AN: OK…OK…you win.
Here's another chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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It was absolute mad chaos.
Carol's eyes and mind couldn't focus on everything that was happening at once. It was impossible to understand what was taking place and, at the same time, it felt like everything was happening in slow motion.
Daryl dived for the man that had fought her—a man that Carol had never seen before, but who was wearing a cut that identified him as being a Savior. Merle dived in after his brother, but Carol was unsure whether he was trying to slow down the fight or help it along.
Negan came toward Carol and pulled her into his arms. At first, her instinct was to fight him as he tightened his hold on her.
Then he hissed into her ear.
"Easy—fuckin' easy," he hissed. "Better for you to get out the damned way before they tear this shithole down."
Carol realized, as she gave into his tugging, that he wasn't trying to hurt her. He was only moving her away from the fight. He blocked the fight from her, somewhat, as he led her out of the way and over to the far wall. When he let go of her, he stood for an eternity—which was probably only a matter of seconds—with his hands on her arms like he meant to steady her. Sure that she was capable of remaining on her feet and would do so, he headed back toward the fight.
Very soon, it became evident that Merle's goal was to peel Daryl off of the man that he was fighting with both hands. It wasn't an easy task for Merle, but he eventually wrestled his brother from the ground and then, to keep him from running back, blocked him with his entire body.
"Alice ain't here, brother! She ain't here! An' it ain't worth goin' to prison over this piece of shit! It ain't fuckin' worth it, brother! You got shit out here! Got shit worth stayin' out for!"
Merle seemed ready to fight Daryl to keep Daryl from fighting the man that, already, was worse for the wear. Carol didn't recognize him. He must be new to town or new to the motel. He wasn't a Savior that she'd interacted with before.
Still, she wasn't sure she'd recognize him even if she'd known him before.
Daryl had, most assuredly, broken the man's nose. As much blood as was pouring forth from his face, it almost looked like he was wearing some kind of theatrical blood that was meant for dramatics.
"He's done, brother. He ain't worth no more," Merle tried to reason with Daryl as he fought against him.
"What the absolute fucking fuck were you thinking?" Negan snarled at the drunk man who was stumbling around, pawing at his broken face. "The fucking VP's old lady? There are five fucking pussies upstairs just throbbing for some fun and you go pawing at the fucking VP's old lady—you miserable fuck!"
"Asshole broke my fuckin' nose," the man howled, seemingly oblivious to everything that was taking place around him, and to the fact that he was the one that had caused much of what was happening.
"Meant to break your fuckin' neck!" Daryl growled. With a sudden resurgence of energy, he tried to burst forward again, and Merle blocked him by throwing himself against his brother so that both of them staggered off in one direction.
Negan was trying to still the drunk man who, bleeding from his face, was almost loping in circles.
Everyone around them must know that something was going on. Nobody from outside had come in. Carol was glad of that. Sophia must be outside. Daryl must have left her in someone's care—probably riding her bicycle around the parking lot—and whoever it was must have had the sense to know that something was going on and the girl was better off outside and not bearing witness to what was taking place.
"Judges fucking kill people, you stupid fuck!" Negan growled at the bloody brother. "They solve their differences with body bags—you're lucky you've still got your head!"
"Not for long he don't!" Daryl barked, surging forward again.
Carol felt frozen to the spot where Negan had parked her, far outside the area where the men were fighting. She felt like she couldn't speak. She couldn't move. All she could do was watch. She was only vaguely aware that there was wetness on her face that was either tears or blood—she honestly wasn't sure which.
The worst pain she felt, though, was a burning in her throat.
It was clear that Daryl was growing tired. That was for the better, perhaps, because Merle was clearly growing tired, too.
"Let it go, brother," Merle offered when he got Daryl to settle for a half a second. "Let him go. He ain't worth it an' you done give him worse than he gave."
Daryl frowned deeply at Merle and then screwed his face back up in anger. It looked like he might surge forward again. Clearly, Merle thought the same thing as Carol because he visibly braced to hold Daryl back once more.
Daryl simply spat his words angrily over his brother's shoulder.
"His dick or his cut—one of 'em's fuckin' mine!" Daryl barked.
"He's fuckin' crazy," the drunk man snarled.
Negan laughed. He wasn't really trying to do anything with the drunk other than to keep him from getting too close to the Dixon brothers.
"That he is. That he fucking is," Negan said. "But I got a funny ass feeling he's fucking serious, man."
"I am fuckin' serious!" Daryl spat. "Choice is his! His dick or his fuckin' cut, but he's leavin' here without one of 'em! And he don't fuckin' never come back or I'll take the other, too!"
"Stupid cunt," the drunk man mused. "Stupid fuckin' cunt!"
"You might wanna stop while you're ahead, man," Negan said.
"Understand it's a tough decision," Merle mused, almost as amused as Negan seemed to be at the moment.
"That's my woman!" Daryl growled at the man. "She ain't no cunt! Dick or cut—make a fuckin' decision 'fore I make it for your ass."
"Double or nothin' if you let him get riled up again," Merle said.
"You're fucking insane," the man said. "You're all fucking insane!"
Carol wasn't sure she disagreed with the man entirely. Still, she couldn't take her eyes away from everything that was unfolding. Upstairs, she was vaguely aware that there was silence. Absolute silence. Five or six of Negan's working women and at least another brother from one of the clubs must be up there, but there was absolute silence.
They didn't need help down here—not right now—and nobody wanted to be in the way.
"I want fuckin' justice for what the hell you done," Daryl said.
Carol had seen the knife before. Daryl drew it from the sheathe that hung at his belt. She'd rarely seen the knife unsheathed unless he needed it for something or he was cleaning it. It was a trench knife and he employed it as casually as Ed had used his pocketknife.
"Justice for shit," the drunk spat. "That ain't fuckin' justice…"
Daryl laughed to himself. It was the kind of laugh that made Carol shiver, so she could only imagine the feeling it might stir up in the person who had inspired it.
"Turns out—I'm the judge an' the damn jury around here," Daryl offered. His voice dropped to a level that was much calmer than it had been. "What's your choice? 'Cause I mean what I say. You leavin' light of one or the other."
"If I could offer a bit of information that might—help ease the decision making process and speed things along," Negan said.
With things calming down, he'd stopped trying to wrangle the drunk entirely. Instead, he'd found an aluminum ashtray under the counter and he was smoking a cigarette as casually as if they were talking about what kind of pizza to order for dinner.
Everyone looked at him.
"I'm rescinding your right to be a Savior," Negan said. "You're outta the club."
"You can't do that," the drunk—who seemed to be sobering a little with each passing moment, and was now focusing on pinching his free-bleeding nose shut—said.
Negan laughed to himself.
"I made this chapter," Negan said. "I can do whatever the fuck I want with it as long as I'm the elected fucking President. I told you not three fuckin' hours ago—when your sorry ass got here—that you don't touch…you don't fucking touch…the women wearing the scales on their vests. Didn't I tell you that shit? New damn business venture and your sorry ass hasn't been in Liberty twenty-four hours before you broke the VP's old lady's fucking face. So, the cut? That shit belongs to me—and you damn well better hope he let's you consider that an even ass deal."
Carol jumped and heard herself squeak out in shock when the drunk man challenged Negan once more with the idea that he couldn't do that. Negan responded by calmly resting his cigarette in the aluminum ashtray like he was just going to say something, and then by punching the man so hard and so unexpectedly in the jaw, that he slammed to the ground. Negan put his boot in the man's stomach and looked at Daryl.
"Take your patch, lil' Brother," Negan offered. "Take the fucking dick, too, if you want it. From what the girls tell me, it's not good for much else."
Merle let Daryl go, clearly satisfied that he was fine to finish the job that had been started. Daryl stepped forward and, with the trench knife, he cut the patches off the front of the man's cut. Then he rolled him over, while Negan nudged him with his boot, and cut the patches off the back of the man's cut.
Before Daryl could respond in any other way, Negan hauled the drunk man to his feet and dragged him toward the doors that would take him out into the parking lot.
"Tiny's got Soph," Daryl said.
"Hold up," Merle barked quickly. Negan did so and Merle rushed ahead. Carol heard him yell out the door to Big Tiny that he should take Sophia around the building to play. Negan didn't ask any questions, and he didn't say anything else. He gave the man outside a moment to do just what had been asked of him, and then he escorted the drunken man—stripped of his rights to be a Savior—outside.
Andrea came inside, a moment later, and looked around at the scene. Carol couldn't imagine what she might be thinking. Carol wasn't even entirely sure what she was thinking. Merle lit a cigarette and passed it to Daryl before lighting one of his own. Daryl dropped the patches on the floor before he drew off the cigarette, and then he sheathed his knife. In something of a daze, he took another drag off the cigarette, rested it in the aluminum ashtray, and stood staring at his knuckles as he flexed them against a pain he must have just felt for the first time. Then, he stumbled toward Carol almost like he was drunk, himself, or too tired to stay on his feet.
"Just tell me you're alright," Daryl said.
Carol's stomach clenched. She thought she heard a quiver in his voice.
She nodded her head.
"I'm alright," Carol said.
Daryl nodded. He looked around.
Merle had wrapped an arm around Andrea's shoulder. She was looking around with her brow furrowed. She'd be caught up soon enough. They'd catch her up and, if they didn't, Negan surely would when he came back inside.
When Daryl had looked around, he looked back at Carol with the same sadness in his eyes. It hadn't faded from seconds before. He looked so tired. So exhausted. He looked like he might actually crumple to the ground right there.
"Just—tell me that…we're alright," Daryl said.
Carol's heart pounded in her chest in response to his tone as much as to his words. Her heart tugged her toward him and she immediately caught his face in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his lips, wishing she could kiss away the profound sadness in his eyes.
"We're alright," she promised him.
As soon as he heard the words, he wrapped his arms around her, and she sunk into him. She leaned against his chest and closed her eyes.
She didn't care that he was bloody and, perhaps, she was too. She didn't care that Negan would come back inside, in a moment, and they would fill Andrea in and, without a doubt, have to discuss this. She didn't care that they would have to figure out how to explain the blood on Daryl's clothes, and any other evidence left behind of the struggle, to Sophia.
She didn't care about anything for a moment.
All that mattered, for just one moment, was the sound of Daryl's heart racing in his chest, and the feeling of him holding her like he was afraid that she might slip away.