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, blood, serious injury, allusions to torture, use of restraints, mind games, and some serious whump.

Sanctuary for All

Chapter 14

He stared. Manning stared back. The other six just fidgeted in place. Fussing like children at a family restaurant that was out of crayons and those colorable place-mats kids always seem to go ape shit over. Drawing until the cheap crayons dull down to nothing or snap in half before the little bastards can scribble away to their hearts content.

Doesn't much matter which one comes first, either way it always ends in tears.

Merle wouldn't have been in this position because within the first day of his kidnapping he would have either struck a deal with Manning or killed the lot of them with his bare hands. Keeping just enough of them alive to start over, this time with him as King Shit, continuing what Manning started. Because all else considered, Merle would have been right at home here.

But he wasn't Merle. He never had been. There had been a point in his life where he'd tried. But it hadn't lasted. He'd always been a sucker when it came to their Mama's soft, disappointed eyes and his own weak stomach. He hadn't been meant for that kind of life, and when it came down to it, he didn't want it either. He wasn't his brother or his father, he was better. And it'd taken him longer than it should have to realize it.

"Well? What is it going to be Mr. Dixon?" Manning huffed impatiently, clearly sensing he was being ignored as he looked away, directing his gaze up at the only window in the room. Catching the smallest sliver of the moon peek out from the clouds as Manning's hand tightened around his glass. Joints squeaking audibly as those absurdly clean looking fingers went white with the strain.

That was when Manning knew. And god, the moment was sweet.

Because in spite of the blood and the exhaustion, the broken bones and the growing weakness that was spreading through him like the returning ocean tide, he smiled. -It wasn't a nice smile. He didn't have to see it to know that much. It was all blood stained teeth and split lips that didn't work like they should have, with the expression coming out as more of a snarl than anything else, maybe a leer if you wanted to be generous. Completely vacant of any real amusement and warmth as he chuckled darkly, choking on his own blood and spit as he visibly shook, using the last of his strength just to remain on his knees as Manning's fake smile melted of his face like wax left next to an open flame.

Either way he thought the expression was remarkably appropriate. Manning had lost at his own game, with the home court advantage no less. Nothing could sting worse than that. – That and what he had to say next that is…

"…No."

That was all he said. No embellishments, no basking in the moment or rubbing his refusal in the man's perfectly constructed face. …Just no.

Manning's furious screams echoed down the hallway long after they dragged him out of the auditorium. Coming out in furious roars of sound that were quickly followed by the high pitched shatter of breaking glass and the ominous thud of a chair making contact with the auditorium wall.

FEMA obviously didn't take rejection well. Go figure.

This time they didn't even bother hanging him up, they just attached his chain to a metal loop hammered into the wall and left him there. Tossing him a bottle of water and a package of crackers before they slammed the door behind them, steps quick but hesitant as they hurried back towards the auditorium where Manning's curses and yells were still audible.

And god, it was fucking bliss compared to before. Because honestly, lying on the floor had never felt so nice…

He honestly thought Manning was going to kill him. Hell he'd even leaned against that cool, white washed wall and waited for it. But he didn't. Apparently he'd under estimated just how much Manning wanted…no, apparently needed that information.

It was a few hours later when Manning came for him. He recognized the man's footsteps halfway down the hall as those expensive leather shoes cut a path down the dusty floor. His stride long and fast as a flurry of awkwardly spaced footsteps stampeded behind him.

The man entered the room with an explosive bang, slamming the door against the wall with a vicious crack, already eying him down with an angry stare as he came to stop in front of him.

"You frustrate me Mr. Dixon. I am not an unreasonable man and yet, you try my patience." Manning chided, tone gentle and completely at odds with his entrance as he faced him down, tapping his foot impatiently.

He raised a brow at that, spreading his legs a little bit further for comfort as he let the chill from the wall seep into his back. The man's mood swings were going to give him fucking whiplash…

"I don't understand your refusal. I am offering to give you your life back, a chance to walk out of here alive. That is more than your so called friends did for you!" Manning wheedled, pacing in front of him as Kaminski and green shirt pushed to the forefront, standing just behind the man himself as the others fanned out behind them like some sort of fucked up honor guard on steroids.

The message was clear. Tell Manning what he wanted to know, or suffer the consequences. - You know, like somehow he hadn't been suffering from them this entire time.

"We are just doing what we have to too survive… You understand that don't you?" Manning purred, crouching down on his haunches until they were at eye level with each other as the man held up a bottle of water with an enticing air.

He curled his lip, but inside he was twisted. Because in spite of everything, he was suddenly reminded of a conversation not too long ago in the Green's parlor where a single man had stood up and begged for the life of another. For the life of another that was just as likely to do them harm than anything else, but a life nonetheless. Begging for the life of a man, a boy really, a twitchy little thing that barely had enough peach fuzz on his cheeks to be called a man.

His chest went vice tight. Like someone had reached in his chest and squeezed. He swallowed down a swirl of nausea as Dale's passionate plead resounded in his aching skull, the words so clear…so sure, that he actually turned to look. Staring at the empty wall beside him like he'd expected to see the old fart himself, leaning up against that white washed wall with that stupid bucket hat and fading Hawaiian shirt. Palming that old pocket watch of his as he stared him down with the same disappointed look he'd given them all in the Green's living room.

…Almost as if he was seeing them all for the very first time. Seeing them for what they were, rather than who he'd hoped they'd be…

His heart thudded in his chest as realization hit. Slamming down across his shoulders like a physical weight as his head tipped back. Eyes fluttering closed as his blood encrusted hair caught on the white washed brick. …Christ.

The others, Rick, Shane, and himself had all justified their decision like this. They had justified it as an act of survival, just like Manning was now, twisting the nature of the word itself not only to suit their purposes but their situation as well.

Christ, Dale had been right. There were limits. Lines you shouldn't cross. Even in the name of survival, even if it does save your skin. Because sometimes, the cost was just too damn high. That was what Dale had tried to warn them about, about the perils of losing themselves and their humanity through their own self serving justifications. - Where in the name of survival you inevitably lose a part of yourself. Something innate and precious, something you can never get back.

"Now, believe me son, I understand what you're doing. Stayin' true to your own and all. Hell, it's admirable even. Protecting your women, hell maybe one of those youngins is even your own. I get it." Manning crooned.

"…And understand that we don't mean anyone any harm, especially not the little ones." Manning paused, crouching down so he could look him in the eye, apparently mindless to the fact that he was now looking elsewhere. Eyes glued to that shadowed patch of wall off to his right, as if he could somehow will the older man to appear.

Fuck, he was delirious.

"But times have changed. Things are different now. A man's got to survive. Carve out a little piece of paradise for himself if you know what I'm saying." Manning continued, giving the others a small, assenting nod as they moved in behind him.

"Now the others, the men… well, they're in a world of shit, make no mistake. They'll make trouble. But you on the other hand, are clearly a man with your wits about you. Like us, you understand that the world has changed. That the rules have changed..." Manning hedged.

"If you join us you'd be doing your group a favor. You won't be able to save all of them, but the women? The children? Maybe even a few of the men if they prove to be cooperative and like-minded. You can ease them into our little community; act as a buffer as it were." Manning suggested, words spilling from his lips on fast forward as a thin sheen of sweat formed around his greying temples.

He could have growled. Liar…

Now he wasn't totally on board with Grimes' whole 'love thou fellow man and embrace in peace and love routine', but damn if he didn't want to upchuck the meager contents of his guts all over that asshole's blood smeared kicks. Fuck this shit. He'd rather take another beating than listen to this walking shit stain run his mouth! Why was it that some people took the end of the world as an excuse to renounce their own humanity?

Christ. They were worse than Merle.

He wasn't sure where he found the energy, but he planted his back against the wall and wobbled to his feet. Legs trembling as forced himself to stand. His movements were slow and pained as white hot anger and muted horror tinged his cheeks with red. Ignoring the furtive whispering and hushed arguments that broke out amongst the man's cronies as he raised his head and stood on level ground with Manning for the very first time.

"...Go fuck yourself." He spat, gut burning with disgust and barely suppressed horror as half shrouded images of what these men might do if they got their hands on the others flickered through his mind like wild fire.

On the farm, on the road, it didn't matter, it would be a massacre. And the women? Hershel's girls? Hell, they'd probably be better off dead by the time those guys were through with them. He'd been around Merle and his buddies long enough to know how the minds of men like this worked. And the results were never good.

"You insufferable, pig headed bastard!" Manning gritted, his cool, professional facade crumbling around him as the man balled his fists. All but vibrating with anger as the older man stalked forward.

"It is no wonder why they left you!" Manning snarled, losing it completely as he drove his fist straight into his gut before slamming another up in a vicious uppercut that caught him right in the kisser. Sending him crumpling to the floor as Manning rained down a series of kicks across his chest as he tried to protect himself the best he could. Pain searing down his veins and he cried out, protecting his face and neck with his bound hands until the room echoed with Manning's insane screams of rage.

But when Manning's hand curled around his throat, he panicked. Thrashing and flailing, he used his bound hands as a battering ram, thumped the man on the back as his fingers dug into the collar of man's dress shirt. Desperate to get free as he felt his throat constrict. Tendons straining just underneath the skin until Manning abruptly pulled away, leaving him bloody and desperate for air as he clutched at his throat on pure reflex.

And for a long, heart stopping moment, he forgot how to breathe, hiccuping into the quiet, suddenly deaf despite the flurry of movement all around him. Strangely conscious of the unsteady slush-slush of his pulse, as awareness spiraled in and out like the world's worst acid trip. Getting no warning whatsoever as he lurched forward and violently threw up what felt like everything he'd ever eaten in his entire life, all over himself and the blue checkered tiles.

He choked on the after taste as he gagged again and again. Body rebelling long after he had anything left to give as he slumped across the floor, trying and failing to pull himself up on all fours as long strings of blood flecked saliva dribbled down his chin as he spat again and again. Desperate to be rid of that acidic aftertaste as Manning and his cronies made noises of disgust behind him.

Pussies.

Sometime in between the blows and the nausea, Manning and his crew had backed up, whether that was to give him some air or to ensure that they didn't get any vomit on their shoes he wasn't exactly sure, but when he regained his breath and used his elbows to lever himself back up against the wall he found Manning staring down at him expectantly. As if the man simply expected him to start spewing out the answers he wanted after getting his ass kicked.

Man, this douche bag really hadn't even come up against at Dixon before, had he? He wasn't one to run his mouth, especially when the chips were down. He'd made his choice god damnit.

"Well…?" Manning demanded. Hands posed on his hips as he stared him down, fingers pointedly lingering near the clasp of his holster as he unclipped the snap and angled his hip towards him.

A damning trickle of blood and saliva dribbled down his chin as he spat out a mouthful of raw crimson, barely missing the man's over polished shoes as the liquid sprayed out like arterial splatter. He coughed raggedly, nearly choking on it as his ribcage creaked in sympathy. …God, everything hurt.

He pressed his bound hands against his chest; head nearly level with his knees as he tried to soothe the growing ache in his ribs. Trying in vain to ignore the way it felt like his bones were splintering every time he took a god damned breath. But in all that time he never took his eyes away from the man's face. Looking Manning straight in the eye even as the room spun and he dry heaved. Hiccuping weakly as his entire body jerked with the force of it. Skin pale and clammy as sweat dripped off his eye lashes.

But still, he didn't say a word.

Instead, he took great pleasure in seeing Manning's expression go from murderous to deathly pale. Blanching unexpectedly when his gaze remained steady, and whatever the man saw in his expression made him take a step backwards. Looking spooked and strangely fragile as a single rivulet of sweat trickled down from his salt and pepper curls.

Because far from feeling weak, in that moment he felt powerful, tipping on the edge between rage and ecstasy, uncontrolled and dangerous in all the right ways. - All but thrumming with enough nervous energy to out stun a fucking cattle prod as he stared Manning down, refusing to release the man's gaze even when the agent stumbled backwards.

In spite of it all, he'd never felt more alive. More…right. Like every moment of his god damned life had been leading up to this, to right here and right now. He was going to die. He knew that. But for the first time in his life, that knowledge came secondary to what he had right in front of him.

Because somewhere along the line it had stopped being about the pain and the injustice of his incarceration. Now it was about defiance…survival. Because, in the end, this wasn't about him, it was about them. The others back at the farm or out on the road… wherever they really were, this was for them.

Because unlike Manning and his crew he had something more… something better to fight for than himself. And if Rick and the others really had left, and Manning was dead set on going after them, the least he could do was buy them some time.

Besides, if there was anything left worth dying for in this world, he figured this was it.

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Hope you are still enjoying, there will be more to come!

"Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honour far more precious dear than life." - William Shakespeare