Walking Dead The Last Man Standing

**AN: I was wary about writing this, as well as posting it. However, it's been bouncing around in my head since the finale, and I wanted to just get it out. Be warned there are major character deaths. Do not read this if you don't want to be sad.**

They were running. They had been walking along just a few moments before, almost leisurely, at least as leisurely as they could nowadays anyway. Daryl had been laughing at something Beth had said, side-hurting, hunched-over laughter. The small herd came out of nowhere. They hadn't seen a walker for hours, and suddenly they were coming at them from all sides. _Run_, he'd yelled, gripping her hand.

But they could only run for so long before they had to fight. Daryl had his crossbow, and a knife. Beth had a knife, and a gun holstered at her waist. They picked them off methodically, guarding one another's backs. It had become routine, and they made a good team. It was just them now. Everyone else in the group was gone, dead. It had been just them for a while. It had been hard at first, it was still hard some days, but they had each other. They managed.

Daryl shot his one remaining arrow into a walker's skull, and then started using his crossbow alone to take them down; swinging it with such force he was surprised it didn't break in half. The herd was almost down, thinned drastically from what it had been. They were a good team. Daryl abandoned the crossbow, and began using his knife to put them down. He was jamming the blade into the temple of one when he heard it. The sound he dreaded most. The one that the mere thought of kept him up at night, staring out into the darkness; clutching Beth's sleeping form a bit closer to him.

He whipped around, and felt himself beginning to unravel. Three walkers had managed to overtake her, and one had taken a nice chunk out of her shoulder. He watched as Beth brought her knife down into its temple. Too late.

"No!" he screamed, and then lunged.

The remaining walkers were put down in a flash of rage. Then he was kneeling at her side, pulling her into his lap. She winced in pain as he moved her. The wound was deep and bleeding heavily.

He ripped off his vest, and held it firmly to her shoulder. "We have to stop the bleeding."

"Daryl," Beth said, looking up at him with sad eyes.

He shook his head furiously. "We have to stop the bleeding," he said again. "You're gonna be fine."

"Daryl," Beth said again, this time more forcefully. "It won't help."

She was right, he knew she was. She was bleeding out quickly. They couldn't even amputate to stop the infection from spreading.

He felt tears beginning to brim his eyes. "No," he breathed weakly.

She reached up to caress his face. Tears began to spill from her own eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"No," he said again. "No. This is my fault. _Mine_."

She shook her head weakly. "No," she said with as much force as she could muster. "It isn't."

His tears were flowing freely now. He was living in a nightmare. Everyone he cared about had been taken from him, but he'd been able to go on because he had Beth. Now the woman he loved was dying in his lap, and he could do nothing.

"I can't lose you," he gasped through tears. "Not you."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as well. "Listen to me; you're going to be alright. You're going to get through this. I need you to do that for me. Can you do that?"

He shook his head roughly.

"No, Daryl. I need you to live. Promise me you'll stay alive."

"Beth," he croaked.

"Promise me," she pressed.

"I promise," he said shakily.

"Good," she said. Her voice was getting fainter now. She stared up at him. Her eyes looked far away. "I love you," she said squeezing his hand limply.

"I love you too," he choked out. "So much."

She closed her eyes, and smiled softly. "Don't forget you're promise." He words were so soft he almost didn't hear them. Then, her weak grip on his hand loosened completely. The ghost of her smile remained on her lips.

"Beth?" he whispered. He received no reply. "Beth," he said again more forcefully.

Silence.

Sobs began to wrack his frame. He sat like that for a while. Until it was time. He picked up his knife where it lay on the ground. He and Beth had promised each other long ago, they wouldn't let the other turn. Neither wanted that fate. He looked at the blade, dirtied with walker filth. He wiped it off the best he could on his shirt, a new wave a tears coming. He positioned the blade behind her ear, and looked away as he pushed it into the skin. He nearly threw up at the sound it made.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then, he lifted Beth's fallen gun up off the ground, turning it over in his hands a few times. He looked down at her lifeless body in his lap. Just a little while ago she had been laughing and smiling, making jokes; so alive. He opened the chamber of the gun, and noted that there was one bullet left. _Perfect_, he thought. He clicked it back into place, and then lifted it to his temple.

Like Beth had predicted on the porch all those years ago, Daryl Dixon was the last man standing. But he wouldn't be for long. He stared down at Beth's face, wanting it to be the last thing that he saw. Then he pulled the trigger.

The last thing that passed through his mind was an apology. _I'm sorry_, he thought, _I can't be alone. Please forgive me._

**AN: Thank you for reading, and I'm sorry. I made myself sad while writing this. Feedback appreciated. I hope to god we never see this on the show.**


End file.

Walking Dead, Tragedy