"Against the grain, kid," Negan said as he drew the straight razor up his neck. "Always against the grain."
Anna watched as he wiped his face and set the razor on the bathroom counter. It would have been so easy to grab it and slit his throat. But that was assuming she could catch him off guard enough to do so.
She glanced at Carl and saw him looking between the razor and Negan and knew that he was thinking the same thing. Together, maybe they could take him.
Judith was the only reason they didn't move.
"Alright, now that that's taken care of, let's go make some dinner!" Negan cheered, picking Judith off the toilet and heading out of the bathroom.
Anna and Carl followed after them and they made their way downstairs and into the kitchen.
"I'm in the mood for some spaghetti," Negan declared, opening cabinets until he found a box of noodles and a can of sauce. "Anna, be a dear and fill a big ol' pot with some water."
Anna rolled her eyes and looked to Carl. He pointed to a cabinet under the island and she opened it to find a large, silver cooking pot. She filled it with water and set it on the stove, turning it on to boil before Negan tore the noodle box open and poured it into the pot.
"You two ever make spaghetti before?" Negan asked.
"No," Carl said impatiently.
Negan looked to Anna, awaiting her answer.
"Yes," she finally said.
"Great—oh, look at this!" Negan exclaimed, spotting something over her shoulder.
He pushed past her and grabbed for some aprons hanging off the side of the fridge. He threw one on, tossed another to Carl, and handed the third one to Anna.
"Put 'em on," he instructed enthusiastically.
Anna and Carl pulled the aprons on and tied them around their waists. Anna crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against the counter. Negan pulled the fridge open.
"Ho-ho!" He called, shutting the fridge with a grin. "And it's not expired!"
He held out the cylinder of pre-made bread rolls.
"Anna, get me another big pot for the sauce."
Anna did as he requested and watched as Negan opened the can of sauce and dumped it, taking a wooden spoon from the holder beside the stove and turning on the burner.
"Anna, you're in charge of the noodles. Don't overcook them," he said. "Carl, I want you making the rolls."
Anna huffed and moved to stand beside the noodles while Negan set about showing Carl how he wanted the rolls done. She kept her eye on Judith at the end of the counter in a highchair as she waited for the water to start boiling.
Once Negan was satisfied that Carl knew what he was doing, he returned to the sauce and began adding a few spices.
"Ah, damn! That smells good," he said.
She furrowed her brow at the sight of him. He almost seemed normal as he hummed to himself, stirring the slowly simmering sauce. Finally, he tested the sauce. He closed his eyes, his face melting in pleasure, and Anna suddenly remembered that he probably was a normal person—before the world fell apart.
"Want a taste?" He asked, offering the spoon first to Carl, then to Anna.
Neither accepted.
"Okay," he shrugged, turning back to the sauce.
"How are those noodles comin'?" Negan asked, not taking his eyes off the sauce as he sprinkled salt in a circle.
Anna looked back to the noodles and saw them folding under the boiling water. She took a spoon and eased them further in.
"Just a little longer," she muttered, setting the spoon to the side.
"Pre-heat the oven to 400," Negan said, nodding.
Anna set the oven and before long, they were sliding in the tray of rolls. Anna took up the spoon again and fished out a single noodle. Negan watched her as she turned and chucked the noodle across the kitchen where it landed squarely against a cabinet. When it didn't slide or fall, she turned the burner off and strained out the water over the sink.
After putting the pot of noodles back on the stove, Negan poured the sauce in and mixed it up as Anna retrieved the test noodle and threw it in the trash. Olivia walked in then, with a tin of powdered lemonade. She set to making the drink as she picked up Judith and balanced the girl on her hip.
"Carl, Anna—go set the table."
Carl pulled down some plates and cups, Anna grabbed the silverware and napkins, and the two walked to the table.
"Why are we just doing whatever he says?" Carl hissed.
"You really want to risk Judith?" Anna asked quietly as the two moved around the table.
Negan walked past them and sat down at the head of the table. Anna paused as she gathered the last fork and knife in her hand. She set the napkin down first, reaching across him. She considered for a moment that with Olivia watching Judith, she could easily turn the blunt butter knife in her hand and force the blade through his eye.
It would have been so simple.
She glanced between the knife and Negan, saw him grinning at her, and set the silverware down, backing away from the table.
"We're gonna need another setting," he informed.
Go now.
Was this another test? Daryl stared at the looping cursive as he pulled the key and match off the paper. If it was a test and he stayed, what would that mean? He turned the key over in his hand—it was for a motorcycle. His motorcycle.
Making up his mind, Daryl moved to crouch in front of the door, pressing his right hand against the metal and his left hand over the knob. He twisted the knob and, when it didn't resist, pushed the door open slowly. No one was on the other side.
Daryl decided he didn't care if it was a test. One way or another, he was going to kill that piece of shit.
He hurried down the hall and around the corner, keeping close to the wall. As he neared another corner, a woman called out.
"Stop hugging the wall."
He ran forward, intending to subdue whoever was there and demand directions.
"Watch it," the woman snapped when something creaked and glass shattered as it hit the ground. He slid to a halt at the corner as pickles and vinegar flooded the hall.
"God, damn it!" A man groaned.
Daryl tensed. There was no telling how many people were around that corner. He whirled around and ran into the first room he found, shutting the door as quickly and as quietly as he could. He stilled for a moment, holding the door in place.
"Go get a mop and another barrel," he heard distantly.
"We're keeping this crap?" Another man guffawed.
"We don't have to eat it," the woman informed.
Daryl figured they hadn't noticed him and he stepped away from the door, turning to the room he'd entered. Luckily, it was void of any people.
"Jesus, he hates pickles," the first man said as Daryl spotted a door on the other side of the room.
Daryl crossed to the door and pushed it open. He paused at the sight of a makeshift bed on the floor of what seemed to be a closet. He closed the door and turned back to the room, surveying its contents. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the top of the fridge and threw the cap off, digging his fingers into the creamy substance and shoving it in his mouth. He groaned at the taste and shoveled more into his mouth.
He saw the pile of clothes on the table and looked at his own attire. With another mouthful of peanut butter, he set the jar down and dug through the clothes, wiping his mouth on a white shirt before finding a grey t-shirt that looked like it would fit. Yanking off his disgusting sweater, he pulled on the fresh gray shirt when he spotted a chessboard, hand carved figurines positioned in the squares.
Dwight.
Grinding his teeth, Daryl continued to change into fresh clothes before he grabbed the peanut butter and a spoon, sitting in the brown leather armchair. He glared at the door as he ate, listening to the back and forth of the men and the woman in the hall.
"Get this cleaned up before Isaac sees it," the first man ordered.
Daryl perked up at the name.
"Isaac left," the woman assured. "Said he wouldn't be back 'til tomorrow."
Daryl sneered at the information. He didn't have time to wait that long.
"Easy. Easy," the first man said.
"We got it. Take this crap back," the second man snapped.
"How about this time, you watch where you're going?" The woman huffed.
"Oh, come on. Get off his back."
Daryl waited and listened to the sound of the retreating Saviors as he set the near empty jar of peanut butter on the side table and wiped his mouth. Once the hall grew silent, he stood and pulled a hat off the floor lamp before flipping the chess board and heading out of the room.
He met no other obstacles as he found a steel pipe and made his way to the motorcycle depot, taking quick stock of the surroundings before setting foot outside. When he saw it was empty, he ran for the motorcycles and found his bike in the lineup. He began checking over it, making sure there was fuel in the tank.
"The hell?"
He looked up to see Fat Joey staring at him, a sandwich in hand. Daryl stood, his grip on the pipe tightening.
"Whoa," Fat Joey said, raising his hands and dropping his sandwich. "Whoa, it's cool. I swear."
Daryl stepped toward him.
"Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and I won't say anything to anybody," Fat Joey assured, pointing to the exit. "I'm supposed to be there now, but—listen, I'm –I'm just trying to get by. Just like you. Please," he begged.
All the anger and resentment that he had been stewing in seemed to erupt as he gripped the pipe with both hands and swung, the metal landing hard against the top of Fat Joey's head. The man collapsed upon first impact. Daryl continued to bring the pipe down until Fat Joey was a twitching mess on the ground.
"Daryl," he heard.
He swung a few more times, just to get the twitching to stop.
"Daryl."
He finally looked up and saw Jesus staring apprehensively between him and Fat Joey. He looked back to Fat Joey, his eyes spotting the familiar brown handle and silver barrel of a revolver tucked into the dead man's belt. He tossed the pipe to the side and crouched, grabbing the gun and tucking it into his pants as he stood.
"It ain't just about gettin' by here. It's about gettin' it all," Daryl said before turning back to his bike. "I got the key. Let's go."
Jesus climbed on behind him as the engine roared to life. Daryl scowled as he glanced back at the towering Sanctuary. He wanted to find Isaac and Dwight and beat them to death. He wanted to burn the place to the ground. But there wasn't time.
"We need to go. Head for Hilltop. It's closer," Jesus insisted.
Daryl faced forward and sped off down the road.