Dwight shoved Daryl through the open door into a medical room where a tall, thin man stood in a stark, white lab coat.
"I wasn't expecting visitors," the man said.
"He just needs to be patched up," Dwight said, pushing Daryl onto the exam table. "Can't have the boss's new toy bleedin' out on us."
"Of course," the doctor said, gathering some supplies from a cabinet. "What is the nature of the injury?"
"Gun shot, close range—bullet went clean through," Dwight explained, aiming the gun at Daryl. "Just like this one will if you do anything stupid."
"I need you to remove your shirt," the doctor said.
Daryl didn't move.
"He said take off the shirt," Dwight snapped. "So, do it."
Still, Daryl didn't move.
"Take it off. Do you want to bleed to death?" Dwight hissed, pressing the gun to Daryl's head.
Daryl ground his teeth. If there was any hope of getting out of this, he needed to start with getting this damn hole in his shoulder patched up. Reluctantly, he shrugged off his vest and shirt.
Dwight snatched up the vest and surveyed it. Daryl moved to grab his vest, only for Dwight to pull it out of his reach and point the gun in his face.
"I like this," he said. "It's mine now."
Daryl sat back, glaring at Dwight past the gun as the doctor leaned around him and began to clean the wound. He hardly registered the stinging, and before long the man was taping bandages over both holes.
"Not much else to do but keep it clean until it heals," the doctor explained.
"Alright, now get up," Dwight ordered, grabbing Daryl's arm and herding him out of the room.
They walked down the halls, making various turns as they went until they stopped at a solid metal door with a deadbolt on the outside.
"Open the door," Dwight commanded.
Daryl pulled it open to see an empty room, just a few feet smaller than the office back home.
"Go in."
He stepped inside and he heard the door squeal shut.
"Hold up," a man called, his footsteps quickly approaching before the door closed completely.
"What Isaac?" Dwight asked.
Daryl turned to see the man who had grabbed Anna in the circle. He tensed and took a step forward.
Isaac leaned in close and whispered into Dwight's ear before taking a step back.
"Alright, then do it," Dwight sighed.
Isaac rolled his eyes and stepped into the room.
"Move and Isaac here will shoot you," Dwight warned. "I'll be back," he said before turning and heading off down the hall.
Isaac made his way around Daryl.
"Damn, the hell happened to your back?" He asked as he began to pat him down. His fingers slipped into Daryl's left pocket.
Daryl did his best not to move as Isaac pulled out the photo of Anna and surveyed it.
"Look at this—a picture of a pretty girl." He whistled low. "Alright Daryl, gonna need you to take the rest off."
"What?" Daryl snapped.
"You heard me."
"No."
"Do it, or she's gonna get a little visit," Isaac said, holding up Anna's picture.
Daryl tensed but complied, stepping out of his pants.
"See, that wasn't so hard," he grinned, kicking the rest of Daryl's clothes out of the room. "Ah, it sure was good to see Annie again—she's lookin' good. You've taken real good care of her."
Annie?
"The hell you know about her?" Daryl hissed.
"Oh, I know a whole lot about her," he hummed. "Yes, she and I had plenty of time to get to know each other." He took a step toward Daryl and leaned in close to his ear. "She ever tells you about me? How I saved her life after the farm fell?"
Daryl's body went rigid.
"Yeah, I found her out in the woods when she shot that man—Anderson was his name, if I recall," he went on. "Kept her alive and fed all winter. Granted," he said, stepping backwards out of the room, "the accommodations weren't as nice as what we have here."
"I'm gonna kill you," Daryl growled.
"Oh, are you?" Isaac asked, his lips twitching up into a smirk. "Because I had her first? Or have you not had your turn yet?"
Daryl lunged forward, only to slam against the door as Isaac shut it.
"You sum' bitch!" Daryl roared, pounding his fists against the door. "Come back here!"
The floor was cold and hard under his bare skin, but his eyes kept lulling shut. He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake. All yesterday and most of the night, but how long had it been since they'd brought him here? How long had he beat against the door until he finally gave up and sat down?
He couldn't get Isaac's words out of his head. Anna hadn't gone into detail about what had happened that winter—she hadn't wanted to talk about the scars he'd left on her, saying that it wouldn't do any good. She had just wanted to move on, and he was fine with that.
But the look on her face when she first saw Isaac—that expression of absolute terror. It was that same look she'd had so many times when waking up from a nightmare—the ones he'd been awake to catch. It was burned in his mind.
The sound of approaching boots caught his attention and he glanced up to look through the gap between the floor and the door—the only source of light in the little cell. The boots stopped and the door squealed open, light flooding the room.
Dwight walked in, a paper plate and sandwich in hand. He held it out to Daryl. After a moment, Daryl snatched it from the plate and put it to his lips, the smell giving him pause.
"Eat or starve," Dwight sneered.
Daryl pulled the sandwich away from his face and saw the dog food squished between the bread.
"Eat it or your little girlfriend will," Dwight said.
Daryl worked his jaw before stuffing the sandwich in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he could register the taste. It settled heavily in his stomach and he gagged on the aftertaste.
Dwight scoffed as he left, slamming and locking the door.
"We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street..."
Daryl flinched at the blaring music.
"Get the hell up," Dwight commanded over the song, pounding against the door.
He staggered to his feet. How long had he been asleep? Had he even slept? His stomach twisted with hunger as the door swung open and Dwight stepped inside, another dog food sandwich in hand.
Dwight held the sandwich out and Daryl took it, not bothering to look up as he took a bite. Dwight watched him chew, the dog food squishing between his teeth. He wanted to spit the food in Dwight's face and kill him, then find Isaac and beat him to death. But he couldn't risk it. Not now when he was barely strong enough to stand.
After a moment, Dwight turned and shut him inside the cell again.
"We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street..."
Daryl's eyes shot open and Dwight walked in, throwing another sandwich on the ground. Daryl gathered it in his hands and ate it, if only to soothe the ache in his stomach. How long had it been since he last ate? How long had he been in there?
"We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street..."
A shiver ran up his spine and he pressed his forehead to the cold floor. The door swung open.
"We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street..."
He huddled in the corner beside the door and Dwight threw another sandwich on the ground. Daryl ate it, further ingraining the taste of dog food on his tongue.
A pile of clothes fell over his head and he grabbed them as Dwight shut him inside again.
"We're on easy street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on easy street..."
Daryl wasn't sure if the song was actually still playing or if it was just circling in his head like a record, forever looping around and around.
"And we're breaking out the good champagne. I'm sittin' pretty on a gravy train. And when we sing, every sweet refrain repeats. Right here on Easy Street…"
The door opened.
"Oh, to a life that can't be beat—"
Dwight walked in, holding Daryl's crossbow. He grabbed Daryl's arm and yanked him up, hauling him out of the cell.
"Move," Dwight ordered, pushing him down the hall.
Daryl staggered forward.
"Right."
He went right. It felt good to move, to stretch his legs and get out of the damned cell. But where were they going? Was Negan finally bored? Were they going to finally kill him? As that stupid song rang in his head, he couldn't help but hope they would.
They walked past two men mopping the floor, who stepped aside for them. They walked past a red chair sitting across the hall from a red door. Daryl could just see inside to find a comfortable looking room before Dwight shoved him on.
"Inside," Dwight said, forcing him through a blue door.
It was the infirmary, and the doctor stood beside a woman in a dark, floral dress.
"Carson," Dwight called.
"We were just finishing up," Carson said as the woman shifted on the exam bed before stepping down.
"Chop-chop," Dwight said.
"Hi, D," the woman said.
Suddenly, Daryl realized who she was. He almost didn't recognize her not covered in dirt and sweat.
"Hey," Dwight greeted.
Sherry looked to Daryl.
"Daryl, right?" She asked.
"Don't talk to him," Dwight snapped before pushing Daryl toward the exam table.
Daryl climbed up and glanced to the tool tray resting beside him, a pink and white stick set out on the corner.
"It's negative," Sherry assured.
"Well, maybe next time," Dwight sighed.
"Sorry, still getting used to being my own assistant," Carson said as he gathered up the test and carried it to the bin.
Sherry walked up to Daryl.
"Whatever they say… just do it," she warned.
"I said don't talk to him," Dwight hissed.
The two glared at each other before Sherry finally turned and left.
"Okay, let's take a look," Carson said, leaning behind Daryl and pulling the back of his sweater down to look at the bullet wound on his shoulder. "It'll get better—if you let it. Negan will take care of you," he said, replacing the sweater. "Trust me."
Daryl suppressed his urge to scoff.
Once Carson finished replacing the bandage, Dwight took Daryl from the room to head back to the cell. They walked down the hall, the men from earlier only having moved a few feet in their mopping.
A figure came around the corner and Dwight pulled Daryl down, both of them getting to their knees against the wall.
"Dwighty boy," Negan laughed. "I need to talk to my associate for a minute," he said, waving the moppers off. "Go about your business." He looked to the fat man behind him. "Except for you. You—stand right there."
He pointed at the wall and the man placed himself as Dwight stood, pulling Daryl with him. Dwight dragged Daryl to the red chair and sat him down.
"Sit," he commanded as he left and the fat man pulled out a revolver, aiming it at Daryl.
Daryl ignored the fat man and peered into the room across the hall. It was furnished to accommodate a single person comfortably with a single bed, an armchair, and a kitchenette. There was even a fern set atop a stocked bookshelf behind the brown leather armchair.
Dwight stepped around the corner and Daryl quickly averted his eyes from the room. Dwight grabbed his sweater and pulled him off the chair. They walked toward his cell and Daryl slowed his pace, unwilling to go back inside. He just wanted one more minute. That's all.
But Dwight turned him away from the cell, and they continued down the hall until they came upon a heavy metal door. Daryl pushed it open and they stepped outside, the sunlight blinding Daryl for a moment. Dwight forced him down the stairs and to a chain-link fence.
Daryl's vision cleared, and he could see the walkers scattered across the yard on the other side of the fence, men dressed just like him struggling to make their way out of the maze.
One was caught, holding a walker at bay but unable to push it away from him until Dwight fired an arrow into the walker's skull.
"You know, I think I'm gettin' the hang of this thing," Dwight commented.
Daryl said nothing, watching as one man pulled a jug off of a walker's head and ran away. He felt Dwight's hand wrap around the back of his neck, then he shoved him against the fence, the chain-link rattling as Daryl brought his hands up to brace himself.
"That's you, asshole. Unless you're smart. Your choice. You could be like them or me," Dwight said in his ear. "Or them."
Daryl didn't need to look at the walkers to know that's who—what—Dwight meant.
Daryl hit the ground and he settled into the corner. Dwight stood at the door.
"Make it easy on yourself," he said.
"I ain't ever gonna kneel," Daryl grunted.
"Yeah, I said that, too," Dwight sighed.
"Yeah," Daryl huffed. "I know."
"See, that's the thing, man. You don't. But you're gonna," Dwight warned, shutting the door.
Daryl rolled his eyes and shook his head, reminding himself that Dwight was full of shit.
"We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet, 'cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street..."
Daryl covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. He was going get out of this damned cell and the first thing he was going to do was destroy that fucking radio.
He jumped to his feet and ran his hands over the door frame in search of a weak spot.
"And we're breaking out the good champagne. I'm sittin' pretty on a gravy train."
He pulled at the handle, but it didn't budge. Daryl stood back and slammed his foot against the door.
"And when we sing, every sweet refrain repeats right here on Easy Street…"
He reeled back and kicked again and again until his foot was numb and he resorted to slamming his fists against it.
"Oh, to a life that can't be beat right here on Easy Street. 'Cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street…"
He threw his good shoulder into the door only to stagger back, clutching his arm, a sharp pain in the joint.
"Cause the world is but a treat when you're on Easy Street."