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

Better Angels

Sparing

"Just let it kill me, take away the physical and emotional pain. I'll never be the same again."

There is a loud sound.

It sounds metallic, there is yelling, more voices, maybe just one, I cannot decipher the voices through the haze.

I cannot open my eyes, I try to pull through the heavy layer of unconsciousness, straining to open my eyes, to see... But they fall shut again and I cannot fight back.

{}{}{}


"Oh good, you're waking up. I was... Just a little concerned, that's all..."

Fuzzy and sweet, the voice vibrates in my ears and gives me a headache. My eyes slowly open, and I look up at the white ceiling of my bedroom. The lights are dim, it is daytime outside the window, and as I look to the right, a blurry dark figure is hunched over on a stool. I open my eyes wider to see bright green eyes, shaggy black hair, a bare chest and hundreds upon hundreds of tiny scars littering his chest, he smirks.

I scream and blink, rubbing my eyes, and he is gone.

I gasp for a breath, and arms are wrapped awkwardly around my shoulders, in a odd hug only one person can give.

"Aries, it's alright..." He mutters, standing to sit on the upper corner of my bed, one arm around my shoulder, hi, sucking at comforting.

"Daryl..." I say, my voice dry and hoarse, I just end up coughing on them.

"Hey..."

"What happened?..."

He sighs. Like I asked a question I wasn't supposed to yet.

"It's difficult, you'll need time-"

"Just tell me." I sigh, not in the mood for his beat-around-the-bush bullshit.

"It... Well, how much do ya remember?"

"I remember... His scars, the yelling, a mettalic sound... Nothing else." I shake my head and sit up a little.

"Do you remember what he did to you?"

I furrow my brow, I don't want to remember that... But I nod anyways, he sighs and mutters some cuss words under his breath.

"There's a lot to it, Rick went around Jackson's camp this morning, wanting to know more about the kid, and after about an half hour, his older brother, Carter, fessed up that this is how Jackson expells his anger, so in these terms, over Alex's death."

I nod stiffly.

"I'll tell you the rest later, we've got a date with The Fault in Our Stars."

I laugh at how he says it, I know he doesn't like the book a whole lot, but I do, and I find it kind of him to show some interest in that, even if it's false.

I nod softer.

"Funeral's at noon, you can attend if you want." He says as he stands and walks towards the door.

"Who else died?" I ask.

He smirks, but it turns to a frown "Who do you think?"

"You killed him?!" I exclaim in surprise.

"I couldn't let him live after what he did, you know that."

He disappears out the door.

Maggie and Hershel come up five minutes later, he asks me how I feel, a wary, sympathetic look in his eyes, I don't like the feeling of it, everyone feels sorry for me, and for the first time ever, I feel sorry for myself, because for once, I couldn't take care of myself.

I pull my knees to my chest and hug them while he does a checkup on my back, changing the bandages, he gives me the good news that it's healing well, but there will be scars, as if there's anything in this world that doesn't leave them.

I thank him quietly, Maggie offers me a small smile, I force one out, I just don't feel like feeling postitive emotions right now.

I get lost in my own thoughts, going minutes without a blink, I look straight ahead until someone enters my room, two people actually. Myriah and Mike.

I instantly get defensive, but he raises his hands in surrender.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Myriah asks, coming fourth and taking the stool Daryl had sat on. She notices my discomfort and pats Mike's hand, saying something to him so quietly I miss it, and he leaves.

I sigh and ruffle my hair "Great." I say unenthusiastically.

She frowns, "Honestly, how are you?"

"How would you be if one of your best friends tried to rape you?" I ask, my voice cracking, but it keeps her from prodding again.

She nods slowly "I'm sorry this happened to you."

I cross my arms and lean back against my zebra clad pillows "Me too."

"He didn't go too far, did he?"

I shrug uncaringly "Not that I know of, he knocked me out after I yelled for Daryl, he was on watch last night."

She winces.

"What?" I ask.

"Daryl... He messed Jackson up pretty bad."

"So I heard." I mumble.

"He broke his neck, and... Beat his head against the bumper of the car until his head literally fell off..." She swallows thickly as though she's trying to avoid nausea.

"Good." I whisper.

"So... You and Daryl are pretty close now, BFF's now?"

I shake my head and force a laugh "No, not quite. I guess we've both given up on the whole factor of 'best friends' I guess we're just similar, serious, hunters with the will to survive and protect." I shrug, I can't think of any really good ways to sum Daryl up, to how he really is, there is so much more to him that he hides.

She nods, and takes my hand. "I'm sorry..."

"You don't have to be."

"I do, I just left you here, to grow up alone."

I'm surprised where the conversation took to, this was the last thing I expected her to talk about.

I shrug "It's ok, childhoods come and go, plus, you know me, I was never meant to be a kid." I smile, but I can't feel it's light.

She smiles a little, too. But it looks more like a grimace. We sigh together, and lapse into silence.

"How have you survived this long?" She asks, and I shoot her a confused look "Just wondering... We lost a lot of people on the way down."

I shrug my shoulders a little, watching the fabric of an oversized black Atlanta Stars t-shirt that wasn't mine drift with the movement. "Weapons, food, water, supplies."

"No, I mean how exactly did you do it? Just you?"

"I... Had a lot of help, from uncle murney, he helped us all survive the first winter, he died from this really intense flu. But from there, I guess I've learned to care less and be bitter, it helps the pain, but not the lonliness." I sigh and reach over onto the table to grab a glass of water thay resides on the edge of the desk.

"I guess growing up in the apocalypse isn't all you hoped for, eh sis?"

I laugh, because it's true. I used to be a big zombie buff, I watched all the movies, knew a bit about the overall zombie mythology, although now I can say that none of it was true and has helped me none.

There are a set of footsteps, climbing the stairs, at the top I see Rick, who scratches the back of his neck nervously.

"I heard you were awake."

"How long have I been out?"

"Just since last night, Jackson got you pretty good."

I reach up and press gingerly to the sore bump on my left temple. "Yeah, I guess so."

"How do you feel?" Rick asks, in a costomary voice, like maybe it hadn't been his exact intentions to speak to me, but it'd be rude otherwise.

"Alright, I feel fine, I guess."

"Lucky Daryl was there..." He says, mostly to himself.

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I venture from my bedroom at noon, and right away from first sight, I see how the four groups are reacting towards each other: Our group, mom dad and Jaden, were quiet, but totally all in with the Atlanta and Torrington group, the Missouri group being the broad exception.

My dad is speaking with Daryl as I glance over at them on the way down the hall to the bathroom.

I smile, things change, for better or for worse, I guess in some ways this has brought us all closer.

I feel disgusting, as I start the water in the tub, the smell of cigarettes clings to my hair and skin, and the oversized shirt that belongs to someone around here (presumably the Atlantians)

I strip down quickly and almost throw myself into the tub, scrubbing at my skin harshly with a sponge until it stings and turns red, but I still feel him all around me, I still feel Jackson.

I sit in the water, too lazy to stand up and take a shower, the hot water relaxes my muscles and makes me less apt to want to stand or even move, I feel quite lazy.

I hug my knees, something I've noticed that I do when I am concerned or just seeking some kind of comfort, wrapping my arms around my knees seems to be most case effective.

I look down at the water, it is still crystal clear, as though I'd been expecting it to be black with the filth I'd tracked in on my flesh.

After twenty minutes of scrubbing up and down my arms, neck and shoulders, rubbing them raw with the luffa, I stumbled out, and drained the water, drying off with a thick towel, retaining the heat to my damp skin as I fumbled with today's clothes.

I put on black jeans, and when I decided that the tank top I'd chosen bared too much skin for today, I just tossed it aside and pulled on the oversized Atlanta Vikings t-shirt and went on to lace up my boots and get ready to do my chores.

I wasn't nessicarilly deciding to do them because I knew the group needed it or whatever, but because I know that I needed it, something to gt my mind off of it.

I open the bathroom door and emerge, hair dripping down my shoulders, I walk down the hall into the foyer, Carol, Daryl, Rick, Lori and mu family are there, and their looks of concern alienate me, I feel embarrassed for the whole thing.

I duck my head to avoid their eyes and grab my bow, and go outside, as I'm walking through the backyard, someone yells my name.

"Aries!"

I turn slowly, unwillingly, to see Shane Walsh jogging towards me.

"I don't want your sympathy, Walsh." I mutter and keep walking.

"Good." He scoffs "I'm not here to give it to you, I'm here to give you this."

I pause and look back at him, he holds out my hunting knife, in it's seath, dangling limply from his hand.

I reach out to take it, the familiar rough texture of the leather reminds me more of who I am.

"I feel bad." He announces "I feel like if I hadn't made you give it up, you'd of had a better chance of fighting back. So here it is, don't let no one take it from you, use it if yuo have to, I know you have a good judge of character."

I am a little overwhelmed by how nice Shane is right now, so as I falter, it takes me a few minutes to respond.

"Thank you... Shane."

He nods and walks off in the opposite direction.

{}{}{}


For the remander of the day, I mostly kept to myself, I did however, expose myself to socailization again when I decided to attend Jackson's funeral. Not out of remorse, but to watch them lower his shattered body into the ground.

Even though, like the others, they had wrapped him in white sheets, there was more red on them than white. I smile secretly.

I have a twisted feeling towards the whole thing, two emotions. One angry and sad because I really did like Jackson, the other one joyus and happy that he was gone, for the things he'd done. But still...

I got those sympathetic looks all day that were bound to driving me crazy, so I hid out in the hay loft, but did not read any more of The Fault in Our Stars for daryl's sake, I'd like him to at least be able to decently keep up with the storyline.

So instead I dug through the cardboard box again and pulled out a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, the colorful red cover with the carnival merry go-round horse on the front, I found myself oogling over that cover too long and finally opened the book.

Three people visited me there during the two hours I was up there reading, lost in the fantasy world of Holden Caulfield. Those three people were first Maggie, then Lori- giving me some motherly advice, on how to deal with these things. I accepted her help, but she had no idea how I felt about it. The last one was the expected Daryl, who did eventually sit in the mounds of hay behind me and read over my shoulder until he suggested we go eat, then read some more of The Fault in Our Stars.

I grinned at him, it was the first genuine smile I'd felt all day, and it was enough to make me actually feel it.

We climbed down from the hayloft and walked out of the shed and back to the house slowly. That safe six feet still always existed between us, ever since I'd first met him, that's how things were. The comfortable six feet of space and thinking room.

We had elk meat for dinner (The stuff Daryl hunted about an week ago) And some vegitables that were frozen in the freezer. My mom expressed to me how excited she was to begin planting actual vegitables in the green house.

I'd kinda spaced out that we'd had the thing, it was just there, never really of concern. It was a large high tunnel, that looked like a giant pocket of air pinned to the ground with a couple straps and posts, it'd been a while since I'd been in there.

I nod along with what she says, it's enough to drag me ou of my depressed, dark, angry world for a little bit. Her excited talk of the bright colors of the fruits and vegitables we'll be planting, and my own happy visions come to mind.

The sparkle of dew on the leafs, the smell of the damp soil, the crunch of the rocks in it when you walk barefoot across it. All happy memories which have managed to remain untainted by the dark cruel world.

I help with dishes, Carol scrubs them, Beth rinses them and sets them into a neat pile on the counter, and I dry them, and set them back onto the bottom shelf in the overhead cupboard in the same fashion.

Afterwards, I turn around and Daryl stands there, crossbow and all, jerks his head towards the door and I follow.

We walk out to the hayloft and strike a match, and once again, like last night, the room is bathed in the warm orange glow. I open the book from the page I'd marked with a piece of straw out the top of the binder, and I began to read from Chapter 13.

Also like last night, Daryl flops onto his back in the hay pile a few yards away and closes his eyes while I read, my voice is always horribly hoarse and I stutter a lot, making me a suckish reader to read outloud. But if he has any annoyance towards my inability to form very coherent sentances, he doesn't show it.

The following morning follows much of the same routine. The dance, apparently has been rescheduled for October 31

I wasn't so happy about it, for a number of reasons.

I don't feel like stating them right now, either.