Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.
Warnings: See original chapter for all warnings and related information.
Authors Note #1: *Rated for adult language, adult situations, kidnapping, violence, allusions to rape, misogyny, chauvinistic attitudes, use of restraints, serious injury, allusions to torture, and some serious whump.
Sanctuary for All
Chapter 11
It was like something in his mind just switched off, rendered muted and useless in the wake of the man's words. He didn't react; he couldn't, struck by the realization that this was so much worse than he'd originally feared. He'd thought these men were murders and thieves at the worst, men without morals or scruples. But he'd thought they wouldn't…no, he'd hoped that they wouldn't stoop this far.
But he'd been wrong. Fuck, he should have known better!
He thought quickly, mind whirling as he tried to ignore the sluggish hammering of his own pulse. They'd found the farm, that much was said and done. And if they'd seen him before that meant they'd been in the area for at least a few weeks, if not longer.
They were scammers, scavengers, and predators. Just like the ones Randall had rolled with. Hell, maybe even the same god damned ones. They sure as hell seemed to fit the bill from what the kid had told him. But even if they were, they wouldn't attack the farm outright.
No, they'd been waiting to get one of them alone. He'd bet his best bolt that was how this little game worked. They took one to entice the rest, playing on group ties and morality. Getting them where they wanted, when they wanted. They were too low in numbers and supplies to be playing it any other way.
But what was clear was that this was different from the usual heist. They were gunning for the farm in a big way. Manning had his eye on it for some reason and didn't seem keen to let it go. - Probably for the same reasons they all had after the doc had fixed up Grimes' kid. When they'd come to realize exactly what they were passing up if they just up and left. A safe place, a haven; somewhere the disease had barely touched. …Yet.
And while he had no assumptions as to how long that safety might last, he wasn't about to give it up for the likes of Manning and his crew. He had to find a way to stall them. Give Rick and the others some time to figure this shit out.
Think Dixon!
"And what do I get in return if I tell you what you want to know?" He finally replied, pretending to be interested in Manning's proposal despite the fact that it felt a whole lot like swallowing a mouthful of glass.
But Manning only smiled. The action disquieting in its insincerity as he took him in, favoring him with a long, measuring sort of glance that made his skin crawl. - Pausing for a long moment before he dragged his chair closer and sprawled across it in a fit of easy grace. But the action came out forced, striking him as over rehearsed, ill-timed, and useless in a way that rendered the action moot.
Manning's theatrics might fool his men, but not him. Not anymore.
"You'll find, Mr. Dixon, that I have no patience for fools. And even less for people who waste my time." Manning gritted, words slipping from his lips with all the temerity of lead weights, clearly seeing through him despite his best efforts as his men drew their guns.
"Could'a fooled me." He returned. Gesturing back at the men him without even so much as a backwards glance, determined to hold his ground.
The man huffed out a laugh at that, scuffing the perfectly polished toe of his leather shoe across the floor as he ran his fingers through his curly salt and pepper hair. Opening his mouth to speak for a long moment before he closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words as the room went deathly still.
He swallowed, hard. Watching Manning out of the corner of his eye as he straightened as much as the restraints would allow. Already wondering if he'd pushed the jackass too far as he racked his brains for something to say. Something to distract the man long enough for Manning to remember why he needed him.
"Let's cut the crap shall we?" he suddenly began, flying by the seat of his pants on this one as he clung to the first train of thought that didn't seem completely suicidal. His voice harsh and defiant as his carefully held restraint started to unravel. Fed up of all of Manning's mind games and screwing around as he gave his temper full rein.
"You and I both know that I aint gunna tell you nothing,'" he growled, "just the same as you and I both know that you were never really planning on letting me go." He hissed, relishing in the moment as he watched Manning's back stiffen.
"I think you underestimate me Dixon…" Manning hoarsely, voice no more than a whisper as his fingers dug into the meat of his thighs. Crushing the freshly pressed pin stripes as a nervous tic twitched in his left cheek.
Now a foolish man might think that such a reaction meant that he had the man on the ropes. But he knew better. Manning wasn't the type to go down without a fight, mentally or physically.
"Do I?" he shot back, "I've dealt with men like you before. Hell, I've even lived part of my life with a couple. And do you know what I've learned? You shit stains are all the same! Big talk, brutal fists, and tempers to match, but deep down? You're all cowards. …Takers." He began, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he drew a shaky breath and continued.
"…Parasites hiding behind fancy words and fake causes. Believe what you want Manning, lie to yourself if it makes you feel better. But you and I both know what you really are, nothing. You've got nothing worth fighting for, nothin' worth protecting, so you take everything from everyone you meet. But at the end of the day what do you have Manning?" He mocked, meeting Manning's gaze and keeping it as he stared the man down, not even flinching when the taller man leapt to his feet. Green eyes flashing as his fingers curled around his badge, griping his belt loops so hard the fabric creaked.
"…Empty words and empty loyalties? Sure, what you take from others might fill your belly; keep your vehicles runnin' for another week or two. But in the end you and I both know that 'aint enough anymore. Not these days. And that's why I won't tell you shit. Not about them. Not even about the fucking farm. …Because they are worth more to me any of your god damn promises!" He spat, throat convulsing as he practically yelled the last few words. Chest heaving as his fought down the urge to cough as his lungs rebelled, suddenly feeling the full weight of the past few days as he slumped back in his chair.
He turned his head to the side and spat, mouth slick with his own blood as he forced himself to swallow the rest. Swearing he could feel it curdling all the way down his throat. He grimaced, because all else considered, he was getting really fucking tired of swallowing his own fluids.
…For Christ sakes.
"Those are some rather… inspired words for a man like yourself, Mr. Dixon. But then I suppose you were a scholar in another life hmmm? Or perhaps some grass roots upstart that dreamt of revolution and such sentiments as brotherhood and love concurs all?" Manning mocked; finding his voice as he dusted off his hands in feigned disgust. Voice light but limbs painfully tense.
But he just cocked a brow, interested in spite of himself as he realized that the man was stalling. But stalling for what? Time? The perfect punch line? Or had his words finally hit a little too close to home?
"But since you've had your say, I might as well have mine." Manning continued, tapping a finger against his lips bemusedly. Pausing for a long, disarming moment before catching him by surprise and swooped down on him, getting right in his face as his hands slammed down across his wrists. - Tightening around them like steel clamps until he was gnawing on the inside of his lips in an effort not to cry out.
"Some day I am going to hold you accountable for your words friend. So, I'd tread carefully from now on if I were you." Manning whispered. Speaking so low that only that only the two of them could hear before he deliberately tightened his grip on his wrists, apparently mindless of the oozing blood as the crusts of barely healed wounds broke open and the stench of fresh blood rose in the still air.
"Besides," Manning replied, lurching away from the table and speaking loud enough for the entire room to hear. "All animals respond to stimuli, Mr. Dixon." He chucked darkly, tone gravel high and harsh. "It is only a matter of determining the right amount of leverage to exact…"
"I'll give you some time to think about that." Manning hummed, bouncing on the balls of his feet with childish glee as he waved the men standing behind his chair forward. Waiting until close to a dozen men were ringed around him before he continued.
"…Because I can promise you now that the next time we talk, I'm not going to be so gracious..." He continued, waving them off as the men undid his chains and dragged him off the chair. Man handling him across the room and towards the double doors that led back to the room they'd been holding him in.
He only caught glimpses of Manning through the fray, struggling and lashing out as they pulled him across the threshold. The man was still standing where he'd left him, perched over his abandoned chair like a vulture in mid pounce. Dark and mottled, yet absurdly graceful as the man planned his next move, viewing the scene like a chess player considering his next move, exact but calculating as the man that remained started to chuckle. Like his struggles and curses were more like an amusement then any real threat.
"Oh, and Johnson? Be sure to gag our guest before you leave. We don't want him attracting any untoward company, now do we?" Manning called, speaking over the growing chorus of laughter with a decidedly airy tone, like he was no more deserving of notice than a particularly stubborn clod of dirt on his shoe.
He fought tooth and nail all the way back to the room where they'd been keeping him. Not regretting it one bit even when one of the men stomped on his fingers as they dragged him to his feet. - Feeling more than hearing the dry snap of his fingers breaking. Ground unmercifully onto the cool ceramic as the thug only chuckled in response. Flicking his nose with his thumb and forefinger tauntingly as they hooked him back onto the chain and left him alone, slamming the door behind them.
It was only after the sound of their footfalls had faded that he allowed himself to let go of a half strangled sob. Bloody cheeks becoming muted rivers of red as a handful of angry tears leaked past his tightly closed lids.
Christ, he was so fucked…
A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Sorry for the little lapse in updating. I usually try for two a week, but alas, this week RL and writers block vanquished me! LOL!
"An invincible determination can accomplish almost anything and in this lies the great distinction between great men and little men." - Thomas Fuller