The Walking Dead - Dixon Bloodfall (A Walking Dead ff)

Chapter 16 - To The Grave You Go

Merle sat against the wall, knees bent outward, legs flat as they could be in that position on the ground. Blood seeped from a stain in his dirty old wife beater, and just the sight of that crimson life ebbing from him made Quinn hyperventilate. Nothing mattered but this moment, but it’s not like she could even think about anything else. She was too focused on that wound, and on her only friend. Friend doesn't surmise their relationship in the least bit, because the were so much closer than that. So much closer. Which is why this moment hurt so much, and why it was a long time coming.

“C’mon babydoll, you gotta stop that.” His hand fumbles from his wound to her cheek, cradling the lower half of her cheek and chin, leaving a small blood stain on her cheek. His words didn’t quell her in the slightest, and she still shook with each sob. “C’mon. M’ fine. I would tell ‘ya if I wasn’t, an’ I am.”

“Bu-But you got sho-”

“And so did you, an’ you’re fine now right? Look, see, got hit in the same place an’ everything.” His eyes seem to brighten as his tone solidifies, for a moment, showing no sign of physical pain. “Stop. I’m fine.” And so she does, slightly. If it hadn’t been his words, it would’ve been because of the growling outside of the door. Quinn stiffens, then huddles on the right side of Merle, nestling her face into his shoulder. He shushes her and quiets himself. Minutes pass by, and the growing lessens. Shuffling allows the pair to assume the unwanted guests outside have lost interest and for the moment, left the vicinity.

Quinn whines.

“Alright. We ain’t goin’ that way. No, no no, them abominations are all over that door.”

“That’s the only way out.” Her voice is a solid whisper.

“Mmm m.” Merle shakes his head to the left, and her eyes follow, until they meet with a silver handle. It’s a door with a dirty label on it’s steel, metallic surface - STAFF ONLY - in what was once bright red and white writing. Quinn allows these words to sink in for a brief moment before her body quakes with another sob, and Merle pulls her close. “I need you t’ leave me here.”

“No. No. I am never leaving you. Never.” She had pulled away, face red and stained with sweat and tears, and was determinedly shaking her head. Slowly, with the only hand that remained, he cupped her chin once more.

“M’ not exactly given’ you an option.”

“They’ll come ba-”

“No one is comin’ back ‘fer us.” His hand fell limply back onto his lap, Merle’s eyes momentarily glazing. “T-They ain’t comin’ back. They don’t want to.”

“But Daryl, your brother.” Quinn’s voice was growing increasingly frustrated.

“Even he ain’t comin’ back. Too much went down, too much - maybe for you, but not for me. Nobody comin’ back for me.”

“So I’ll stay with you. We’ll wait. I’m not leaving.”

“Even if they are comin’ back, they’re not gettin’ in ‘ere first. Them walkers are.” He sighs, letting his heads fall against the wall behind him. His eyes trail up to the paneled ceiling and he grimaces, as the pain and swelling from the bullet wound in his stomach increases every moment. “Walkers are gonna get in ‘ere, an’ what’s th’ use in given’ them a meal?”

Quinn watches in silence.

“I got, what, maybe a round left in this piece’a shit gun?” He pats his pistol. “Could take out five ‘er six ‘fore the horde got t’ me. I can distract ‘em, give you time.” It was at this moment that his neck relaxed, and he leaned forward. “So you kin’ get away, go back to th’ prison.” She only bowed her head in response, unwilling to continue the argument. Arguing was stupid, especially when you knew what you were arguing for was wrong. So a soft, soft but audible laugh pushes past her lips, and she says in one breath - “Day started out so nice, too.”