Chapter 1
Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2
Warnings: Typical TWD violence & gore; canonical character death
Negan was pacing, his bat resting on his shoulder. Dark. Sticky. Flesh hanging from the barbed wire. Two bodies lay still. And the man was admiring the scene. His handiwork. The garden he had set on fire. He sighed theatrically while your world was narrowing to breathing and not breathing. You were on your knees within a ragged half-circle of your friends. Faces were slick with sweat, dirt, and tears. Blood. It had sprayed in arcs with each swing of that bat. “Well hell.” Negan grinned, something sharp lurking behind it. He strolled along the edge of the line of survivors, his weapon seeming to hum in his hand. “It’d seem the fun was over, now wouldn’t it? No-ho-ho!” Placing the end of the bat on the dirt, he pressed his palm over the flat of the knob to lean on it. “That was just the first demonstration of my—talents.” When the quiet sobs and heavy breaths were all that met him, he chuckled. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” Picking up the bat he had called Lucille, he swung her from side to side at his hip, a flimsy wedge of flesh working loose from the wire to fall just in front of you. “But we’re not finished yet.” He said lightly, almost conversational. “You see, we’ve got ourselves a mystery.” Negan tilted his head, that slight smirk seemingly a permanent expression at that point. “My right hand man, Merle, seems to have turned up dead. Now, Dixon wouldn’t have been an easy man to kill, but someone managed to bring that ol’ cigarette-and-sneer down. And I do not enjoy unresolved business.”
You felt your heartbeat falter. “Dixon.” He growled, breaths growing more labored. Wet. “Y’remember—remember that name.” He had warned you. Him or me. You hadn’t wanted to kill him. You had only been trying to survive him. You didn’t look at Rick. He didn’t look at you. He knew. Of course, he did. You had run straight back to Alexandria and told him what had happened. Even with Abraham and Glenn—what remained of them—lying so close, Rick didn’t immediately rat you out. You were family. You knew that. Though you wouldn’t have blamed him if he named you so that the rest of them could live. Negan sucked loudly on his teeth, eyebrows raising. “Thought we would have established how things work with the first two.” He shook his head, amusement shining in a setting where it shouldn’t be allowed. “I’m gonna need a confession from someone in our little congregation here. Somebody killed my boy and I’ve got this tingle in my tummy that that person is right here.” He used Lucille as a pointer, the bloody barrel gliding in front of each person like the second-hand on a clock. Before he could say another word, the shadows seemed to shift. Boots scraped over gravel. Another silhouette in the headlights that promised suffering. A man in a sleeveless shirt and leather vest, crossbow hanging loose in one hand like an extension of his arm. Dark hair hanging in his eyes. Shoulders tense. Eyes like shards of river ice. The air of danger that surrounded him rivaled that of Negan. Lethal. He was silent as he moved, slowly circling the line of captives. The crossbow never quite pointed at anyone. It didn’t need to. The threat was already there, a vibrating aura around him. Negan gestured towards the newcomer casually. “This here is Daryl. Family of the deceased.” “We’re—Dixons, me an’ him.”
You thought you might be sick. Daryl’s jaw tightened as he stepped around in front of your group. A muscle ticked in his cheek while he paced. Stalking. Predatory. You felt it then. A crushing weight settling over your back. This part wasn’t about theatrics, dominance, or even punishment. This was about blood. Revenge. You stared at the dirt, but the toes of his boots moved just within sight. The crossbow creaked softly in his grip. Each time his gaze passed over you, the hairs on the back of your neck rose. Negan sighed again. “I’m gonna make this real simple. Somebody fesses up, or Daryl here continues thinning out the herd.” A sob broke somewhere down the line. Daryl stopped walking. The stillness from him was worse than the movement. Silence began to stretch thin. Him or me. Your heart pounded so loud, you were certain he could hear it. If you stayed quiet, someone else would die.
You thought of Maggie shaking. Sasha’s vacant gaze. Rick’s desperate pleas for his people. The sounds of crunching bone and wet splatter of brain and blood. It wasn’t going to happen again because of you. “I did it.” The words felt like jumping off a cliff. Small but shattering. “I killed him. It was me.”
The crossbow snapped up instantly. When you lifted your head, you met Negan’s gaze first. His eyes were full of curiosity but his grin was widening. Slow. Pleased. “There she is.” The moment Daryl’s boot moved, you flinched, but Negan’s arm went out, halting Daryl’s advance. “You?” Lucille leveled at you. “You killed Merle?” Him or me.
“He was—” You stopped yourself. It didn’t matter what he was doing. There was no moral compass among the Saviors. “I defended myself.” Negan barked a laugh. “Well, this is a surprise, I gotta admit.” Daryl’s eyes flashed—just once—before Negan slung an arm around his shoulders like he was about to start a discussion about the weather. “Well, Double D. You stepped up when Merle fell. Took his place like it’d always been yours.” Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Negan looked at you again. “Killing her would be poetic. Brother avenged. Very Shakespeare in leather.” He hummed thoughtfully. “But I think I’ve got a better idea.” His smile was so sharp that you could feel it slice through the air between you. “She’s yours.” The words hit like a gunshot. Gasps rippled through the line-up. Rick started to speak, pleading for you to be left alone. Trying to bargain. Everyone was silenced by the threat of Savior weapons. Negan simply continued cheerfully. “A pretty gift wrapped in confession and guilt. You want revenge? Take it. You want justice? Define it. She belongs to you now.” The night suddenly felt colder. Daryl lowered the crossbow slowly, taking one step before Negan stopped him once again with a palm flat against his chest. You heard him growl, his eyes snapping to Negan in a clear declaration that his patience was wearing thin. Negan must have really liked him if he allowed it. “Just remember. We do have rules. They apply to everyone. Even you.” He dropped his hand and made a grand gesture towards you. “Otherwise, have fun!” Each step after that was deliberate, the air closing in around you with each scrape of Daryl’s boots. When he crouched in front of you, it was your first look at him up close. Grief—raw and unpolished—was there, but it was drowning behind something colder. Something controlled. Focused. Deadly. When he reached out, you braced for pain. Instead his hand closed around your arm. Firm. Not gentle, but not cruel. Somehow, that made your stomach drop even further. He hauled you to your feet. You stumbled but didn’t fall, gracelessly trying to keep pace with him as he led you to the shadows beyond the headlights. Twisting to look over your shoulder, Negan was in front of Rick, head tilted and saying words you couldn’t hear.
Would you ever know who survived?
Daryl stopped next to a van, yanking on your arm to spin you right into the grip of a nameless Savior. Your breaths were panicked pants, not for yourself but for your friends. Your family. Still, your heaving chest stilled when Daryl leaned in, his nose nearly touching yours. He smelled of leather and cigarettes. Gun oil and fury.
“One wrong move.” He rasped, voice a low grate. Air pushing through sandpaper. “Gimme one reason. S’all I need.” He didn’t need to tell you what he’d do. The threat was there, the end result evident.
He didn’t wait for you to respond with your understanding. He was already walking away and strapping that crossbow onto the back of one of the motorcycles littered between the vehicles and your group’s RV. His, obviously. You were being pushed and pulled and maneuvered into the back of the van as you watched him leave.
When the doors slammed shut and all you could hear were your own breaths and your heartbeat in your ears, you couldn’t help but wonder if your execution had only been postponed rather than canceled.
Or maybe this was something far more complicated.
