home, the last thing he wanted to do was go home, he couldn't leave the tree because Daddy couldn't climb like him and he was safe up here.

And then Merle was crying for real, and he was saying that Mama made him promise and what would Mama say?

What would Mama say?

Mama would say to do it, be brave, don't think, get down from there and get to bed.

And so he did. He was brave and he didn't think.

He did it.

He did it.

Carol kept right on screaming.

oOo

The little girl that had been chewing on the other little girl was limp in the grass, her head wound bleeding all over Carol as she clutched her to her, the other little girl, the one that was letting her eat her, dead, behind her.

Carol reached behind her to take Lizzie into her arms as she had Mika, the other walker behind her dead and forgotten.

She held them for a long while, and Daryl didn't know what to do, not really, couldn't really process what he had done himself. The lightning and thunder were getting closer though, and he knew they needed to get back before they got sick.

And so he approached her, pried her cold hands from their hair that was absolutely sodden with blood and rain, and let her tear into him with fists that were stronger than they looked, let her beat the tar out of him as he dragged her away and hushed her, finally collapsing with her bloody body in his lap in the rain, held her tight to him as she moaned and sobbed and demanded to be let free.

It was a wrestling match, and more than once she broke free on her hands and knees, moaning their names as she crawled forward, and he caught her each time, bear hugged her to his chest and kept her away from the corpses.

But he had held her tight once, he had held her back and clutched her to him as she tried to run to her dead daughter, he could do it again.

"Don't look."

"Don't look."

"Don't look."

But she was still looking, still staring at their little bodies in horror, the feathers from his bow sticking out of Lizzie's temple the way they had from Luke's.

He forced her face to his chest and held her there, wouldn't let her look any longer.

"I said don't look, godammit!"

She stopped. She stopped and she didn't look any longer.

OoO

They left after that.

Daryl walked her back, one hand around her middle, the other holding the flashlight.

She cried. He knew she did. He couldn't hear it, not with the roaring rain and thunder, but he felt the shaking beneath her sodden jacket.

They came back in, most of the blood washed from their skin and leather jackets by the rain, and Rick was waiting for them still, eyes worried and fingers twitching. He opened his mouth to say something, but Daryl shook his head violently.

"Tell 'em to come on in," he roared over the lightning from the open door, flicking his eyes away from Carol to Rick.

Rick swallowed and headed towards the door.

Carol hiccupped, and his heart ached. She tried to walk without him, to push him away, but he kept her in his iron grasp and took them both upstairs to a room they hadn't slept in yet.

He set her down on the bed and set to taking off her boots, keeping a hand on her at all times as if she were a child that would run at the first sign of abandon.

He looked up at her, and she was watching him, her hair plastered to her face, lips trembling and eyes wide and fearful.

He brought her palm to his mouth and hummed, watching her eyes overflow with big fat tears that trickled down her cheeks and dropped to her knees.

He felt he should say something, that he was sorry or that they were at peace, but he couldn't make the words rise from his throat, couldn't force them out of his mouth.

He heard the front door open and slam shut, hushed voices falling from the stairs.

He stood immediately and turned to shut the door.

Carol sobbed out a gasp and he heard her fly to her feet before he could even turn back around, her arm outstretched towards him.

"Don't go," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "Please don't go."

He closed the door behind him and shook his head, walked towards her and pulled her into his arms.

"I ain't leavin'," he whispered into her ear. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

He felt her nod into his chest, acknowledged that his hands were threading through her hair, accepted that he would be whatever she needed in this moment.

This world had taken everything she had ever loved from her, had forced her to do things she never should have had to.

And though she was gone, an inhuman rage at Lizzie bubbled in his chest, that she had done this to Carol, that she had done something so awful and profane, and Carol had still loved her.

And he had killed her, just like he had wanted to. He had killed her.

At some point in her crying she sagged against him, her legs going out in exhaustion, and he laid her on the bed and held her back to his chest, let her lay her head on his arm while he held her other hand at her stomach.

He didn't hush her, didn't even try and say anything. Some things couldn't be fixed by sweet nothings and soft whispers. Some things only got better with time and tears.

And so he held her all that night as their world fell in around them, thunder roaring and wind destroying. He held her while she sobbed their names and Sophia's, the grief all too familiar, and he couldn't stop his own tears as he held her, listened to her sob for a little girl he hadn't saved and another that he had killed. He cried for himself and he cried for her and he cried for those three little girls.

He stayed with her until a tentative gray sun surfaced through the dry rotting curtains, and she still had not slept, was silent and stoic.

And this was worse to him, this stony silence she had fallen into. This quietness, unresponsiveness. It was how she had been with Sophia, denying it, separating her daughter from her decaying corpse.

He wouldn't let her go away again. He wouldn't let her retreat into herself, unfeeling, unwilling to carry on with life.

"'M still here, Carol," he murmured into her neck, his own voice gravelly, at the place where baby gray wisps sprouted and curled. "'M still here."

She didn't move, didn't so much as flinch or breathe deep.

He held her tighter to him, buried his face along her spine, letting his lips linger, and waited.

He would wait for forever, if that was what she needed.

oOo

It wasn't long after that that a light, tentative knock bounced on the door.

Carol flinched, and he felt himself coil in anger again.

"Want me to get it?" He breathed, barely holding back the anger that was awaiting the idiot that was asking how she was. He propped himself up to look her in the face.

She wouldn't look at him, kept staring at the white curtains letting in sad, silver light. Her head bobbed imperceptibly.

He swallowed and extricated himself slowly, padded over the dusty wooden floor to the door and cracked it open.

She was never going to forgive him. Not ever. Not this time.

Beth stood there, eyes wide, Judith propped on her hip, fingers in her mouth.

He sighed and shuffled out quickly, shutting the door softly behind him.

"How is she?" The young girl whispered, one hand playing absently with the ends of the baby's hair.

He shrugged, shook his head. "Not good," he answered, forcing down his irritation.

Her eyes were starting to redden as she nodded, looking down to her shoes and sighing.

"I'll bring y'all up something to eat, then," she tried, watching him tentatively.

He made himself smile at her, forced himself to nod. "That'd be good."

She smiled quickly at him, then looked down the hall to the stairway.

"They're going to want to bury them soon," she murmured, focusing on Judith, not making eye contact with the man before her. "And y'all two are the only ones who know where they are."

He felt a lump form in his throat, accompanying anger as he shook his head, breathed deep and ran a hand through his hair.

"She won't let me leave her," he intoned.

Beth nodded slowly, quirking a little smile that immediately disappeared.

"I'll make a map," he breathed. "Michonne or Abraham could go get them."

"Okay. I'll tell them, if they ask."

Judith reached for him and he smiled at her, laid a large hand on her little head and sighed.

"Thank you, Beth. For everything."

For not letting me give up.

For making me find her.

For giving me hope.

She smiled at him this time, sadly, and nodded, her chin quivering a little.

"Thank you," she breathed.

And then she turned, was back down the stairs in a second, and he was left alone in the dark hallway, most of the house still asleep.

He cracked open the door, and Carol was facing him, on her side but watching the door, her eyes large and red-rimmed, her face expressionless.

They flicked at him as he curled back around her, eyelids fluttering as she wound her hand in his reflexively, inching her way back into his chest.

He held his breath as she let a stuttering huff explode from her mouth, sighing so deep he thought she may never breathe again.

But she did, over and over, until her gasps were so desperate that he knew what was happening.

He rolled over her so that they were face to face, and held her head between his palms, eyes searching hers as she gasped and choked, her eyes wide and terrified.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured rhythmically, softly, stroking her temples with his thumbs.

"Try to breathe slow, Carol. Come on. In, out. In, out."

She shook her head and closed her eyes, little crystalline tears squeezing free as she did.

She started shaking then, and so he gathered her into him, held her there, tight, her head right over his heart.

It was okay. It was okay.

"Just breathe. Listen - listen to my heart. Just listen to it. You're alright. You're okay."

Her hands fisted in his shirt and she shook her head again, still gasping like a fish and shaking.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh."

"It's okay."

"You're okay."

And, gradually, it was. Her gasps became hiccups, her shaking steadied.

He pressed his mouth to her forehead and breathed her in in relief, let his forehead touch hers like he had when they had first found each other, when he had been so happy that any problem or fear he had had was lost.

She seemed to calm a little at that, sighing shakily and bringing a hand to his cheek, held it there and breathed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

And he didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure those words were meant for him.

OoO

AN #2: That hurt me. And just so you know, this was my plan for endgame way back when I decided there was going to be an endgame… I actually had most of this written before The Grove aired. I kind of figured the girls were going to get the twins' arc, and, unfortunately, I was right. :( Thanks everyone for reading. Only one more chapter left, and then an epilogue. Reviews are much appreciated!