Shorter chapter, holidays and lack of feedback kind of drained by desire to write for a few days.
Daryl
"Rise and shine, shithead."
I wiped the grit out of his eyes to see Negan and Dwight above him in the cell. It had been a particularly bad night. Questioning about Carl's whereabouts had only created another beatdown and run amongst the walkers used to defend the Sanctuary. I wasn't even sure if I was half conscious. Not to mention the literal whippings.
But as before, I said nothing to Negan.
"Wanna know why you're up this bright, cheery morning? Well, I got some surprises for you! I'm gonna take the kid back home, for starters. Since you were so worried and shit."
"You do anything to him-"
Dwight kicked me in the gut and I fell down. "You might need another timeout," said Negan. The door closed again, with the darkness overtaking again.
Five minutes later, the door reopened. "Don't do that again. Anyways, I'm also moving you to a brand new location. One of my outposts is going to take real good care of you for a week or so. Gotta spice up your residential life a little bit. Don't worry, they'll take good care of you at the strip mall."
I was then forcibly dragged out by two Saviors and taken all the way to an armored car. "Can't hurt to take my chances. See you around, Daryl. Maybe you'll be more cooperative once my mall people have a go at keeping you for a few days."
As before, Gideon and Davey were the ones guarding me. It seemed to slip past them, but a small knife had been dropped by Dwight near my feet. I quickly grabbed it with one of my feet and put it a little bit towards my arms, where I could attempt to try and get the restraints sawed off in a way. It was only two of them, and I'd taken worse…
Beth
"That should be the last of them."
Andy and Craig had finished dragging the latest in what had to have been dozens of walker corpses in the road that Gideon supposedly said that was in between the Sanctuary and the base where Negan wanted Daryl to be held next. There were more than enough to ensure that any vehicle couldn't just run through the corpses without getting wheels jammed with flesh and bone.
The whole thing had been Maggie's idea. After the tractor miracle, she had become a popular figure in the Hilltop. Jesus had even suggested that she might be able to take over leadership from Gregory one day. Obviously none of us were going to say that to his face, but the idea was spreading fast, and gaining popularity.
"Good," said Maggie, adjusting Glenn's old cap. She'd taken to wearing it as a memento of her deceased beloved. "Once the trench is completed, we wait there for the convoy to arrive and inspect. After that, weapons away. Remember to be fast, for we want them for the walkers."
Knowing that Negan would investigate if Daryl went missing, Maggie's plan was to make it look like a herd had overtaken the convoy, and Negan would be none the wiser for a while. Obviously he'd find out eventually, but by then we'd be at war.
War. I hated the word. But it was what Maggie said what was best, and to be honest I saw no other way to deal with the Saviors. Sooner or later they would make life even harder, just because they could.
And when it happened, we'd need all the help we could get. Hence, getting Daryl back.
The convoy – four Saviors on motorcycles and an armored truck – arrived about fifteen minutes later. The truck stopped about twenty feet before the walker pile. One of the men on the motorcycles went to the truck to ask the driver something, and then he went to the walkers, gun in hand, to inspect for any traps.
Oh, there was a trap, all right. Only it wasn't in the bodies themselves.
The man looked around for a minute, then happened to look directly at me. For a second, I thought he hadn't caught sight of me. Then he turned around and began to yell at the others about something.
No time to hesitate. I shot him in the back quickly, the recoil catching me off guard a bit.
Now the rest of the Saviors were on alert. They began firing in all directions, but without an idea of where we actually were they were in the blind. One by one the others on the motorcycles were killed, and Jesus snuck up and finished off the driver and shotgun rider in the armored car fast.
After examining each of the dead and making sure they weren't actually secretly alive, the group began to converge around the armored truck. Before anyone could try to open it, however, a gunshot rang out from in. For a second, I thought they'd killed Daryl in panic.
What happened next, however, changed all that.
Daryl
Davey had begun getting more and more nervous as the gunfire around us kept getting louder and louder. Gideon, however, kept calm, as if it was just another day for him. Eventually the gunfire ended with two slumps of what could only be the bodies of the people riding in front getting what was coming to them.
As an eerie silence finally came about, Davey began to panic. He pulled out a gun and fired in the roof, then pistol whipped me and began screaming, apparently to whoever was outside, be it Rick or someone else. "You try anything else, I'll kill him! Leave now, fuckers!"
All the while I was getting beaten by Davey pretty hard. He was taking out whatever feeling of dread he had out on me, and I could barely see after a while.
"I'll do it, you doubt me-"
There was another gunshot. Gideon had shot Davey in the back of the head. As Davey's body slumped towards me and began to become a heavy weight, Gideon said, "Let's get you out of here."
That was the last thing I could for certain. After that, things started to fade black. Throughout this flickering of consciousness, I saw a pair of bright blue eyes I'd seen many times over.
Beth. Beth Greene.
Beth
Daryl was alive, but barely. The other Savior had beaten him half to death in a panic. His eyes were both closed and swollen, and he was breathing erratically. "We need to get him to the Hilltop."
Jesus took charge. "Andy, Craig, get Daryl in the car two clicks east." As the two did just that, I asked Gideon, "What about you?"
"Me? Hell, who knows. With luck, I'll tell the strip center Saviors that we were ambushed by a herd. Fat Joey here was supposed to be making bombs to keep the biters away." He nodded towards a heavy set body. "And since getting the biters in the area will be essential for our cover, maybe I can get them to clean up the mess."
"And off our backs," expanded Maggie. Fast thinking.
"Yep. I assume they'll believe me, since they'll have only my word and no reason to distrust me. Now, I better get going, since I'll need one of the motorcycles. I'll be in touch with the radio."
After Gideon left, I went to the car with Daryl. I put his head in my lap as we drove back to Dr. Carson to heal what must have been enough pain for one person to last a lifetime, both physical and emotional. The drive was a somber, silent affair, only made interesting by the occasional walker in the distance. Our gunfire should have attracted a lot of them.
Daryl didn't have an easy childhood or pleasurable existence. He was the last person who should have been through pretty much everything that had happened to him. Yet he only took it like a waterfall, all of it washing off of him and not seeming to make an impact.
But I knew. I was probably one of the only ones. Well, maybe Carol too, but she hadn't been seen in a while.
"He should be ok." Dr. Carson had a hopeful analysis for Daryl. "He has, however, sustained a fair amount of injuries throughout his entire body. It's something I only saw from special forces in previous cases. Best thing he could use is rest and recovery. I presume you two could handle that on your own?"
Maggie and I nodded.
"Good."
Daryl woke up three hours later. The sun was setting and most of the Hilltop residents had gone to eat dinner. Daryl looked drowsy. "W-Where am I?"
"You're at the Hilltop," I told him. Plain and present truth.
"What the…" He groaned a bit and arched his back all while still in bed. "Hurts like a fuckin' bitch."
"It's going to. Here, let's get you to the bath."
"What the hell-"
"Someone's gotta take care of you."
Daryl grunted.
"Alright. At least let me clean you up and get you a haircut. I don't think you've cut it since the farm."
As with Maggie, I cut Daryl's hair. I also cleaned up his face and neck in the process, given how the usual grime had only doubled since he'd been in Negan's cell. When it was all said and done, he looked like he did on the first day Rick's group showed up at the farm. It would grow back, but at least he was cleaned up for once. And he looked good.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Meh," was the reply. His mind seemed occupied by other matters. "I don't give a shit. But thanks, though."
From Daryl, that was akin to saying he truly cared. I was getting through. "Now you need to shower."
"Nah-"
"I insist."
Daryl finally relented, and I led him to the showers. Twenty minutes later, he emerged shirtless, tattoos and scars only serving to compliment a well-toned and sculpted body.
He still had that look on him, though. "What's bothering you?"
Some relatively smutty good bits next chapter.