Trapped in the dark with his senses robbed from him was nothing short of a waking nightmare for Daryl, who so desperately needed the air of the outside to survive.

He could have said it was thoughts of Beth and his unborn baby that kept him sane. Kept him going during those long, lonely dark days and nights with no discernible passing of time. He could have laid his continued resistance on thoughts of Beth and the baby, and only Beth and the baby, but it would not have been entirely true. He did, of course, think of them, and those thoughts did, of course, offer him light, but another, stronger thought kept him going – revenge.

He thought of getting out, getting home, getting his crossbow.

He thought of Dwight's face, crumpled and bloodied beneath his fist, as he tore his vest from his scrawny, filthy body.

He thought of Negan – oh, he thought of Negan.

No amount of pain or suffering or begging would ever be enough for him. Images of Negan in various gratuitous scenarios kept the blood flowing through his veins, pulled the oxygen into his lungs.

Having no physical sight meant his imagination only ran wild.

Having no sight also meant his other senses, already finely honed as a hunter, were enhanced, and so as he sat in the dark, head leant back against the cold stone, he heard the clack of heels along the corridor almost as soon as they entered.

He stilled, waiting, listening.

A shadow fell over the crack of light beneath the door as the footsteps stopped; he held his breath.

The shadow widened as whoever stood outside the door moved, then suddenly something was thrust beneath the door.

Daryl balked at first, panicking for a moment, until he realised it was only paper.

He picked it up slowly, unable to see anything in the dark.

Then a female voice, hushed, came to him from close behind the door.

'Wait until you hear me leave.' It said.

Daryl frowned, confused, watching as the shadow thinned again, and then the sound of the lock mechanisms turned. Then the clack of heels on concrete started up again, only this time instead of growing louder, they receded, and Daryl strained his ears until he could no longer hear them.

He took several deep, steadying breathes, feeling his heart begin to pump his blood around harder, faster, echoing in his ears as adrenaline pumped along with it.

Slowly and steadily on legs that had not gotten much use, Daryl clutched the paper in his hands and pushed himself up.

He had heard the door being unlocked, but he was still surprised when it gave as he pushed against it, swinging out slowly and heavily into the corridor beyond.

He glanced out through his hair, his eyes squinted against the artificial light, bursts of light popping in his vision. Bare footed and nervous, he stepped out.

The corridor stretched out in both directions, and Daryl tried to rely on his instincts as a life long hunter to work his way around. One hand on the wall to steady himself, his body crouched into a defensive hunch that would allow him to break into a run or fight at any given moment, he moved along, cold feet almost silent on the grey floor.

Eventually, he came to a door that lay ajar, and with a steadying breath, he pushed it open and stepped into what was apparently a bedroom.

The door swung shut behind him, and he shook his hands out, trying to calm himself. He knew the benefit of steady nerves in a situation like this, but man knowing and doing were two different things. His heart fluttered heavily in his throat as his stomach twisted uncomfortably- he knew this was now or never. He either got out or got caught. And he knew if he were caught, something worse than that dark cupboard would greet him.

In the relative, perceived safety of this closed off room, he opened the note, unprepared and uncertain of what he would fine. His heart skipped its next beat as he recognised the hand writing instantly.

Beth.

He read over the three short lines.

Get to the Hill Top.

There are too many walkers at the fence. Starve them out.

Find the Kingdom.

The first line he understood – Hill Top was closer than Alexandria if the journey here was anything to go by, and they were friendly. Friendly enough, anyway. He could get there and catch his breath – restock, regroup, rethink.

Too many walkers at the fence… what did she mean by that? Did she mean here, or at the Hill Top?

The last line meant nothing to him.

He folded the note back up and looked around the room – he could worry about what it meant once he was out of here, and in order to do that, he needed shoes.

As quietly and as quickly as he could, he began to look around the room until he found some casual clothes he could pull on instead of the baggy beige outfit he had been forced to wear, and some shoes. The clothes were a little tight on him and the shoes a little small, but they would work.

He kicked at the clothing he had discarded as it lay crumpled on the floor, distaste in his mouth, then he made his way back out into the corridor with several deep, steadying breaths.

Out of the branded uniform and in normal clothing, he felt a little less conspicuous, and he walked a little faster now, the note buried in a pocket of the pants.

He found a set of stairs and descended.

It took him less time than he had expected it would to find a large set of doors that led him outside and into the onslaught of the sun.

He paused for a moment, looking around, breathing in real, hot air. It was sticky and humid but it was real, unfiltered fresh air, and his lungs seemed to burn with relief as he swallowed it down.

He had stepped out in to a car park, and his boots crunched as he made his way across the gravel, his eyes sweeping his surroundings.

He could hear walkers, and as he crouched down behind a car, he could see them – they were further away from him, over to the left, wandering around concrete blocks and pinned to a fence. Daryl eyed them for a while, pulling out Beth's note again.

Too many walkers at the fence.

Were those the walkers she had meant? He looked out past the ones there, seeing the ones shambling just beyond. Walkers were drawn to walkers, they always had been, and the walkers stuck to the fence, growling and snarling, would only serve to draw in more.

There were men there, women too, seeming in charge of the walkers, and Daryl recognised the colour of their jump suits. A sickening bolt of anger shot through him, and he steadied himself against the car. He was out in the sun, but he wasn't out yet.

As he watched, the people he could only assume were prisoners, began to move the walkers as best they could, calling to them or pushing at them with sticks. After a moment, Daryl realised why, as a motorbike appeared over the hill and slowed, pulling in through the walkers; the gates that separated them from the courtyard beyond opened, and the bike pulled in, kicking up dust as it picked up speed and headed straight to where Daryl hid.

Daryl ducked, looking around himself quickly, getting ready to fight, or run.

As he heard the bike stutter to a stop, he chanced a look around the edge of the car to see the man kick down the stand and climb off the bike.

Daryl's hand found a brick.

The man had his back to him, and was busy with a bag he had strapped onto the back of the vehicle.

Daryl, keeping low to the floor, crept along, careful to keep his feet as quiet as he could in his too small shoes.

The man had just started to turn around as Daryl pounced, smashing the brick into the back of the man's head.

The man huffed out an 'oomph' as he fell forward, and Daryl brought the now bloodied brick down again, then again, then again, until the skull was caved in and the man was still. Bloodied now as a pulp and unrecognisable, Daryl could almost see Negan's face in the quickly reddening dirt. Almost.

Looking around himself again, he grabbed the man's legs and dragged him back behind a car, kicking at the gravel to hide the blood trail in the dust. Then he fished the keys to the bike from the man's pockets.

He stood for a moment, shaking, his breath ragged in the warm air around him, his hair hanging lose from the sweat that had accumulated on his face. The man had been wearing a cap, but it had fallen off after the first hit; he picked it up from the dusty ground, shook it, and pulled it low over his head.

He took some deep breaths, shaking his hands, then climbed onto the bike.

It felt right between his thighs.

Confidence, he told himself, that's all it took. Confidence.

Slowly, he pulled the bike back out and headed for the gate.

Daryl's assumption that the prisoners would not know each individual member of The Saviours paid off; the prisoners working the gates barely even looked up as he approached, save for a cautionary glance. They pulled the gates open for him, and Daryl tried hard not to think of any repercussions they might face as he pulled away, kicking dirt up into the face of the factory that had trapped him for long enough.

The wind blew his hair back, clearing the fear and the resentment as he drove, and the feeling began to come back to his body. As he put distance between himself and The Sanctuary, the thought of Beth still there let nausea settle in the pit of his stomach and his blood run cold, but the note burned in the pocket of his pants and he had to trust her. She had been able to get the note to him, had found a way to free him, he had to assume she knew what she was doing.

He could get her out and help her more with the others at his back than he could alone, unarmed.

He was out. Goddamnit, he was out, and he would get her out too.

Thoughts of this, of beating down Negan, of saving Beth, spurred him on as he rode, and the backdrop around him slipped away as he covered the distance from The Sanctuary to The Hilltop with speed, relying on landmarks he knew or recognised from his trips outside of the safe zone before.

The Hill Top might have been friendly to them, but he was not stupid enough to ride right up to the doors and scream his arrival; there was no guarantee Negan and his men were not there, waiting for him.

So instead he parked the bike close to where they had left he RV weeks ago on their first trip, and hid it as best he could in the shrubbery, opting to creep close to the Hill Top on foot, ignoring the slight complaint of his feet in shoes that didn't quite fit.

He waited just past the boundary and watched, settling himself down silent and still as though he were hunting easily frightened prey – this he could do. This he was experienced at. Sitting quietly, watching and waiting, was different out here in the open with the world calm but expansive around him. Stillness had not been what bothered him in the cell – the quiet was always peaceful to him, the slow ticking of time usually a friend. But the cell had subverted that, taken time and turned it against him, twisted silence into a mocking foe. Silence and time were nothing when there was nothing to see. The darkness had assaulted him, pressed down on him in the tiny confines. He had never been good indoors, and he did not make a good prisoner.

He revelled in the gulps of real, fresh air as he watched the man and the woman atop the gates of Hilltop, their eyes mostly kept on the road – they looked calm, chatting with one another, their spears held loosely.

Daryl didn't recognise them, but their body language didn't suggest danger. If Negan were there, there would be cars, and the Hill Top's residents would be tense.

Perhaps an hour had passed when he decided to get up from his hiding spot and walk the distance to the gates.

He had been heading up the path, in clear view, for a while before they spotted him.

'Stop!' The man cried, holding his spear out over the gate as if he could throw it and impale Daryl to the spot.

Daryl moved closer, but stopped once he was near enough to speak to them.

'What do you want?' The woman shouted, eyes flicking to her partner before steadying on Daryl.

'Get Jesus.' Daryl said.

The two atop the gates looked at one another.

'Who are you?' The man shouted.

Daryl looked at them steadily, his hands twitching by his side.

'Get Jesus!' He shouted again.

The man turned to speak to someone Daryl couldn't see for a moment, before turning back to Daryl.

'Stay there!' He called down.

Daryl just nodded once.

The moments ticked by, then the gates dragged open, and Jesus was striding out.

He stopped before Daryl on the path, his eyes searching his face, then he nodded, and Daryl let out his breath.

'Daryl.' Jesus said. 'Come in.'

Jesus led Daryl to one of the trailers and gave him something to eat and drink, leaving him for a moment to gather himself. Then the other man sat at the small, rounded table in front of Daryl, his eyes on him.

'What now?' He asked, and Daryl's lips quirked up into a half smile, appreciative of Jesus's straight forward approach.

'Get Rick.' He said, pulling the note from his pocket and placing it on the table between them. He jabbed at it with his forefinger. 'Beth's got a plan.'

Jesus peered at it, his hands flat on the table in front of him, fingers overlapping.

He nodded slowly.

'I've seen the outside of The Sanctuary.' He said. 'They have walkers tied up out the front, and more free. Is she suggesting we get them inside?'

Daryl has had some time to think about this as he made his way to the hilltop and waited; he and Beth had several shared experiences, and some of the worst included intruding walkers.

Daryl nodded.

'We break down their defences and trap 'em. Take the fight to them.' He said.

'And Beth,' Jesus said slowly. 'She'll be okay?'

Daryl nodded; she would have thought that through.

Jesus pointed with a softer finger to the last line of her note.

'The Kingdom.' He said.

'Yeah.' Daryl peered at him. 'Tha' mean anything to you?'

Jesus grinned.

'Yeah.' He said. 'I'll take you there.'

As Daryl gathered his people and made plans, and Beth waited in her room, Simon and Negan returned to discover their prize prisoner had escaped.

Negan paced the meeting room, Lucille hung low in his hand – the bat was not engaged, but it was still there, a reminder to the men and women that sat in silence around the long table that it could be used at any moment.

As if sensing the tension, Negan swung around, swinging Lucile up and over his shoulder and bringing her down onto the end of the table – an end that was already gouged out with long, deep scratches and notches from years of abuse from the same bat.

'How.' He ground out, pulling the bat back with a huff. 'How did this happen.'

He pointed Lucille up and into the face of Dwight, who sat inches away from where Lucille had landed.

He swallowed, his eyes on the barbed end of the weapon.

'I – I don't know.' He stammered, trying to swallow past the lump of fear in his thin throat. 'Negan I swear – I didn't do this.'

Negan looked heavily at the man at the table, his lips pursed. Slowly, he brought Lucille up and rested her over one shoulder.

'I left those keys you with, Dwighty boy.' He said.

Dwight looked up at him, trying hard not to break eye contact.

'I know.' He said. 'I know. And I keep them on me – I always keep them on me.'

'Well then I guess you dropped them.' Negan said.

Dwight swallowed.

'I guess you got some slippery fingers.'

Dwight shook his head, his face pale.

Negan sighed, ran a hand down his face. He looked again at Dwight, let out a groan.

'I do not think you did this on purpose.' He said finally, and Dwight felt himself relax a little. 'I want to believe that, D.'

'Of course.' Dwight said, hearing the hope in his own voice. 'I would never –'

Negan waved Lucille down at him, and Dwight shut his mouth.

'But I need you to know I cannot just let this slide, D.' He said.

Dwight swallowed again, his hands shaky in his lap.

'I need you to know – I need you all to know – that negligence like this is not acceptable. When this gets out – and goddamn it will get out – I need everyone to know that it has not gone… unpunished. Ignored.'

Dwight risked looking away from Negan to glance at the people around him; they were all silent, their faces still and impassive, eyes cast down at the table before them. He took a breath.

'Right.' He said.

'Come on Blondie, up.'

Beth turned in time to see Simon let himself in to her small room before something soft was chucked at her; she caught it against her chest and held it out before her – it was a black dress.

She looked up at Simon, confused.

'Negan needs you to wear that.' He said. 'Then you need to come with me.'

'What?' Beth frowned. 'Why?'

'We don't got time for your questions, Blondie.' He snapped. 'Get changed. Come on. Hurry up.'

Beth held the dress back against her chest.

'Fine.' She ground out. 'You wait outside.'

Simon looked at her for a moment, then made a show of rolling his eyes.

'Alright.' He said. 'But you aint out in five minutes, I'm coming in to drag you out.'

Beth gave him a curt nod. She waited until he had closed the door again before she slowly began to peel her own clothes off.

The dress was plain black with short t-shit sleeves, and it fell smoothly over her bump to lay mid-thigh.

She smoothed it down then pulled her own boots back on and went to the door – she had been no longer than two minutes, and Simon was waiting for her with a smile, his hands clasped in front of him.

'Alright.' He grinned. 'This way then.'

Beth followed him in silence as he brought her out into the courtyard – she eyed the walkers at the fence, noting their numbers. So nothing had happened yet. That was okay. It had only been a couple of days since she had given Sherry her note. Maybe Sherry hadn't been able to get the key yet. Beth had not heard from any of the wives since their dinner.

He led her back through the ground doors and down into the market – it was no longer set up with stalls or small rooms, and there were no longer any smells of bread or spices – yet the room was still full. Though whilst the market had been bustling with sounds of life, but the room now was quiet.

As Beth followed Simon, she could hear murmurs of voices, the shuffle of clothing, the odd cough, but no one actually spoke.

Through the crowd Simon led her, Beth spotted the wives. They stood together, their eyes low, all in black.

'This is you.' Simon said, stopping before them.

Beth stopped too and the other five women looked up at her, a range of emotions flitting across each face.

'You ladies take good care of her now.' Simon grinned, then he left, heading back through the crowd.

'What's going on?' Beth asked quietly, looking around herself at the crowd. The room they stood in was hot, perhaps from the mass of bodies, and she found she was glad for the light dress.

Sherry shook her head.

'We don't know.' She said.

'Looks like you're one of us, now.' Amber said, her eyes sweeping over Beth's dress.

Beth looked down at it herself, then at the other women around her, all in similar dresses. She frowned, but before she had much time to think about it, a whistle rang through the air.

Beth looked up and around, spotting Negan up on the walkway. Then she realised people were kneeling, dropping down one by one around her, heads dipping down out of sight.

Sherry pulled at her wrist, tugging her down with her.

Beth wanted to complain, to pull her wrist away and make a stand, but the other wives were looking at her with eyes that begged her not to, so she ducked her head and fell to her knees.

'Alright,' she heard Negan drawl. 'Everybody up.'

Sherry helped pull Beth to her feet, a task that proved harder than expected now that her centre of gravity had started to shift.

Negan leant over the rails of the walkway, placing both of his hands at the edge. Simon stood a little behind him, Lucille in his hand. Dwight stood to the other side, along with a few other faces Beth neither recognised nor knew.

Negan swept his eyes out over all of them for a moment, a smile on his lips.

Then he jerked his chin to the people behind him and began his descent down into the crowd which began to part.

He strode through like a man brimming with over confidence, his boots echoing over the floor. He nodded to a few of the surrounding people, offering small talk to others.

Beth watched as he neared them, moving towards a furnace she had not realised was there, but recognising now as the source of the heat. A man stood at it, stoking the flames that burnt low within it.

Negan stopped by it.

'I have poured my blood, my sweat and my fuckin' tears into this place.' He said loudly, looking around at the crowd. 'And I worked my damn ass off to keep it all floating. To keep it all together. To keep all of you safe. Watered. Fed.'

Beth bit her lip.

'There are people out there – ' He thrust an arm out in the general direction of the doors. 'That want to see us fail. Who want to tear down everything we have worked so hard to achieve here. Everything I have worked so hard to achieve.' He jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb. 'Now I am trying my god damn hardest to make sure that doesn't happen.'

He paused again, looked across at his men as some of the people in the crowd cheered; it sent a sickening feeling crawling down Beth's spine. She looked around at the faces, faces looking so intently at the man who spoke, and felt a trickle of fear. These people were not looking at him the same way she was.

'In order to keep what we have here, in order to stay on top, any good leader needs a few good men.' He grinned, nodding to his men. 'Just a few good men that he can really trust. Now, that can make all the difference.' He held a hand out, gesturing for Dwight to step forward. When he did not immediately, Simon gave him a small shove.

Negan turned his hand and placed it on Dwight's shoulder.

'Trust is incredibly important.' He said. 'Perhaps the most important thing of all. Wouldn't you agree, Dwighty boy?'

Dwight nodded once, and Beth saw his Adam's apple bob.

'Now I am not saying I do not trust you.' He chuckled lightly, patting Dwight's shoulder before pulling his hand away. 'But I have to be able to trust in your competence, too. I have to be able to trust that if I leave this place, I leave it in capable hands.' He grinned at Dwight as he held a hand out towards the man at the furnace. 'Not slippery ones.'

The man handed him a leather glove, which he pulled on slowly.

'Now. Dwight here.' He said, raising his voice. 'Dwight here is a good man. I do not doubt that. But I left something very, very important in Dwight's care, and lo and behold. Dwighty boy lost it.'

Beth balled her clammy hands into fists at her side; she chanced a glance at Sherry, but Sherry's eyes were locked on Dwight.

'And every body knows I do not take kindly to people losing my things. Especially things that have a very high, very important value.' He held a now gloved hand out to the man at the furnace and Beth felt her heart rate spike. 'Such negligence – well – it simply cannot be ignored. Accident or no accident, I simply cannot allow something like this to slide. I do that, and suddenly every one is getting sloppy. Missing things. Messing up.'

The man at the furnace pulled out a hot poker and turned with it, slowly. On the curved end hung a metal iron, almost glowing with heat.

'And when people grow complacent, when I allow mistakes like this to be looked over, well.' He grinned, taking the hot iron in his gloved hand. 'Well that is when we allow people to storm in here and take what we have worked so hard to achieve.'

He held up the hot iron, his eyes firm on Dwight.

'You all understand that. You understand that, right, D?'

Dwight took a deep breath, bringing his eyes up to Negan's; his face was pale, and Beth could see the sweat building up on his temples beneath his light hair.

He nodded.

Negan nodded back, a grin spreading across his own face.

'Simon,' he said, nodding towards Simon who stood a little further back. 'Hold him still.'

Simon stepped up and took D's arms, pulling them behind his back, trapping him against him. Negan smiled, then stepped towards him.

Beth watched in muted horror as Negan moved forward; her heart skipped a beat as he raised the iron. She drew in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as Negan pressed it to Dwight's face.

Dwight thrashed in Simon's arms as the iron sizzled against his flesh; He squeezed his eyes shut at first, clearly trying to brave through it, but as the iron burnt down through the layers, melting and scorching until skin and fat bubbled and dripped down from the metal surface, running in gruesome rivulets down his neck and pooling over his light shirt, he began to scream.

Beth felt rather than heard Sherry's sobs beside her – she reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, knowing what she was thinking. It had been Beth's plan, but Sherry had been the one to free Daryl, and as the acrid stench of burning flesh began to wave over the room, stinging at their eyes, she knew they were both feeling responsible for the burning agony Dwight was currently in.

Beth wanted to tear her eyes away, to look down like the women around her were, but she didn't.

She kept them up as Negan pulled the iron back, long strands of skin pulling back like cheese from a pizza as blood welled to surface. She kept her eyes up as Dwight sagged in Simon's arms. She kept her eyes up as Negan turned and saw her, satisfied smile on his own face. She kept her eyes up because if this was happening, it meant Daryl had gotten out.