Status: First ever Walking Dead fic... Here we go...

Better Angels

Sing it for the boys, Sing it for the girls

9. Sing It For The Boys, Sing It For The Girls

I watched the bubbles roll off the back of my hands as I scrub them together, anxious for some reason to get all traces of dirt out of the cracks of my hands and from under my nails.

The screen door opens and my mother walks in, standing before the stove, I half expect her to turn it on and begin cooking dinner, but instead she reaches above and opens the cupboard above the stove, grabbing an armload of things that we called forbidden.

Graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate. She goes to the closet and comes back with a fistful of bent clothes hangers, she smiles at me "Aries, meet us at the fire ring, and on your way out, grab the hamburgers from the fridge, ok?"

I nod stiffly. Taken back by this possibility, this oppertunity for fun. It seems foreign, like a curse or something, like we aren't aloud to have it anymore.

I don't question her though, because she has already disappeared back out the screen door, leaving me frozen in curious wonder in the middle of the kitchen, bathed in the 7:00 sunset.

I shuffle my feet, dring my hands on the towel on the counter, grabbing the hamburgers from the fridge, looking down at the patties, definately not made of beef, but what's the difference, really?

I grab my poncho from the ack of a kitchen chair and drape it back around my neck, walking out the door and approaching the flickering fire ring, I set the desired objects onto a picnic table that was brough out from the shop. I sit on the edge of it, and look at the group several feet away, excitedly scewing marshmallows.

My eyes land on Carl, not moving away to the next face like I had with the others, the look on his face was a grin of sheer amazment. He probably hasn't gotten to do something like this in a very long time.

I smile a little bit, looking up as a few members from the 'new' group merge in the with rest. Not many of them, just Myriah, Mike's parents and Evelyn.

"Oh come on people!" Glenn shouts "We need some entertainment."

I look around the group to see hat he means, but instead I see his eyes flicker -hopefully- to me. And I swallow hard.

"Aries! Will you sing a song for us?" Several more faces mirror his expression as they turn to look me, I hold up my hands "No, please no, you don't need to listen to me." I almost beg, I really don't want to sing for a few strangers. I feel like singing in front of people is a weakness, because beauty is weakness. Though I did do it on day one in front of Rick's entire group, this just feels different.

"Please?" Him and a few others, including Andrea plead.

Daryl walks from the shadows of the RV and leans against it, eyes smoldering in the firelight a few feet away, and like always, narrowed suspiciously.

Jackson comes up the hill, laughing quietly with a boy who's name I learned to be Carter. Cater and Jackson are brothers. Their looks confirmed that before I was ever even told.

"I'm alright." I mumbled embarrassed, as Jackson and Carter take seats around the fire ring.

"Aries." Daryl's low rough voice calls to me quietly. "Ya ain't got anything to lose, sing."

"Come on, fir Christ's sakes, sing!" Merle laughed a few feet away, swinging a silver flask in his hand.

The chants gather, everyone is grinning, faces trained on mine, making me nervous and palms slick with sweat. The worst part? I don't have a guitar to aid my voice. I'll probably forget lyrics or miss imortant parts or repeat the wrong ones.

"You ain't got any say to say no." Daryl says, flashing a devilish grin. I feel defeated as the chants rise to cheers, my feet pushing me off the bench, pulling me towards the head of the group, at the back of Daryl's pcikup.

I pull the tialgate down and hop up, fidgiting nervously with the fringe of my poncho, eye lifting to scan the crowd, a horrible nervous feeling snaked through my stomach, robbing me of every other emotion other than utter fear.

"What would you like to hear?" I croak out with hardly any volume, my throat dry.

I heard a lot of requests, to songs I'd never heard of or ones that I couldn't remember the lyrics to.

"Ok..." I say nervously, wiping my palms off on my pant legs.

"How about Demons, ever heard that one?"

A few murmurs within the group, closely huddled together, but no one says if they know it or not. So I will probably be singing alone the whole time.

I swallow hard and try to clear my throat.

"When the days are cold and the cards all fold, and the saints we see are all made of gold." I sing loudly, and as clear as can manage.

"When your dreams all fail and the ones we hail are the worst of all and the blood's run stale.

I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you. But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide.

No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed"


I suck in a deep breath and prepare for the coming chorus.

"This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come.

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide. Don't get too close, it's dark inside. It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide.

When the curtain's call is the last of all, when the lights fade out, all the sinners crawl. Well they dug your grave and the masquarde will come calling out at the mess you've made.

Don't want to let you down, but I am hell bound. Though this is all for you, I don't want to hide the truth.

No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed. This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come.

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide. Don't get too close, it's dark inside. It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide.

They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate. It's woven in my soul, I need to let you go. You're eyes they shine so bright, I want to save that light, I can't escape this now, unless you show me how.

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes. It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide. Don't get too close, it's dark inside. It's where my demons hide....


"It's where my demons hide." I finish softly, no longer looking at the group around me, but up, at the stars. The sky clear tonight, mily ways and galaxies all across the sky, I find myself more involved by looking at them than I should, I jump to the sound of clapping and cheering.

I did enjoy it, but it didn't stop the nervous nausea waves colliding with my stomach walls.

I forced a smile as I hopped off the tail gate, I didn't want to sing anymore tonight.

As much as I felt like joining everyone else around the fire to swap war stories, I really felt like I just needed to take a breath. I somehow felt embarrassed by that preformance, maybe even ashamed and angry at myself for not just saying no. I don't know who or what it was that influanced me to do it, whatever it was, it was a force of nature itself that I can never understand.

I pace away from the group slowly, no one looked up or noticed me, I even managed to evade Daryl's watchful glare. When I had gotten several yards away, and broke all eye sight to me, I reached up and readjusted the poncho around my neck and stalked off for the walker grounds.

I draped the heavy fabric more to cover my arms, but still it was only the middle of September, and the air was cold.

I'm not really sure where I'm going, I'm just in a rush to get as far from socailization as I can. I check my leg to make sure I still have my gun, there it is, clunking against the walls of the leather holster with every step.

There is no wind, only a light breeze that shifts my hair a little bit, and enough to give me chills.

I rub my forearms vigarously, building friction, which builds heat.

Snap.

I pause and look over my shoulder, the darkness all around except for what the full moon doesn't light. Shadows cast all across the gound, tall, short, shrubby, figurish and some unidentifyable.

I move forward again, slowing my steps so they become more quiet. As I move on, I realize where I'm headed, I turned at the northen fence line some time ago, I look back at the house and shed, there is a slight glow, an aura of orange light around them from the fire. It's only a hundred yards away.

I look forward once again, as my footsteps slow, and become more groggy and dragging, I move forward, east.

Dropping to my knees at the piles of rocks and the crooked wooden cross. The faded, waterdamaged photo still pinned to the center of the cross, almost unrecognizable.

I realize that I've been holding my breath and let it out slowly, the breath moving through me uplifts my spirit, then drops it and it seems to shatter like glass as my throat tightens and my eyes begin to sting.

I won't let myself cry.

I purse my lips tightly, reaching out with my right shaky hand and brush my fingertips against the wood, just to see if it is as splintery and rough as the bright moonlight is predicting it to be.

It's just the same, I pat the wood and rest my palms back in my lap again.

I know who's down there... And I know how close to him that I was.

I hear something. I hold my breath and stay very still. looking over my shoulder again, still there is nothing.

I look back down, the dirt shifts a little bit beneath me and I rock back onto my heels.

"Hrmish...."

The dirt at the base of the cross crumbles a little, shifting, something begins to emerge from the dirt, it is oddly shaped at first, wrapped in cloth, it shakes and puls it'self from the dirt more, I see the blood stains in the fabric, the bugs, crawling through the holes of the weak fabric, the bedsheet falls away from it's face, lowering around it's neck,

His eyes are sunken in, golden irises that seem to glow, matted grey hair swept in dissary across it's forehead.

That's not him... I warn myself, throwing myself backwards, landing on my butt in the attempt to put down some distance between us.

I fumble with the holder, trying to draw the gun from the wrong angle, it catches on the leather flaps.

He stands, shakily, breaths seeming to heave his chest, only... He isn't breathing.

He pulls himself out of the dirt farther, pressing his arms into the weak soil, on fails and he falls forward, face inches from mine, horror stricken, the weak wooden cross pierces his gut, as he lunges forward it tears open,

Bugs... Sick, dark bugs pour out of him like a pinata. Scurrying across the ground, I jump backwards, planting my hands into some goat heads.

The smell was wretched, twisting my stomach into nauseated knots, I couldn't move, my eye locked on the guts coming from it stomach, shimmering in the moonlight as they slip out.

Shwip

He collapses, face first into the soil, a dark stain forming around his head, a stick is jammed into the right side of his skull, I squint at it, recognizing the neon green feathers.

An arm wraps under my elbow and tries to pull me to my feet, but I stumble too much, I can't even define the emotion I am feeling.

Horror? Fear, illness or just pain for losing him again? He was the core of my family's very survival. But what doesn't make sense... Is that he was never bit.

My uncle, was never bit. He died from the flu, had a raging fever, couldn't keep anything down and was sweating like crazy. He had gone on a supply run the day prior, my dad even searched his body for a bite, but there was nothing, and we couldn't get the needed medicine for him before it was too late.

After he died, we stocked up on medical supplies and medicine like crazy. Vowing to never let something like that again.

So how did he come back? If he had no bites and was buried, three feet beneath the frozen soil.

I shake my head, I can't get around it.

"What... What was that!" I exclaim, regaining balance on my own, spinning to face Daryl, his crossbow still dangling from his right hand.

His eyes narrow but he says nothing.

"I, I can't just leave him like this..." I say, panicked, Daryl finally looks down at the corpse.

"Who was he?" He asks voice petraying no real interest.

"My uncle." I say, but my voice comes out hardly above a whisper. "He... He's the only reason my family survived this long... We had no clue, what to do... In the beginning."

"How did he die?"

"Flu." I state just as emotionless.

"Are you sure that it wasn't a..."

"No." I cut him off. "No, it wasn't. We made sure."

He hardly even nods, just jerks his head a little, then turns and begins walking towards the house "I'll get a shovel." He calls back.

The smell wrenches in my nose and twists my stomach into uncomfortable knots. I feel like I have to keep swallowing to keep from puking, I look down at his magles corpse, the bugs crawling from the holes in his skin.

I guess what my mom said was a lie.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know you were really close to him, but it's ok, we'll find a way to keep going, we always do."

I had just turned fourteen, December 12th. That was the day he got sick, and today, five days later, he had passed away.

He got a terrible flu, we couldn't find the gas to keep the furnace going, he had every blanket in the house, we gave him everthing we could, but we didn't have what we needed, antibiotics. And none of us could leave his side long enough to run into town and try to look for some.

The first two days, it was fever, then the third day he couldn't stand, was faint and the puking and coughing began. On day four, we couldn't get him to eat anything, he'd try and it'd just end up coming back up almost as soon as he swallowed.

Day five he had nothing left to puke, no energy and he could hardly stay awake. It had been twelve o'clock the fifth night, when he lurched from the bed and puked blood. He did it several times before going into a seizure and dying.

I cried so hard. And now my eyes are sore, I'm sitting on the porch beside my mom. I really just wanted to be alone, I'm scared. He was the one who led us, he knew how to live off the land.

He fought in world war II, he knew how to survive.

My mom grabs something behind her and hands it to me. "He would have wanted you to have this."

I looked down at the black leather seath, the bulky black handle out the top. I was careful, I didn't want to break the last reminent of my uncle I had. I cradled it in my hands, unable to summon the emotion to smile.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed "It's going to be ok, me and dad will take care of the bural, you won't have to see him again."

I won't have to see him again.

It was only after she went back into the house that I leaned forward, clutching the knife to my chest, sobbing into my folded arms.


I turn away, looking up at the stars, but now they are so dim as the fog ventures across the ground, chilling me. I hug my arms, not because I'm cold, but because I'm afraid that I'm going to break down.

"Ok, I'll dig the hole, you can just... Got look for some flowers er somthin'." Daryl said, he was back, the shovel slung over his right shoulder.

I could tell Daryl was uncomfortable with how unstable I was acting right now. I could tough it out and suck it up for his sake, or I could do what I really want to do, scream at the top of my lungs until I cough up blood, and draw in every walker for miles, so I can kill them all with my bare hands to evenge what I lost.

But I know that won't ease my pain, so I nod stiffly and don't look up at him, I begin walking forward, not really sure what to even look for, everything is dead and dry now.

I find at the base of a power pole some dried sunflowers, I grab the knife from my boot, my uncles knife, and carefully saw through the stalks, concentrating on the task at hand so the water gates don't open up, vulnerable. Never be vulnerable.

~~~
"Some people watch, some people pray. But even lights can fade away. Some people hope, some people pay. But why we have to stay?"


We stood above the grave, I kneel beside the cross that Daryl fancied from some boards he found in the ditch a few yards away. I carve carfully, into the wood with the tip of the knife, his name.

Murney Sakes.

I nod, in finalism when it's done, I lay the bunch of dry sunflowers against the base of the wood. Smiling a little bit where Daryl can't see. He stands a few feet behind me, uncomfortably.

"Our watch begins soon, we should probably head back."

I look at the etched cross for a few more seconds before nodding, standing and dusting the dirt off my jeans and following him on the long walk back. I walked slower so I wouldn't have to arrive as soon.

Our watch starts at eleven. No one is one right now, probably all at the camp fire, enjoying the quiet time.

We walk into the yard, and I have enough light to read my watch.

9:45.

So... There are three possibilities for why we came back so soon. One, he thought the time was close, I don't see him wearing a watch. Two, he didn't want to babysit me anymore, and wanted to come back because he was feeling uncomfortable around me. Or three... He wanted to get me away from the grave so I couldn't proceed to be angry at myself for it, or so he could at least break the connection.

I look up at him, as I take a seat in front of the fire, beside Lori. He has re-taken his spot leaning against the RV, staring into the endless flames. I smile a little bit, for whatever reason it was that he brought us back, I was grateful.

I stared into the flames like most of the others did, Glenn, T-Dog and Maggie stood before the group, reinacting a time when they lowered Glenn into a well to get out a walker, apparently, it hadn't ended well.

"And Glenn was screaming bloody murder." Andrea added, laughing from across the fire, her face lit up the color of the embers.

"Ha ha." Glenn laughed sarcastically, frowning "How would you have reacted if you were lowered into a well with nothing to defend yourself?" He demanded, but everyone just laughed instead of taking him seriously. He sighed dramatically and sat back down beside Maggie and Hershel began to tell us, the ones who had no clue aout their past, about how they had lost their last sanctuaray, his farm.

I listened carefully to each of his words, hoping that they would help me drown out my guilt and kill my conscious. Just let the story take over and let the rest fade out into a blur.

I lost track of time, getting lost in my thoughts, which had almost become a hobby of mine.

I looked up though when someone tugged on a lock of my hair lightly, Daryl nodded his head in the direction of the shed. I nod and gather my things, standing up and saying goodnight to the remaining ones around the fire and followed Daryl.

From the rooftop I could see T-Dog, Dale, Myriah and Mike and Jackson.

I smiled a little and turned to look north, loading my gun if need be, I crouched on the roof and sat my bow aside, looking down at it for a few seconds before looking up again, eyes scanning the same scenery over and over again.