[A/N]: Hello dear readers! Sorry it has been a while again. This chapter is extra long to make up for it. Thank you so much for follows and favorites. Special thanks to Karen, snowangel, PsychoBeachGirl88, and guests for reviewing. I hope you will enjoy.
If you like Negan short stories, please check out the blog rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts on Tumblr, run by my amazing friend Jill. You will feel right at home with her stories.
I nervously chew my breakfast the morning we leave for Alexandria. The food seems scentless, tasteless this morning.
Jim keeps on talking about some shit Carson asked him to do yesterday. I feel a bit bad for not listening but I can't help it.
I'm trembling with nervousness for my group.
I down a glass of water in an attempt to wash away the lump in my throat.
I want to see them again. But I am scared for what Negan will do. How badly are they wounded? How will I even fit into this whole equation of a visit?
When breakfast is finished, Jim gives me a quick hug.
"Be careful. Come talk to me when you get back?"
"Of course. You'll be bored to death without me," I half-heartedly tease.
"Nah, Carson'll work my ass off, probably."
I give him a quiet chuckle.
I look around, to see Negan staring at us. He beckons me over.
"Good luck," Jim says. His smile tinged with worry.
"I'll be fine," I say, determined. I don't know if I believe myself.
I walk toward Negan with heavy legs.
"We leave in five. Meet us at the front," he gestures toward the door heading toward the entrance hall I saw a few days back. I nod.
He looks at me a second or so more. "You ain't gonna give me trouble, huh, doll? If you do, Lucille might have to give you a little peck. I'm thinking on the cheek. But she might slip over to your eye." I suppress a shudder. Does he have to threaten me so blatantly?
"No, I won't," I state firmly. How dumb does he think I am?
We are outnumbered. Outgunned. Outsmarted. Outhumored. And Negan knows it too.
We are standing at the front door with the Alexandria group. Like we're going on a fucking school trip.
I hadn't been outside of the Sanctuary yet. Last time around, I was unconscious.
Inside the spacious factory, I hadn't heard the collective rumble of gurgling walkers pinned to the fence. I've gotta give it to Negan: It looks intimidating and eerie as fuck.
"Alright everyone. Everyone armed and ready to help ourselves to Rick's things?" Negan grins. He turns to me.
"C'mere darlin', got something for you." He smirks at me. In one swift move he grabs my wrists and zipties them together.
At least he didn't tie my wrists behind my back. That would've been pure hell on my shoulder.
"Nothing personal, Ellie. Just making sure you're staying with me." The bastard winks at me. I turn my head away with displeasure.
He roughly grabs my chin, turning me to face him. His grip isn't strong or painful. It's just present. "No games while we're out there. I can fuck you up worse than this." His eyes ghost over my face.
We're really on a roll here, with two threats in less than five minutes.
I nod fervently.
"C-can I get my jacket?" Fuck. I panicked. I'm kind of surprised to hear that soft-spoken, scared question tumble out of my mouth at such an inappropriate moment. I deserve a sarcastic mental pad on the back for this. Well fucking done, Ellie. I take a deep breath, clarifying, "This is cold," gesturing to my current clothing.
He looks down and smiles. Then he catches my gaze again, reaches his index finger up to my nose and touches it, saying, "Of course you can." What the actual fuck. Judging by his laughter, the absolute shock shows on my face.
I am not even going to think about what that is supposed to mean. Probably some alpha dog shit that he does things like that because he can. And because he thinks it is so very funny.
He guides me to a big-ass truck with him, his hand firmly on my back. Very reminiscent of that night of the line-up.
But I am getting firmly pushed (dare I say shoved) into the back of the truck. Great.
His hand on the backdoor of the truck, he smirks, looking me over. How pathetic I must look, ziptied and cross-legged on the floor. The only stream of light in the dark back of the truck coming from behind Negan's silhouette.
"Enjoy the ride," he says grinning, raising his eyebrows. With a heavy thud, the door is slammed shut and locked. To his credit, I might have actually tried to jump out of a driving truck if he hadn't locked it.
God, it is dark. And I must have hit my head at least four times on the side of the truck. Apparently, when your hands are bound, you can't really catch yourself when being flung around by another bump in the road.
Here I was, thinking it couldn't really get much worse. And then he had to pull out the freaking zipties.
Finally the truck stops. Fuck, my shoulder hurts from being banged around like this.
The door is being unlocked and a beam of sunlight pours in, directly on my face. Negan takes the opportunity of my temporary disorientation by grabbing my elbow tight and making sure there is no window of opportunity for me to escape.
I sigh through my nose with annoyance. Either he leaves nothing to chance, or he really overestimates me.
I look around at the familiar walls of Alexandria. I see Sasha standing on the watch tower. She visibly stiffens and tightens her grip on her rifle, calling Rick and hurriedly rushing down.
I hear a gurgle and stiffen. Everyone left on this godforsaken Earth knows that noise. Out of the bushes and the trees comes a small, rotten horde of walkers.
Then the panic kicks in. I am ziptied and unarmed. For the first time, the urge to stick close to Negan strikes me. I can't run anywhere, either. We are surrounded against the gates of Alexandria.
But as he expertly and swiftly moves Lucille through their skulls, requiring both his hands, it proves difficult to stay by his side while ziptied.
As the sounds of skulls cracking open and gunfire fill the air, I try to mirror Negan's steps. Stepping back anytime he swings Lucille to avoid getting her in my face while standing behind him.
At some point, a walker lady with raggedy hair and a face with holes rotten into it comes at me from the side, while Negan is busy handling three walkers at once. I scuffle backwards fast.
I trip over a root and fall onto my back. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I yelp at the incredibly sharp pain stabbing at my shoulder, tears forming in my eyes.
I squeeze my eyes shut and scream at the top of my lungs as the walker lunges at me. This is it.
My scream penetrates the air in a high-pitched, shrill way that would make King Kong's Ann Darrow proud.
Instead of a set of teeth sinking into my flesh, I feel splatters of moisture landing on my skin. I open my eyes, two tears escaping the corners of my eyes. My startled gaze is reflected in Negan's eyes. He sits on his knees in front of me. Grabbing my upper arms, he pulls me up off my back and looks me over for walker bites with wide eyes. Must have been scared to lose his leverage over Rick.
He shakes it off and puts his charismatic smile back on. "Gotcha," he says, putting his hand on my cheek, slapping it softly.
As I am shaking and trying to slow down my sky-rocketing heart rate, I can't help but let out one shaky, breathy laugh, looking back at him. In this moment, that charming exterior of his is so absurd that it blocks out my panic and my fear.
He saved my life. It doesn't change anything; I still hate him. But he saved my life.
Pushing his hands under my armpits and locking them behind my back, he pulls me up to my feet in one swift move. A whimper of pain escapes me due to the strain on my shoulder.
"You gonna say 'thank you' yet?" He says in a low voice, his breath hitting my face.
I feel the flight response building in my system at his proximity. I need to say something to get out of these arms.
"Thank you, Negan," I say softly, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it brave and steady.
He hums in agreement, smiling. He steps away, but not before linking the arm of my bad shoulder into his. How deviously smart.
With all the walkers now killed, we walk over to the entrance gate.
He rams Lucille against the gate a few times, calling in a sing-song voice,"Little pig, little pig! Let me in!"
Big Bad Wolf. Heh, at least his self-knowledge is intact.
A silhouette approaches the gate from the other side. The cloth part covering the gate is rolled back and only the gate's bars now separate us from Rick. He looks so tired, the bags under his eyes prominently purple. Every line and crease in his face seems exacerbated. His bearded face has far surpassed the stubble stage, and he looks increasingly like how he used to look before Alexandria. Except this time around, he looks more like a tamed animal than a wild one.
I think we all do.
Without another word, he opens the gate for us.
At a distance behind Rick, the others are standing. They look equally tired and defeated.
My eyes search furiously for Daryl. Glenn. Maggie. I spot none of them.
My heart sinks and an all-consuming pit forms in my stomach. Queasiness hits me like a brick wall. Please, no...
I meet Rosita's eyes. Though the pit in my stomach is still there, I am glad to see she is okay. She suddenly raises her hands above her head and takes a few steps forward.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Negan asks, irritated.
"J-just walking to Ellie," she says, her voice tight. This girl has the heart of a damn lion, and I love her all the more for it.
I hold Negan's gaze, as if hoping to ask for permission without words. After a few moments, he gives a curt nod, mumbling, "Go on." His arm's grip on mine loosens as he pulls out a knife. But before I can let out a scared gasp, he cuts the ziptie loose. He looks at me hard, a dark threat hanging clearly between us. 'Don't fuck up.'
I walk unsure steps toward Rosita. Unsure because I don't expect things to be this easy with Negan. In fact, I am half expecting to be shot in the back.
When we reach each other, we fall into a familiar hug. She avoids putting pressure on the shoulder, the sling making it painfully obvious which one to avoid.
"Are you okay?" Rosita asks tentatively. I swallow hard. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Shoulder hurts like a bitch but I got food and a bed."
"A doctor?"
"Yeah. He treated my shoulder."
"I was so worried, El."
"I know, me too." I pause. "How are Daryl, Glenn and Maggie?" I ask, dreading the answer, the pit in my stomach growing.
"Dary-"
"Hey, you girls going to make out yet? I'd be down for that," he says with a grin, eyes shining dirtily.
I can't help but let go of Rosita, whip my head around and throw him a glare.
He throws up his hands in mock surrender and laughs.
"Well folks, as you see, Ellie is just peachy. And feisty as fuck," he winks with a grin.
This guy just makes you want to twist his fucking neck. I'll have to get in line.
"Rick, how 'bout a tour? Show us the shit you owe us."
Without a moment's pause, he mutters to Rick, "Here, catch." And he throws Lucille at him. "And don't fucking drop her." Rick acts quickly and catches the bat, the barbed wire cutting into his hands. I admire the way he doesn't even flinch.
"Well?" Negan says impatiently.
Rick starts walking ahead without saying a word, Lucille dangling loosely from his right hand. It's as though he wants as little to do with it as possible, so he is barely even gripping it.
Negan turns to me. "Go show everyone how great you are doing."
Then he suddenly leans in, his cheek against mine. He softly says in my ear, "If you do anything stupid, Ellie, I'll be sure to scrape the girl clean open with Lucille. You understand me?" He leans back a bit to fix me with his eyes. Mine must be wide as saucers as I nod my head vigorously.
He moves away from me equally abruptly. He turns on his heel and follows Rick. I look at Rosita, to see her wide-eyed expression mimicking mine.
I walk toward her and frown. "Yeah, he tends to do that."
Rosita hums in uncomfortable agreement. After shaking it off, she says, "Come on. I'll take you to them."
We pass the clinic on our quiet walk over. Apparently, they are not in there. We enter one of the previously unoccupied houses. All furniture has been moved from the spacious living room, and beds have been placed there. One of the beds is unoccupied, the other two hold Daryl and Glenn. They both look like they're sleeping, lying on their backs, Daryl with his good arm under his head.
I whisper to Rosita, "How are they? What happened after... you know?"
"He is fine," Daryl suddenly grumbles, opening his eyes. I gasp and rush toward his bed. I smile at him, joking, "You look like shit."
Tears form in my eyes. I wipe them with my sleeve before they can spill over. "Ya always been such a wimp, El. C'mere." He carefully sits up.
We exchange a weird one-armed hug. We're even wounded in opposite shoulders.
"Heh, fucking shoulders," I chuckle. He gives a deep chuckle. "I'm glad you're alright," he rasps softly.
"I'm glad you're alright," I say, smiling.
"Shut up, red."
"Alright, redneck."
We embrace for a few moments. This guy has been like an older brother to me. I love him like family.
"Talking about shoulders; how's yours?"
"'s good." Such a talker.
Rosita cuts in, "So good, in fact, that you were burning up the past few days," crossing her arms, raising her eyebrows.
"I ain't now, am I?" He says, squinting his eyes at Rosita.
"Dixon..." I say in a jokingly threatening voice.
He snorts, shaking his head.
"Seriously though, is the fever gone?" I ask worriedly.
"Yeah. 's all good, really."
We look at each other another moment, because we don't know when we will see each other again after this visit to Alexandria.
Then I look at Glenn. It's strange he didn't wake up from our talking.
Rosita and Daryl notice me glancing at Glenn.
She carefully says, "He hasn't woken since..." That night.
"Are you saying..?"
"Yes. Coma."
The word 'coma' hits me like a ton of bricks.
I suppress a sob. "What'd they do to him?" I ask, pained.
"Dwight," Daryl grumbles dangerously. "Shot him four times. One in his foot, one in his ankle, two in his calf."
I gasp, bringing my hand over my mouth from shock. I burst into tears.
To think I'll have to go back to Sanctuary and sit at a table with Dwight...
I take slow steps toward his bed. I sit down on the chair placed caringly next to his bed. By and for people who want to speak to him.
And now that I sit here, I don't know what to say. It's so fucking stupid, but looking at his face, words fail me. At this point, my tears soak my dirty jeans and my sobs cut the tense silence.
He looks so frail like this, his eyes closed and his pale lips slightly parted. His chest rising and falling at a slow pace. His dark hair fallen over his forehead, creating a stark contrast against his unusually pasty skin.
At least he can breathe on his own. And he is lying comfortably, the sheets tucked in.
"You... This can't happen to you, Glenn. You're a good guy. I wouldn't..." A sob escaped my throat.
I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Glenn.
He was the one to let me out of that container in Terminus.
I sit in the corner of the container, shaking. The tears have stopped a while ago.
I don't know how long. All I know is they pick us off a few at the time.
Now I'm the only one left.
They'll come for me next.
They'll eat me.
At least I didn't really know this group. I couldn't have been with them for more than a few weeks, and I had kept my distance. I just tagged along to where they were going. Safety is in numbers these days.
Except when you get captured by a bunch of crazies who think eating other survivors is the way to go.
I'm not stupid. I know this is a butchery. That became painfully obvious after they took the first five.
An explosion takes me out of my drowsy state, rattling the walls of the container.
I am alert at once, standing up. I start banging the door in a panic. If this place is about to blow, somehow, I want out.
More and more noise starts coming from outside.
Screaming.
Gunshots.
More screaming.
Walkers.
I start bawling, hitting the door so hard that my palms bruise and bleed.
I scream for help, my voice more high-pitched and shrill than I've ever heard it.
Suddenly there are noises coming from the other side of the door.
Someone is opening it.
Instead of soothing my panic, it flames up again. Who knows who might be on the other side of this door.
It finally opens to reveal an Asian guy. But the look on his face is different than of most Terminus people. It doesn't hold the forced friendliness, the fake smile where those cold eyes betray the horrors of what they will do to you later. Like a butcher's eyes, talking soothingly to the cattle before shooting a spike into its skull.
The look on his face sparks hope.
"Come on," he says urgently. "We've got to go. This place is burning."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Glenn. But we don't have time for this. We're getting out of here!"
I nod understandingly.
Escape now, ask questions later.
Glenn is the kind of good guy who not only wishes for people to live another day, but who ensures it...
"You deserve better than this, Glenn."
I brush my hand over his forehead, smoothing the hairs away. "Please wake up," I whisper before standing up.
I ask Rosita, "Where is Maggie?"
"She- she's at Hilltop. She-" Rosita has a sharp intake of breath, "she lost her baby."
I swallow hard. "How is she?"
"She's still there, recovering. She's healing. But she wants to be here." Rosita's eyes linger on Glenn for a second.
"Yeah."
I don't know what to say. Negan brought about so much misery.
I clench my fists, my knuckles whitening.
I don't care what he does to me over there. It's only a fraction of the pain they are going through over here.
But everyone is alive. For now.
I want to prevent him from wreaking more damage to us. But I can't. I'm no good to anyone dead.
God, I wish there was a cut-and-dried solution. But if there were, Rick would have carried it out already.
Rick seems as lost within these walls as I am within Sanctuary's. But I guess it's no different now: They're all Negan's walls, anyway.
I signal to Rosita to leave the room. I feel like I am suffocating in here, and I need to go get some stuff from my old room before leaving. I don't want to be cold or in the same pair of underwear forever.
On my way towards the door, Daryl grabs my hand in passing and squeezes it tightly. His eyes shine with quiet emotion. "Take care of yourself, El. We'll come for ya, alright?"
Tearing up again, I nod at him.
He was right. I am a wimp.
"Bye, Daryl." With one last squeeze, I leave the infirmary.
Walking into my old house feels weird. It's like visiting a childhood home that has been changed and changed, until it's almost nothing like your memories. It's only a reminder of a past you can't go back to.
I grab a duffel bag and start emptying my closet in it. It's not like I had such an extensive wardrobe to start with, but I would like to have more than one pair of underwear and one tattered shirt. A hair brush is a good idea as well.
I bet Negan will want to check the duffel. Like I would stow a bunch of bombs and knives into it.
I would if I had a single chance of getting them with me unseen.
He'd find out before I could say "Lucille".
He threatened Rosita. He threatened me. I ain't trying shit.
Rosita stands behind me, leaning against the wall of my room with her arms crossed over her chest, looking me over.
"What happened there, El?"
I continue stuffing the duffel, answering, "Nothing yet."
"You sure? You don't look like nothing happened."
I sigh. "I know you're worried, Ro. But my situation isn't the worst right now. Please, just focus on getting Glenn out of this alive."
Rosita raises one eyebrow at my apparently unacceptable answer.
I frown, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"The men there are pigs, but Negan has 'em under control. Like he does everyone," I add in a mumble.
"The worst thing about my stay there has been not knowing what's up with you guys."
Rosita approaches me, grabbing my shoulders, looking me square in the eye.
"We will be fine. Just, be careful."
Then, she adds under her breath, "We'll get you out. Working on it."
I eye her meaningfully, nodding slowly.
I shrug into my leather jacket and we leave my room. I don't want Negan to throw a temper tantrum because he doesn't know where I am within the next three seconds.
On our way back to the front gate, we hear tumult growing.
"No, you are not fucking taking that!" A female voice yells.
As we round a corner, we walk right into it: A furious Tara pointing her gun at a Savior with a cold, annoyed look on his face, a cardboard box filled with medical supplies in his hands.
We're in front of the clinic; Denise's clinic.
"That is not half! Put it back!" The Savior she is yelling at bristles.
"I assure you, miss," he says sarcastically, "that this is half."
More and more people gather around the clinic, having been alerted by the uproar.
"Sure, and I can fucking fly! You're taking the morphine. You're leaving us with aspirins against the gun wounds your guy inflicted on our people!" Her voice is getting shrill from yelling at this point.
"Tara," Rosita says tentatively. Then softer, she says, "You need to calm down before Neg-"
"You called?" Negan comes strutting around the corner, a half-smile present on his face.
Rosita immediately closes her mouth, keeping her eyes on Negan as he moves past her to Tara. Rick trails behind him, looking vastly pissed being treated as Negan's lapdog.
Rick is still holding the bat as if it's contaminated with some disease. It probably is, ugh. I feel disgusted that the thing even ruptured my skin.
Rick sees what's happening and makes an effort to intervene. "Tara! Put the gun down!" Panic unveiled in his voice.
Tara takes her eyes off the Savior for the first time since we've been standing here. She looks bewildered.
"You can't let them do this, Rick!" She looks at him with disbelief.
Negan cuts in, "Ma'am, we've left you half your medical supplies. You're free to check the remainder of your storage," he says, bearing a self-righteous smile. He speaks like an arrogant caregiver would speak to their patients in a mental ward.
Of course, we're the crazies in his sane world.
"You can't be serious with this 'half' shit if half our medicine stock is nasal spray and penicillin!"
"Tara! Stop, now!" Rick says urgently.
Negan is laughing his ass off. Somehow he finds the trouble he causes among us very amusing. A fractured group is funnier than a united one, I suppose.
"Nasal spray is all you need when you've got these big fucking walls protecting you from everything else."
Tara's eyes flicker between Rick and Negan, and she realizes this is happening.
"Denise would have never allowed this," she says, her voice quavering at the mention of her poor girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.
She throws her gun at Rick's feet and storms off.
Negan's chuckle cuts the tense air. Does he really have to be such an insensitive asshole a hundred percent of the time?
The Saviors cut through our group, cardboard boxes full of our things in their arms.
They stand at the trucks, looking questioningly at Negan what to do next.
Are they even fucking self-aware?
But I guess we're no better. Look at Rick.
Negan walks over to me, standing a fraction too close for comfort. He starts prying at my fingers. I heavily resist the urge to slap away his hands and quickly open mine, releasing the duffel bag I had no idea I had been gripping so tightly.
My knuckles become skin-colored again, after their bright white state.
Without another word he searches the duffel, throwing around the contents, obviously looking for anything dangerous. He grabs a fistful of my underwear and lets them slip through his fingers again, a dirty smirk on his face, exchanging a look with me for the shortest moment. I look away, my distaste clear as day on my face.
Dirty motherfucker.
He zips the duffel back up and throws it over his shoulder.
I look at him with confusion.
"That's mine."
"I know. Now it's mine, until you earn it back," he says, laughter in his voice.
I resist the urge to pinch my nose.
I don't say anything. There is nothing worth saying, or worth getting hurt over.
"Oh! Before I forget," he says dramatically, extending his arm to Rick.
Rick looks at Negan, his eyes dead. He eagerly returns Lucille like he shoves a dirty diaper in Negan's hands.
Taking large steps compared to my small ones, Negan walks us to the trucks again, giving me no moment to say goodbye. Rosita mutters softly, "Be careful."
I whisper, "Always," my eyes glistening with tears. I manage my best fake smile (still the worst).
I don't want to go back.
But I'll manage.
I wish I could have seen Maggie. I wish I knew how she was doing, I wish I could have said something to her.
"Wait a sec, doll," Negan says as we stand in front of his truck again. He holds up the stupid ziptie again.
Right, this is what I was looking forward to: Being flung around in the back of a truck again. Zipties and bumpy roads were a match made in heaven.
I just hold my hands up and get it over with. If I could burn him with my eyes, he'd be a pile of ash by now.
"You did good today," he tells me in a gravelly voice.
I don't know whether he is sarcastic or surprised or both. He'd suspected me to kick up a fuss, probably.
I know it'll get me or someone from my group killed. I'm not an idiot.
I glance at him to see his eyes boring into mine. I almost reflexively jump back, as if burning my hand on a fire.
He opens up the truck again, leaning against the door with his arm. He stands over me intimidatingly.
I shuffle past him into the truck, forced into an uncomfortably close proximity with him again for a moment. I face the inside of the truck.
Huh. They stole our mattresses.
The ride back will at least be a lot more forgiving in the bruise department than the ride over.
As I plump down on one of the mattresses, lying down, the door closes, putting me into darkness.
Fuck. This will be the last time in I don't know how long before I see them again.
I attempt to rub my temples in an attempt to calm myself down before I get overwhelmed. It's the only thing that tends to work.
Except my hands are ziptied. Try rubbing your temples with your hands pressed together as one.
With a frustrated sigh, I lie back, resigned and tired. I close my eyes, though for the sake of darkness, I didn't have to.
However, sleep won't find me either when being hurled around on the mattress.
Thank God for that cargo.
"Ellie."
I sit up, my heart jumping in my throat. I'm not far enough gone to have imagined that, right?
I scan the back of the truck, but all my eyes register is darkness.
It'd be just my luck to be locked in here with a creepy Savior.
My good shoulder is unmistakably tapped.
I hurl myself around and almost scream. Then I see him sitting there under a mattress, his finger on his lips and a big-ass automatic rifle held tightly in his hands.
My wide-eyed expression softens into one of relief, mixed in with dread. He won't stand a chance in the Sanctuary.
"...Carl?"
