Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Walking Dead is by Robert Kirkmen. I repeat, I own nothing.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.
There was a buddy system in place.
A person who you would take turns checking over after each battle for bites. In the heat of fighting, with nerves singing and adrenaline pumping, no one could trust what they were truly feeling – if that slash had been nails or teeth. That kind of trust, that kind of responsibility could only be placed with someone else.
And it wasn’t just a random person (not that anyone in their group was truly random) - they were your partner, they quickly became your closest companion. It was necessity.
They were the one who was going to kill you.
A brutal arrangement. A necessary arrangement. Survival. Call it what you will.
Every bite found was dealt with swiftly, decisively, and no one fought it. Once recognized by your partner, you got on your knees and you were taken care of before you became uncontrollable - before fever or delirium, before you became a thing
that would have to be fought. A slayer never never
wanted to become something that needed to be hunted by its sister, the very thought conflicted with their natures. There was honor in this acceptance – they didn’t want
to die, but they would much rather die than put others in danger, put their friends, their family
, in danger.
There was actually comfort for many in the system in place. In knowing that this person who’s body you knew better than your own (from so, so, many days and nights of checks) would be the one to make sure yours didn’t come back to life.
They would never lie – never risk the group. They would be respectful. They would make it quick.
And you knew, you sure as hell knew (as you kept your eyes open the entire time, locked on theirs, watching the blade arch down towards you), that they would fight all the harder every hour, every second, after they grimly enacted their final responsibility to you - for the anger and powerless horror they felt when their eyes first noted that bite on their best friends’ skin.
After the body is burned, they would be paired with someone else.