Wolves Not Far

"Goddamn. A gift this early? It's not even fucking Christmas yet," Negan chided. Paula and Bud stood in the corner, watching Negan pace back and forth like a lion. Turtle was by his side, Lucille in hand, and the man - the Wolf, as he called himself - was staring up at Negan, teeth bared in a ghastly snarl. Rope bound his hands and feet together and he sat in a wooden chair, hands interlaced behind his back. They were in the back of Sanctuary, in an old storage room that had been cleared out long ago.

"Wolves, huh? That's a pretty stupid ass name," Negan ran fingers across the coarse stubble on his chin. "I mean, I have to admit, 'Savior' is pretty stupid to, but not as stupid."

The man - the Wolf - spat. It dripped down his chin and onto the floor. He lurched forward as a bout of pain his him, his injured shoulder leaking fluid past the bandages.

"We've already killed a lot of your guys. Blew them to fucking pieces," Negan bent over to look the man in the eye. "And the metro - was that you guys?"
"That was us. We killed your guy," the Wolf admitted. "And you killed a bunch of ours."

"Wow, what a fucking snitch," Negan rolled his eyes. "You aren't getting a happy ending, buddy. So-fucking-sorry. So go ahead, snitch some more and tell us where the rest of your guys are hiding."

"We don't hide. We're nowhere and everywhere."

"Stop with the cryptic bullshit. I'm not in the mood," Negan gestured for Turtle. She raised Lucille, offering her to Negan. "This is Lucille, by the way. Say hi."
The Wolf said nothing.

Negan swung and the Wolf's kneecap shattered. He shrieked, the sound inhuman. Turtle squeezed her eyes shut, standing as still as possible.

"Say hi!"

"H-Hi Lucille," the Wolf gasped. He sobbed, leg twitching.

"Good. Now that we've introduced ourselves, you mind telling me where the fuck the rest of your people are? We won't kill everyone, just most of them. Like, ninety-four percent."

"I told you, we move!" the Wolf gritted his teeth and let out a slow breath, trying to compose himself. "We move, then we attack. You won't expect it. None of you are safe."

"Your leader, who the fuck is he?" Negan snarled.

"Hound."

"Fuck Hound," Negan stood to his full height, cursing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He addressed Paula, briskly saying, "Triple guard duty. The gates? They stay shut until I say so, alright? Nobody gets in or out of here."

Paula nodded and slipped out the door.

"Bud, make sure the armory is stocked," Negan barked. "Now!"
Once Bud was out the door, he let Lucille fall limp at his side. He stared down at the Wolf, eyebrows raised. "You're a stupid motherfucker, you know that."

"You're even stupider for not wanting to change. People aren't supposed to be here-"

Lucille cracked against the Wolf's skull. Turtle turned her head, backing towards the door. The beating was the shortest Turtle had ever witnessed - the Wolf didn't seem to be trying. He fell limp after a few hits, dead.

When he done, he was panting. Once again, his leather jacket was bloodied and Lucille was dripping, the only sound in the room being the little droplets that clung and fell from her barbs.

"Go to sleep, Turtle."

"Negan-"

"Sleep. Now."

Turtle nodded, though he couldn't see. Her feet took her out the door and slowly as they had brought her in.

Turtle's arm was on fire that night. Her bum arm. It was burning and the pain, oh, the pain wasn't enough to make her shriek and writhe but it was there. She lay on a mattress in a roomful of women, the blankets draped over her, a small fan churning in the corner.

Why won't the pain go away?

Turtle gasped, only closing her mouth when she realized not a single women had bene disturbed by her outburst. Everyone was still asleep, and her bum arm was still burning.

She desperately wanted Harlan, the nice doctor from Hillltop. The Sanctuary doctor was creepy. There were rumors that he'd do things with the comatose patients, and rumors were all Turtle needed nowadays to steer clear or people or places.

She stood, slowly, so not to awaken the women. She found herself wandering, severed arm clutched against her chest as if someone the contact would ease the pain.

Her legs brought her to Negan's room - it was past the parlor where his wives stayed. She desperately hoped he wasn't up with his tongue down another woman's throat - not that she'd be jealous, but she needed him, his comfort, his heat.

She opened the door. The place was empty, and the girls where asleep in their own shared room. Negan's door was locked, so Turtle knocked three times, pressing her forehead against the cold wood, stifling moans of pain.

A full minute passed before Negan slowly opened the door, staring down at Turtle.

"My arm," Turtle whined. "It hurts."
"Let's go get-"

"No," Turtle gasped. She entered his room and unabashedly crawled into his warm sheets. "No, he can't fix it. I know because…this has happened once before. Phantom pains or whatever. My arm is freaking out cause' it thinks its still there…"

Negan gently shut the door, locking it and quickly padding over to the bed, where Turtle was curled in the fetal position. A tear spilled down her cheek and she grimaced, disappointed by her weakness.

"I can't help you, Turtle," Negan sounded distraught, and he most likely didn't even know it.

"I know."
"Then why did you come here?"

"I need you…you."

Negan held Turtle's face between his hands, his mouth like a feather against hers. He was being gentle, she realized, as if she were a glass teacup on the verge of shattering.

Negan slid into bed, allowing Turtle to rest her head against his broad chest. The pain began to ebb away and she lay, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Negan's fingers lightly stroked her hair.

"Is the pain gone?" Negan suddenly asked. Turtle, eyes red rimmed her teeth aching from her constant clenching, glanced up at him and nodded, stretching sore muscles.

"Thank you for this," Turtle murmured. She pulled him into a kiss, sighing against his mouth. "Can I stay…"
"Yeah. Sure," Negan inched to the side. "I would normally fucking mind…"

Turtle quick slid her hand down his pants.

"…But I like you more than I can fucking admit. You and your mouth," Negan gave her a dopey grin. "You wanna…"
Turtle slid beneath the covers. She wrapped her small mouth around him and he bucked his hips, nearly choking her - she pulled away and giggled, running fingers through her long hair.

"Get up here, babe," Negan growled. His big hands hastily yanked Turtle's shirt over her head, fingers ghosting across the skin of her ribcage. He squeezed her soft skin, eyes soaking in her naked frame. One hand wrapped lightly around her throat while the other palmed her breast.

"You are fucking gorgeous, doll. Sure you don't wanna-"

"No. I'm not becoming a wife," Turtle snapped. "Don't ask me again."
"Fine," Negan mumbled. His mouth latched onto her breast, and Turtle couldn't help but giggle when his stubble tickled her skin. They were a rolling mess of tongue and clothes and hands.

He heaved her up and let her flop onto her back. She stared up at him, smiling, bum arm hooking around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. She felt like a teenager, sneaking around with someone she shouldn't - being quiet. Negan's hand slid over to cover her mouth to stifle her groan as he slid into her.

His hand kept her from outright screaming as he fucked her into the mattress, hard, way harder than he ever had before. Her moans transformed into whimpers as she squeezed out a tear - it felt so good, and he was so warm, his body like a heated blanket across her frame. Her legs ached as she clenched them around his waist and her toes curled.

It was the feeling of his teeth against her ear that undid her, and his hand pressed harder into her mouth as she gave a low, loud groan.

"Shh. We've gotta be fucking quiet, doll," Negan snapped. He was still moving, muscles straining, teeth clenched. He pulled out and groaned, spilling onto her stomach. Even he was unable to stifle his groans and pants, staring down at her, chest heaving.

"You're cleaning this up," Turtle gasped, laughing. A smile crept onto Negan's face and he leaned down to capture her lips once more. When he pulled away, Turtle gasped and said, "You made it, you clean it."

"Naughty, naughty" Negan replied. "You get off on having to be quiet?"
"That wasn't the only thing getting me off."

"You are fucking welcome, madame," Negan beamed. "I live to serve."

"Good. Now serve me and clean this up. Then we'll talk."

Turtle was woken for the second time that night. Her arm no longer ached and Negan's was curled up behind her, arms wrapped tight around her, nose buried against the back of her neck. He was fast asleep, bare chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm.

Something else woke her. A bad feeling in the pit of her stomach combined by the sound of footsteps from the room directly above them, coupled with the flicker of a light flashing through their window.

Something was wrong.

She sat up, groaning, blinking as she adjusted to the darkness. She rubbed her eyes, bum arm extending to poke Negan in the chest.

"Hey," Turtle groaned. "Negan, wake up."

Negan flinched, but did not wake up.

"Negan!"

Turtle didn't know whether or not it was her voice, or the sudden explosion of gunfire that shattered the windows and rocked the compound. Negan shot up like a rocket, covers spilling from across his chest and arms.

"What the fucking fuck?" Negan cursed and rolled from the bed, rummaging for his clothes. Turtle, stunned, saw the bullets embedded in the walls around them.

"Get dressed," Negan barked. Turtle obeyed, hastily pulling her clothes back onto her body, amazed by how quick she was moving - she'd adjusted to having a single upper limb better than she thought she would.

Negan gripped Lucille tightly, but before he could exit the room he pointed to Turtle and growled, "Stay here. Get your gun and lock the fucking door. I'll six times when it's safe to come out."

"No."

"Are you fucking listening to me? Stay here with the girls-"

"No," Turtle replied. She picked up the handgun lying on the bedside table. "I'm right behind you."

"Turtle-"

Someone screamed. It was far off, but pained and animalistic.

"I'm going," Turtle said, pushing past Negan and entering the parlor. His wives stood, huddled together.

"Sherry, you're in charge," Negan instructed. You know where the gun is. Lock all the doors and hide out," he trotted behind Turtle. "Miranda, don't be a dumbass, okay?"

Miranda nodded. She was a pretty woman with black hair and a sharp nose.

Her eyes fell across Turtle, and her lips pulled back over her teeth in a hostile snarl.

Turtle ignored her. She said to Negan, "it's the Wolves. They're in."
"How the fuck did they get in? We have extra guards, everything's locked the fuck up…either I fucked up, which is entirely possible, or someone else fucked up."

"We'll worry about who fucked up later," Turtle replied. She turned to Negan, back against the parlor door. "I….adore you."

"You're acting like this is goodbye," Negan smirked. "Hell, no. I'm not saying goodbye to you anytime soon."

Turtle smiled.

"Let's go hunting."