Storm Warning
Summary: Samantha Novak couldn't help but wonder if this was what staring into the eye of a hurricane was like. After all, there are only two ways of surviving hurricanes; seeking refuge, or becoming a storm yourself. – "What scares you about this?" – "That I know it won't be enough." Negan/OC.
Rating: Eventual M for disturbing content, language, and sexual scenarios. C'mon, it's Negan.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters associated with the franchise.
Surprise! New story. Time bounces around a bit in this one, but I hope it makes sense to you. This was surprisingly fun to write.
Chapter 1: Message
"I trust you. Trust us."
Rick didn't trust easily. Everything about this situation at surface level screamed at Rick not to trust him, trust them. An ironic pseudonym that played off his long hair and beard. His apparent ability to escape from restraints and locked rooms and appear, like an apparition, requesting 'to talk'. The man stole the box truck right from under his and Daryl's noses, and then caused them to sink all the supplies in a pond.
Jesus was trouble. That was for damn sure.
Anyone else, on any other day, Rick would have put a bullet between their eyes and then gone back to bed with Michonne. But he didn't. Maybe it was because Rick recognized that Jesus didn't slit their throats while they slept and possibly had something worth risking his own life to talk to him about. Maybe it was the fact that he introduced himself as Jesus and subconsciously, Rick remembered the quieter days when Lori would convince him to spend a Sunday morning in church. Maybe it was God that made his finger freeze from pulling the trigger. Maybe Rick had just been in a more forgiving mood since he had gotten laid hours before the whispered, unwelcome, awakening.
Whatever it had been, whether an act of God or Rick's dick telling him to 'chill out a sec', caused them to be propelled towards the Hilltop.
Finding Jesus' people along the way, one of which included a Dr. Harlan Carson, made Rick feel more secure in their appearance at Hilltop. They had more leverage and incentive for Gregory to cooperate. He wasn't entirely sure how this interaction would go, but Rick would bet that either way, they would come out on top.
Rick listened as one of them – Freddie, was it? – babbled at Jesus about a vision of his deceased wife that he saw in the moment Abraham was about to run his brain through with a knife. His hand tightened on the steering wheel as he remembered a time that felt like centuries ago. A white dress and long, perfectly groomed and styled, rich brown hair. Dancing just out of his reach at the prison. Rick didn't like that he could relate to Freddie on that level.
A warm hand squeezed his unoccupied one comfortingly, and Rick sent a sidelong glance to the woman sitting in the passenger seat. His grip loosened on the steering wheel. Michonne could always tell when he needed her, even before their newly discovered relationship.
She was the ubiquitous rock that he needed.
"Are you the only one at Hilltop that's medically trained?" Glenn's interested voice broke over the hushed tones of Jesus attempting to comfort Freddie.
Rick glanced into the rear-view mirror at them. With Maggie being pregnant and Dr. Carson revealing that he was an Obstetrician before the world ended, Rick couldn't help the small swell of hope burn its way up his abdomen.
"Officially, yes," Harlan replied, and Rick heard the hesitation in the man's voice before he continued. "We used to have a nurse here that worked in maternity before. Luckily, she helped teach some other resident's a few things before she was taken from us, so I'm not all alone in this."
Before she was taken from us.
Rick frowned at the doctor's choice of words, not entirely clear what he meant. Was that just a poor euphemism for death? Something about the sad, verging on bitter look that now decorated Jesus' face in the rear-view mirror made Rick question if the nurse was dead.
It just made him more interested in speaking to Gregory.
And now, standing in front of the Hilltop gate, between guns and spears from opposite groups, holding Rick's gaze levelly and confidently, Rick felt compelled to trust Jesus.
Waving his family to put their weapons down, Rick just hoped that they were walking towards opportunity and not disappointment.
Rick trusted Jesus. The same could not be said about Gregory. From the moment that the man had sauntered out, interrupting Rick and arrogantly commanding that they 'wash up' before he would speak to them, Rick hated him. Hated that the moron thought that he had control over Rick, standing in front of him with suspenders and a fake smile.
Rick saw an opportunity to take control when Ethan stabbed Gregory, so he did. They were returning to Alexandria with food and crops whether Gregory agreed to trade with them or not, and Rick didn't mind sending a message to the people of Hilltop that they weren't to be fucked with.
He didn't feel particularly patient in that moment, but abided by Jesus' wishes for him to wait while Dr. Carson stitched Gregory up.
"It'd be easier if I had another set of hands," the physician prompted Jesus, accompanied by a sidelong, almost expectant glance as he returned to the history museum that housed them. "Sam's stitches were always neater than mine."
"Well, she's not here," Jesus quickly retorted, his tone forcibly light, before he followed Dr. Carson. Rick's eyebrows raised slightly at the masked defensiveness. The question was pushed to the back of his mind when the name 'Negan' enveloped him once more.
It was a message from Negan.
Jesus wasn't gone long before he returned and explained that Gregory would be fine. Not that Rick gave a shit. He patiently answered their questions about Negan and what Jesus described as a group called 'The Saviors', along with the deal that was formed between communities.
Half of everything.
"What do you get in return?" Glenn asked calmly from his position against the bookshelf, arms crossed and contemplative.
"They don't attack this place," Jesus' arms came up in a shrug. "They don't kill us."
Simple problem.
"Why not just kill them?" Daryl's gravelly voice challenged Jesus, who launched into an explanation of how poorly equipped they were, people and ammo wise.
Simple solution.
Scary stories never bothered Rick before, and The Saviors didn't seem to be much more than that. Daryl, Abraham and Sasha didn't have a problem laying into Negan's men on the road, and they had been outnumbered then.
Simple problems call for simple solutions.
Loading crops into the RV, Rick could tell Jesus was biting his tongue.
"What?" he asked flatly, not being one for pleasantries anymore.
"Even Negan didn't get this much up front," Jesus joked as he passed with a basket full of apples.
"That's not it," Rick deflected the jovial jab calmly and waited for Jesus to deposit the basket in the RV.
The shorter man had been on edge since Maggie had returned from meeting with Gregory with positive news of a deal and the conditions. Rick still had questions about how none of the Hilltop residents knew how to fight. Was it a learned helplessness, or did something else happen? And why, when he and his family visited the various farming plots to collect food, were there murmurs of someone named 'Sam'.
Jesus sighed, tugging at the dark beanie on his head. Rick wondered briefly how Jesus got on in the heat wearing a leather duster and more layers than he could guess. He glanced up when Michonne appeared at his side, watching them both with an apprehensive look.
"I said that we ran out of ammo a few months back, but I didn't tell you how," Jesus started, his tone low, as if not to draw attention to their conversation. "There was someone who tried fighting back."
"Sam," Michonne concluded easily. It was an observation, not a question. One easily drawn from the murmurs of the Hilltop people.
Jesus nodded sadly at Michonne, and Rick frowned. Why did he look guilty?
"Stupid bitch is why we're low on man power and why it's getting harder to collect for Negan," another voice contributed, rounding the corner with Daryl and Abraham following. Rick eyed Andy distrustfully. A Hilltop liaison with Negan's group, he didn't doubt that the man was still angry over the confrontation earlier and death of Ethan. Rick decided to play nice, however, considering that Jesus told him that Andy knew details on The Saviors compound.
"One woman went and stormed up shit creek?" Abraham asked, his voice colored impressed.
Andy threw a glare over his shoulder at the bigger man. "No, if she had been alone then it would have ended better. Samantha led almost all our people that were capable of firing guns to their deaths."
"No one else did anything other than kiss The Savior's boots," Jesus snapped, "Sam tried to do what everyone else was too scared to."
"And now look where we are! Kissing the asses of both The Saviors and now whoever these people think they are," Andy snarled back, to which Abraham dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder to calm the man down.
"Abraham, why don't you help Andy draw out a map of the building," Rick proposed, the request coming out more an order than any refutable suggestion.
Andy let out an angry breath through his nose before the two men retreated towards the house. Rick turned back to Jesus, who was watching Andy with a scowl.
"She was a nurse here," he explained, glancing between Rick, Daryl and Michonne. "A few months ago, Sam organized some of our people to go in with the last of our guns and get rid of The Saviors. We've never seen more than twenty of them here at a time, so she thought if we had the element of surprise, they could win. They –," Jesus's sentence broke off with a dismissive shake of his head, confirming the group's suspicions of how the confrontation ended.
"Ya let a nurse get people that didn't know the hell what they were doin' ta shoot up a compound?" Daryl gruffed, his arms crossed. Rick thought it sounded far-fetched as well.
A smile quirked across Jesus' lips at the question. "Sam is," he paused, teeth flashing as he huffed out a laugh, "very persuasive. Good at rallying people together. Didn't take many charged speeches from her to get people excited – get people moving."
"You're talking about her like she's still alive," Michonne commented, watching Jesus carefully with her dark eyes. Rick had noted that as well. The present tense Jesus used stuck out like a thorn and tweaked Rick's interest.
"They still have her, I'm sure of it." Jesus affirmed solidly, "Probably in the compound, locked up somewhere." The man looked between the three of them, a determined look in his eyes. There wasn't a doubt in Jesus' mind that this woman was still alive, Rick acknowledged.
"Why would they keep her alive this long?" Rick challenged, his own thorns threatening to poke holes in Jesus' resolve. One woman, nurse or not, that challenged and murdered at least one of The Saviors was surely extinguished before she had a chance to even catch fire.
Another smile flitted across Jesus' bearded face.
"Like I said, she's persuasive."
Negan loved the smell of fear.
It was difficult to describe; slightly metallic in nature, he couldn't designate it as anything other than powerful. It made him almost vibrate with thrill, with excitement whenever he had a chance to experience it. His dick twitched, already half hard just thinking about it.
And forced to her knees in front of him by a guard on either side grasping her shoulders, the smell of fear was coming off her in waves. It wafted and twisted through the air of the early morning, settling around him.
He didn't say anything for a while, just standing over her, dragging Lucille lightly against the surface of the earth, contemplating how to proceed. Which of the many ways he could reap enjoyment by making this girl piss her pants. That's all she was, after all, a girl. Looking too young to have done what his men had claimed she perpetuated. Orchestrated. Controlled.
Her hands were clenched in front of her, likely due to that being the only comfortable position they could manage while tied up. Negan resisted smiling when he noticed her shaking.
Fuck, he loved fear.
"Get her up."
Negan didn't take his eyes from the girl as the men on either side lifted her roughly to her feet unceremoniously. She was tiny, and even standing, Negan had to tilt his head down to properly look at her. His eyes lazily strolled up and down her figure. Short, young, verging on chubby; if Negan weren't fucking furious, he would have laughed out loud. She was unintimidating, unthreatening, unimpressive, unremarkable and entirely unnoteworthy.
Negan's gaze lifted from her form to her face, and almost took back his miserly list of adjectives for the girl. Meeting his gaze head on, her chin was pointed up as her steely one matched his own. He was forced to recognize that she was trembling from barely concealed anger, not merely fear.
Huh. Well then.
Giant, doe-like hazel eyes contrasted greatly with the malice and spite staring back at him in them. Her eyebrows were expressive, dark and thick, only serving to make her eyes look even bigger. The girl's hair stuck up oddly around her face, matted with dirt and twigs and blood; Negan supposed disinterestedly that she was normally a pale blonde. Her nose and cheekbones were spattered with freckles, and her jaw was set in a way that made her full lips almost curl into a sneer.
If she wore a different expression, or perhaps if she had his dick in her mouth, he may have admitted she were pretty.
Negan scanned her features a few times, acknowledging that she wasn't what he would typically find attractive. She wasn't the sexiest thing he had ever seen, didn't appear to have a good rack, and looked younger than he was usually into. But the tiny thing in front of him was strong, and it took him aback.
She didn't flinch when he let out a short, mocking laugh.
"This has got to be a fuckin' joke," he turned his gaze to looking expectantly between the men on either side of the girl.
When he had been urgently woken up by Simon, announcing that one of the outbuildings had been attacked, Negan had jumped in a truck with his men while Simon briefed him on the situation.
A small group from Hilltop, armed, had barged in in the early hours of the morning, guns blazing and took out around half the men stationed there before The Saviors had regained control. They had captured who a couple of the intruders had pointed out was the leader.
Simon said his name was Sam Novak, and Negan was already imagining all the possible ways that he would humiliate and torture the man before beating his fucking head in with Lucille. He was going to take Sam back to Hilltop, and make Gregory and whoever Sam's wife was watch while Lucille crushed his skull and decorated everyone with the fragments and splatter. Negan mused if he should string the fucker up on the Hilltop wall with his intestines. Chop his cock off and fuck his own useless skull with the shrimpy dink.
So, imagine his surprise when it turned out Sam had a pussy and a pair of tits – unimpressive as they may be – and was actually named Samantha.
"She killed at least eight of us on her own," the Savior over Sam's left shoulder growled, knocking his shoulder into her smaller one roughly. Sam didn't stumble, just absorbed the blow with grace, not taking her eyes away from Negan.
She didn't acknowledge the men around her, just kept her eyes calmly on Negan as she replied to the Savior.
"It would've been more if your fat fuckin' ass hadn't tripped and crushed me."
Her voice was raspy and on a lower register than Negan was used to on women, though it still carried a feminine note. It didn't match the young, soft features of her face or her small stature. High pitched voices irritated Negan, and he had to admit that hearing the tiny woman curse sent the blood pumping to his dick.
The Savior in question immediately started snapping something rude at Sam, possibly threats, but she remained disinterested in the man, watching Negan evenly instead. Negan stared back at her, contemplating what he should do with the newfound discovery of who Sam was. Would it be as fun, as satisfying to simply beat her head in with Lucille and then go about his merry fucking day?
"Shut the fucking fuck up," he ground out at one of the incompetent sacks of shit that was blithering on angrily at the smaller woman. The Savior jumped slightly at being addressed before he seemed to visibly shrink under the angry glare of Negan.
"You mean to fuckin' tell me," Negan sneered, advancing on the now hesitant and shrinking man. "That this fuckin' midget girl comes in with a couple untrained fucking idiots, and shoots the fuck out of half my goddamned fucking men?" He swung the bat around to gesture to the bodies lying around them.
Negan was itching to beat something. Lucille was thirsty.
The Savior he directed his rhetorical question at opened and closed his mouth stupidly a few times, before he rubbed a few brain cells together and found the common sense to shut the fuck up.
Negan turned his sights back to Samantha, looking her up and down once before pacing away a few steps. Like lightning, Negan whipped back around and swung Lucille, stopping centimeters short from connecting with the side of her face. The whoosh she made through the air was satisfying, though not as much as if the barbed bat had connected.
Samantha Novak still did not move. He may have seen her jaw twitch minutely and her face incline away the smallest fraction of an inch, but it was not nearly the reaction that he wanted from her. Her large eyes remained on his, and Negan wondered if she was watching him with tunnel vision; if she even noticed Lucille, barrelling towards her head.
Her eyes were more impressive than her stature.
He briefly considered saying fuck it and just killing her, even if just to relieve some of the tension that now littered his muscles, but Negan had some restraint.
He swung Lucille down in front of him and shifted so that he leaned partially on her, invading the solitary girl's personal space.
"Tell me something, Samantha," he breathed, his voice low and dangerous and he didn't miss the goosebumps that appeared on her forearms in response to him speaking her name. His lips curled at the reaction, even if it had been small. "What the fuck did you think you would get out of killing my men?"
Samantha didn't respond right away, so Negan continued, louder, "Because you sure as fuckity fuck weren't stupid enough to think you had as much as a hair on a nutsack's chance in hell of walking away alive?"
"I wanted to send a message."
Her tone was sharp, and even though it was quiet, Negan would admit he knew every pair of eyes of his men were on her. Samantha Novak held a commanding presence.
Negan bit the inside of his cheeks as he tried, and failed to resist grinning. A mocking smile gracing his features, he leaned back and laughed.
"And what a great fucking message it was! Fuck with us," Negan gestured around to his men, both the ones that arrived with him and the ones left after the fight. "Fuck with The Saviors," he paused to chuckle darkly and then purposely leaned into Sam's personal space once more. "Fuck with me," his breath trailed across her face as he growled. "And you end up a shit-stain on the bottom of our motherfuckin' boots."
Negan stopped his tirade to look down, seeing the dead face of a man that he didn't recognize off to his right a few paces. He wasn't dressed as any of his Saviors would be, so he assumed it was one of the men from Hilltop that she showed up with. He walked a few paces, kicking the dead man's arm out of his way. Samantha's gaze, whereas before held forced austerity, grew heated and angry.
Ah. There was the proverbial fuckin' button.
Negan made a show of wiping one of his boots on the sleeve of the supine man. "Just a fuckin' shit-stain," he muttered, flicking his eyes back over to the shorter female.
"The message," she ground out, "Is that you aren't untouchable, Negan." Her nostrils flared and she took in a deep breath before continuing.
"This is the beginning. Just remember, Negan. Fragments are often more dangerous than the actual bullet."
Negan fancied himself proficient at reading people. At really seeing people. Looking at someone and knowing, at a fucking glance, what was going to break them; what was going to allow him to mold them into whatever he wanted. Looking at Samantha Novak, Negan pondered what exactly it would take to figure her out, to break and mold her.
Would that be more fun than just bashing her fucking brains in?
He knew the answer before he even asked himself the question.
"Well, Sam," he drawled the nickname out at her, "I would fucking love to have the chance to help you deliver that message."
Negan signaled over her shoulder at one of the men in the background, and then returned his attention back to her with a grin as the Savior approached with a burlap sack. He leant in right before the man encased her head with the sack, effectively freeing him from that angry gaze.
"See you at home, doll."
A/N: Don't worry! I definitely did not abandon my other story, HI. I just was in a writing rut and wanted to try something new, but I will most likely be updating my other story before I add another chapter to this one. This one isn't entirely 100% mapped out, unlike HI, but it's a fun change.
And I don't plan on bouncing between Rick's group and The Sanctuary, either. That was just for introduction purposes.
Lemme know if you're interested or want me to continue this one, or it might go on the back burner for a while.
Thanks for reading, lovely!
-Submechanophobia
