my name is z

(They/Them) / I like to write. / Also on Wattpad and Ao3 @TheNameIsZ

[the-name-is-z]

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Call me Z! they/them. virgo. fan fiction writer. fandom enjoyer.

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[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 92

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Iris finds herself on a new journey. The Alexandrians are introduced to the Kingdom. And a tiger. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; motorcycle accident; severe injury; tigers

Chapter 92 - Rocks in the Road

The roar of the engine was growing dimmer in Iris’ ears. She was exhausted, and had ridden through the night. She had to double back a few times, the roads around the Saviours’ compound  blocked off or barricaded to prevent escape and to protect their people. And of course, it had taken time to find a road that went further than a few miles. By the time the sun was rising, her eyes were bleary and the bike was swerving as her eyelids fluttered. 

She couldn’t stop. They could be chasing her. They could still be after Daryl. But the roar of the engine was not quieting for nothing. Iris looked down at the gauge and noted how little gas the bike had. And in that one split second, she lost sight of the obstacle in the road.

The front wheel of the motorcycle twisted as it caught the top half of a walker, catching and sending the back wheel into the air with the momentum and speed. Iris’ vision was still blurry as she hit the ground, skidding on her shoulder and knees before tumbling onto the asphalt. It hurt, of course, the friction burn searing through her skin and muscle, but by then her head had met the hard pavement, and she was out. 

It would be hours before the walker’s body stirred at the sound of hoofbeats.

-

Their vehicles came to a stop in an empty lot, Daryl climbing out of the backseat of a van as they all gathered around Jesus in his signature long leather coat.

“It’s called the Kingdom?” Rick asked skeptically.

“Yeah.” Jesus shrugged. “I didn’t name it.” Rick glanced around at the abandoned buildings surrounding the lot.

“How much farther?”

“Well, technically, we’re already here.” Jesus stated. “Well, I mean, we’re always here, but here we are— at the Kingdom. Well, it’s outer edge.” Daryl stood on the lip of the van, looking up and around.

“The hell are we waiting on?” He asked. The group had noticed his growing irritability. In the car, he and Rick had been quietly arguing.

“I’m not waiting anymore.” Daryl huffed. “You go on.”

“We need you here.” Rick argued.

“She needs me there.” Daryl shot back. Rick pressed his lips into a thin line.

“He said he wouldn’t hurt her. That she’d be alive, safe, well fed. Right?” He asked.

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” Daryl grumbled. Rick nodded in understanding.

“You can’t just barge in there half-cocked. Jesus was lucky the first time. We won’t be the second time, especially now that you’re out.” Rick explained. Daryl responded with the silent treatment, turning his attention to the passing countryside out past the window.

“Waiting for them.” Jesus called in response, pointing in the distance. Rick had a look of mild amusement and disbelief as two men trotted down a nearby road on two well-maintained and healthy-looking horses. They wore protective armour— like prison riot gear— across their chests, one of them holding a handgun pointed in their direction.

“Who dares to trespass on the sovereign land of the— oh shit.” One of them called out. “Jesus, is that you?” Jesus waved in response, smirking.

“Who are all these people, Paul?” The second one asked, much more no-nonsense. 

“Hi, Richard.” Jesus replied jovially. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Richard echoed. “Your friends, who are they?” Jesus gestured to his left.

“This is Rick Grimes. He’s the leader of a like-minded community. These are some of his people. We would like to request an audience with King Ezekiel.” Richard blinked to indicate he heard, stepping down off the polished saddle of the horse and looking around, mouthing numbers. He was counting them. 

“Get out of the car.” He called, the rest of them exiting the truck they’d pulled up in behind the van. “When you say they’re a like-minded community, like-minded how?”

“We live, we trade, we fight the dead. Sometimes others.” Jesus said, his voice laden with suggestion. Richard frowned and Jesus nodded. 

“Line up.” Richard called. Daryl grimaced. They didn’t have time to be frisked and judged by whoever thought himself high and mighty enough to be called a king.

“Alright. This is a waste of time. Come on, let’s go.” He stated, giving Rick a look. Rick looked back sternly. 

“Maybe you’re right.” Richard replied. “The King is a busy man, and it’s a dangerous world. We don’t usually allow a pack of strangers to waltz through our door.”

“We want to make the world less dangerous.” Michonne replied diplomatically. "We are all here to show the King how serious we are about that.”

“The car stays outside.” Richard nodded. “You gotta hand over your guns.”

“We only have two.” Rick nodded, handing over his handgun and Carl following suit.

“Okay.” Richard agreed. “Follow me.” He grabbed the reins for his horse and they followed after him, the other rider bringing up the rear. 

Daryl was astonished as they were brought into the Kingdom proper. It was gated and guarded, as all communities were, but as they got closer and closer to wherever the King held court, the amount of people grew, and as did the resources. Their gardens and planter boxes were abundant with vegetables and crops, a small group of young men and women jogging after a leader like they were training at the police academy. There were people doing laundry, kids doing art on a picnic table. The Kingdom was plentiful in almost every resource. But the real question was, were they able to fight?

Jesus assured them they could, but Daryl was skeptical. They might train and wear armour, but real skill came from experience, and this place could be just like Alexandria in that regard. As if from nowhere, Morgan appeared, exchanging hugs while Richard ducked inside to announce their request to the King. He came back shortly, explaining that he was ready to greet them. 

Daryl’s attention was caught. Rick and Daryl had sent Morgan after Carol shortly after she left, in order to ensure her safety and provide her company, especially after what had happened. Daryl was grateful every day she never witnessed what happened that night, with Negan, but he still missed her. Rick and Daryl stayed behind a minute as the others went in to see the King.

“Did you find Carol?” Rick asked.

“I did, yeah.” Morgan replied. Daryl felt a wash of relief. 

“Where is she? Is she okay?” He asked hurriedly.

“She was here, and then she left.” Morgan explained with a soft sigh. “You know, she wasn’t too happy, me following her. She wanted to get away from us, from everyone. But when I found her, she was shot. It was just a graze, I got her back here. They got doctors. They’re good.”

“Was it them?” Daryl asked, his voice gravelly.

“It was.” Morgan confirmed. “She had crossed with some of them, and one of them followed her, tried to kill her, but I stopped him. I… I killed him. I had to. Carol was here. She got help. Now she’s gone.”

Rick took a deep breath and nodded, making his way into the building. Daryl hovered for a moment, letting the loss sink in. It was still a relief, knowing she was taken care of in a time of need, but where was she now? What if she still needed help? The pain didn’t stop, not while the Saviours still lived and breathed.

-

“Jesus! It pleases me to see you, old friend.” The man at the end of the hall said loudly, his voice carrying in the chamber-like room. Which, to be fair, was only chamber-like because of the poorly-painted set backdrop and the wooden throne he sat on. The room was an auditorium, likely for community theatre or events of the like, with set pieces and props removed apart from the throne, the backdrop and the small dais atop the stage where the throne sat. 

Richard came up to stand beside Ezekiel like a captain of the guard, though it seemed futile next to his other guard. Which, of course, was a tiger. Like, a real one. A chain was tied around its neck like a leash, held tightly in Ezekiel’s left hand. His other hand clutched a golden sceptre that seemed a little to Daryl like half of an old curtain rod. 

At Ezekiel’s other side stood two men. Well, a man and a boy. The boy held a small wooden staff that was far too thick to be anything but a support removed from something, and the man was dressed in what was probably a costume from whatever bad play this had been, a foam axe prop in his hands. Daryl was curious of this was a sick joke. It looked and felt like a fever dream.

“It pleases him, indeed!” The man on the side echoed.

“Jerry.” Ezekiel chastised, the man grinning wide nonetheless. Jesus had a small smile on his face, playing along despite the others’ evident suspicion. “Tell me, what news do you bring good King Ezekiel? Are these new allies you’ve brought me?”

“Indeed they are, Your Majesty.” Jesus confirmed. “This is—“ He turned back to introduce them, faltering at the various shades of what-the-fuck that decorated each of the Alexandrians’ faces. “Oh, right. I forgot to mention the—“

“Yeah, a tiger.” Rick agreed nonchalantly, the sarcasm dripping from every word. As if it recognized the word, the tiger roared loudly, lying down at Ezekiel’s side.

“This is Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria, and these are some of his people.” Jesus introduced. They filed down the aisle, a few of them spreading into the rows of seats to get a better look at this so-called king. 

“I welcome you all to the Kingdom, good travellers.” Ezekiel called. “Now what brings you to our fair land? Why do you seek audience with the king?” Now that they were closer, Daryl could get a better look at him. Ezekiel wore a baby-blue button down shirt that was printed with stars, and a sherpa-lined brown leather jacket. His grey hair had been twisted into thick locs, a couple vibrant feathers threaded in near his scalp. 

“Ezekiel… King Ezekiel,” Rick corrected himself, “Alexandria, The Hilltop and the Kingdom, all three of our communities have something in common. We all serve the Saviours. Alexandria already fought them once, and we won. We thought we took out the threat, but we didn’t know then what we know now. We only beat one outpost. We’ve been told you have a deal with them, that you know them. Then you know they rule through violence and fear.” Ezekiel turned to Jesus, visibly displeased.

“Your Majesty, I only told them of the—“

“Our deal with the Saviours is not known among my people.” Ezekiel said firmly. “For good cause. We made you a party to that secret when you told us of the Hilltop’s own travails, but we did not expect you to share—“

“We can help each other!”

“Don’t interrupt the King.” Jerry said sternly. 

“We brought you into our confidence.” Ezekiel growled. “Why did you break it?”

“Because I want you to hear Rick’s plans.” Jesus answered.

“And what plans have you, Rick Grimes of Alexandria?”

“We came to ask the Kingdom, to ask you, to join us in fighting the Saviours, fighting for freedom, for all of us.” Explained Rick.

“What you are asking is very serious.” Ezekiel murmured.

“Several of our people, good people, were killed by the Saviours, brutally.” Michonne said, stepping forward. 

“Who?” Morgan asked suddenly, from the sidelines. His brow was knit in concern.

“Abraham.” Rosita answered shortly. “Glenn. Spencer. Olivia. Eugene was taken. They still have Iris. They took Daryl, but he escaped. Every second he’s out here, he’s a target. You gonna say you were right?”

“No.” Morgan replied, forlorn. “I’m… I’m just real sorry they’re gone.”

“Negan murdered Glenn and Abraham.” Rick confirmed. “Beat them to death.”

“Terrorized the Hilltop, set loose walkers to make a point.” Added Sasha.

“I used to think the deal was something we could live with,” Jesus murmured, “A lot of us did. But that’s changing. So let’s change the world, Your Majesty.”

“I want to be honest about what we’re asking.” Rick stated. “My people are strong, but there’s not enough of us. We don’t have guns— not enough, at least. Not a lot of weapons, period.”

“We have people.” Richard cut in, glancing to Ezekiel. “And weapons. If we strike first, together, we can beat them. Your Majesty, no more waiting for things to get worse beyond what we can handle. We set things right. The time is now.”

There was a long pause while they let it sink in, Rick and Michonne nodded their agreement while Ezekiel’s gaze faded to the distance. He sighed, turning to the side.

“Morgan, what say you?” He asked.

“Me?” Morgan asked, looking between his Alexandrian friends and his new king.

“Speak.” Ezekiel bid him.

“People will die,” he said for certain, “a lot of people, and not just the Saviours. It… if we can find another way, we have to.” Rick sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe it’s just about Negan— just capturing him, holding him. Maybe… I—“ Morgan cut himself off, sighing.

“The hour grows late.” Ezekiel stated, standing up from his wooden throne. The tiger at his side growled as she also stood, stepping in front of him protectively. “Rick Grimes of Alexandria, you have given the king much to ponder.”

“When I was a kid, my mother told me a story.” Rick said slowly, stepping forward. “There was a road to a kingdom, and there was a rock in the road. People would just… avoid it, but horses would break their legs on it and die, wagon wheels would come off. People would lose the goods they’d be coming to sell. That’s what happened to a little girl. The cask of beer her family brewed fell right off. It broke. Dirt soaked it all up, and it was gone. That was her family’s last chance. They were hungry, they didn’t have any money. She just sat there and cried, but she wondered why it was still there. For it to hurt someone else. 

“So she dug in the dirt at that rock with her bare hands until they bled, used everything she had to pull it out. It took hours. And then… when she was going to fill it up, she saw something in it. It was a bag of gold. The king put that rock in the road because he knew the person who dug it out, who did something, they deserved a reward. They deserved to have their life changed for the good, forever.” Ezekiel patiently listened to Rick’s story, solemnly thinking to himself for a moment when he had finished. No one was dumb enough to think that Rick really heard that story when he was a kid, with a metaphor perfectly fitting their situation, but it was speaking Ezekiel’s language.

“I invite you all to sup with us and stay till the morrow.” Ezekiel stated after his moment.

“Yeah, we need to get back home.” Rick declined.

“I shall deliver my decree in the morn.” Ezekiel retorted decidedly, banging his sceptre on the stage twice to indicate that he had spoken, and what the King declared shall be done. Rick didn’t look too upset by this, amused even. And so they spent their first night in the Kingdom.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 91

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Negan reveals a new player, and Iris makes her move. The Alexandrians and the Hilltop exchange words. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; coercion; torture; gunshot wounds; stabbing; trauma responses; conspiracy and negotiation

Chapter 91 - A Start

Iris sat, across from Negan, at a small table by the window that he’d ordered someone to bring into his suite. She wore one of Negan’s button downs over another set of lingerie he’d selected for her. They had been served dinner, and ate in silence until Negan sat back against his chair, daintily wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“Do you know why I have you here, Iris?” Negan asked, taking up his glass of wine and swirling it in a horrible attempt at aerating its contents. 

“Enlighten me.” She replied flatly. Iris had her arms crossed over her chest, more than irritated and badly missing home. Negan had suggested that any choices made against him would make life more difficult for Daryl, but Iris was getting to know Negan fairly well, and she was getting close to calling his bluff.

“Companionship.” He replied, leaning forward and placing the glass back down without taking a sip. Iris scoffed.

“I assumed it was to further enforce your power over your men, your wives, Alexandria, Daryl, me…”

“Well, that’s part of it.” He huffed. “But as the all-powerful leader of all of these knuckleheads, it’s hard to find good conversation.”

“I’m flattered.” Iris replied sardonically. Negan’s lips quirked.

“See? Nobody else has the balls to talk to me the way you do. Frankly, it’s refreshing.” He stated with a sigh.

“And this is part of our deal?” She asked, her brow furrowing.

“Fuck the deal.” He replied, sitting up straighter. “You do what I want out of fear for your loved ones. I understand that, and at this point it’s downright encouraged.”

“But all you get out of it is a fucked power dynamic and another mouth to feed. I don’t understand it.” She admitted, scowling.

“Control.” He replied. “Your people are considerably less dick-headed when I’ve got one of you close enough to kiss Lucille on a regular basis. Your sparkling personality is just a bonus.”

“Hooray.” Iris snorted. The door shuddered underneath a swift knock before opening, Simon’s face appearing in the small crack. Iris had come to learn that Negan loved Simon. He was his favourite, and therefore received privileges his other lieutenants did not. Like more leniency for disobedience, to a degree.

“Sir, the soldier you requested…” He trailed off, seeming unsure about whatever it was that Negan requested him to bring. Or, who, in reality. Simon opened the door wider, bringing in a man that to him, was just another random guy who worked in the compound and served Negan. To Negan, this particular man became significantly more valuable. Or at the very least, usable. To Iris, this particular man was one she’d long thought dead. Her mouth fell open in shock, her gut twisting with newfound nausea and conflict. Relief? Fear? Disgust?

“Iris, would you greet our new guest?” Negan asked, standing up and approaching the man. He stood about a foot shorter than Negan, thicker, though he had plenty of muscle. The serpent tattoo around his arm curled possessively around a white magnolia flower. It was a tattoo Iris spent her entire life staring at, and one she had even traced her fingers on as a little kid.

“Dad?” She barely whispered, curling her arms around herself once more. Iris cringed inwardly, turning away and staring down at her now-unappetizing meal.

Thomas Bowen looked physically ill. His fists shook with rage as he stood, unmoving, in Negan’s doorway. For months, a loyal soldier. A Saviour. Looting, pillaging, serving. He learned exactly what this man was capable of, and yet he never believed he was capable of locating—and capturing— Iris. 

“Ooh, well this is a little awkward, wouldn’t you say, Tommy Boy? You see, when I rescued you off of that roadside long ago, I never imagined such a fine-ass full circle moment. You’re welcome, for finding your daughter, by the way. Wasn’t that your son’s final wish? To find her again?” Negan probed. Iris’ vision blurred, yet she still turned to the side, to where her father was standing motionless and cowardly, and Negan stood above him, smugly. Felix… he was dead after all. 

Iris saw red. In her rage, she flung herself across the room at Negan. He was expecting it, however, and in one quick maneuver, despite her clawing and screaming, had her chest pinned beneath his boot on the floor, Lucille at her nose. Thomas Bowen was standing beside him, a knife pointed to Negan’s neck, and Simon behind him, his handgun cocked. Iris’ panting filled the room, and they all stilled for a moment.

“Well, that was the craziest shit I’ve ever seen. I knew you were a firecracker, but god-damn.” Negan mused. He put his free hand up to his neck, his fingers coming away bloodied. He frowned, tracing the thick scratches clawed across his neck, glancing down to see his own skin underneath Iris’ fingernails. She was sobbing, tears tracking thick lines down her face as she writhed underneath his boot.

“My brother! You fucking monster! He was my brother!” She cried, still clawing pathetically at his boot, his pant leg. Negan tutted.

“See now, I understand why you might think that, and I honestly can confirm I definitely would have put an end to that kid. He was one tough son of a bitch, and I know I never would have cracked him. Your poor old daddy, though. He was easy.” Negan chuckled as Simon took the knife from Thomas and they both lowered their weapons. “He was so pathetic, we watched him practically throw your precious big brother aside, right into a swarm of biters! He never had a chance!” 

Thomas hung his head at the words, and Iris choked on another sob. Once, she might not have been able to imagine it. But unfortunately, she knew her father pretty well, and she could easily imagine him tossing Felix to the walkers. 

“Aw, now look at Dollface, here. You made her sad, Tommy!” Negan tutted softly, removing his boot from Iris’ chest and gently lifting her to stand on her feet. He brushed the dirt from her clothing and grabbed her arm tightly to prevent any further outburst. “Do you have anything to say?”

“Iris, I’m so sorry.” He murmured, looking down and shaking his head at himself. Iris only sobbed, trying to wrench out of Negan’s grip to turn away. She was numb and full of adrenaline all at once. It was never supposed to be Felix.

“He was supposed to live.” She sobbed, finally pulling away from Negan to retreat to the window. She braced her hands on the windowsill, willing her nausea away while Negan turned back to her father.

“Well, there you have it, Tommy. You ruined everything.” He huffed. They all paused at the sound of Simon’s radio crackling.

“Attention, we have a code red, on high alert. That is an escaped prisoner, stolen arms and ammunition, stolen vehicles. Be advised.”

“The hell is that?” Negan bit out, scowling. He looked to Simon, who seemed some degree of confused. 

“Who is it?” Simon asked into the radio.

“Daryl, sir.” The voice on the radio replied. Joey? Arat? It was hard to tell. She didn’t give a shit. That one word had struck something in her. Iris’ ears were ringing, and she moved without thinking.

“GAH, FUCKING SHIT!” Negan yelled, his left hand flying to his right wrist as Iris launched into action. 

The butter knife she’d been allowed for dinner was pierced through Negan’s right hand, the end notched into the door frame. Simon fumbled for his gun but she was on him, tackling him to the ground before she was up again and out the door. “Arat, secondary code red!” Negan growled into Simon’s radio, yanking the knife out of his hand before haphazardly chucking it in Simon’s direction.

“Iris!” Tommy yelled behind her. She was already gone, dashing down the hallway with blood roaring in her ears.

He left me behind he left me behind he left me behind. But maybe he didn’t? Iris had no idea what the circumstances were, and she could only fear the worst. What if, as she feared, Daryl was horrified by her actions? Disgusted, repulsed? That she let Negan touch her, in whatever way he suspected, in every way Negan insinuated… how could he not be? 

What about her father? Should she leave him here? Yes. He killed Felix. Of course she should leave him. But he’s her only living family left. Is he really worth saving?

Iris’ heart was pounding to the pace of her rapid footsteps, her boots hitting the pavement hard as she skidded around corners and leapt down flights of stairs. If she was honest, she had no idea where she was going. She jumped over the safety railing of a balcony and landed a floor down, trying to roll as pain jolted through her knees. A sign at the corner indicated a stairwell and she made for it, trying to ignore the shouting and crackle of radio static growing behind her.

The fear she felt at being caught was nothing compared to the fear that tore at the fraying edges of her heartstrings. He wouldn’t leave me he wouldn’t leave me he wouldn’t leave me. It was the only thought that kept her going, even if she wasn’t so sure. Negan broke all of them in so many ways, but would this be the way that broke her? Her stomach churned with uncertainty, and she resisted the urge to vomit across the concrete floor.

She thundered down the steps and crashed into a body, both of them flying backward. Iris looked up to see what must have been one of Negan’s wives in her neat black dress and thick wedge sandals. They stared at one another with wide eyes as the stairwell door slammed open a few floors up. Iris blanched, scrambling to her feet. The woman stared at her fearfully, but grabbed her elbow before she could shoulder past her.

“Out the bottom door. Take a right. Second door on the left.” She whispered. Iris nodded, her mouth falling open to offer her thanks, but the woman just pushed her onward, slamming her own back into the door and crying out as if Iris had pushed her.

Iris continued onward, following the woman’s directions to a T. She shouldered the aforementioned door open, finding herself in a small courtyard between the main building and an adjacent corrugated steel garage, a selection of motorcycles lined up neatly against a fence. She muttered a thanks to that woman again, practically flying to the fastest bike they had and placing herself on the seat. The bike next to it had a few exposed wires and she ripped at them with all her strength.

How many bikes had she stolen? How many engines hot-wired, parts stripped and rebuilt into something new? Enough that her hands should not have been shaking the way they were. I need to get to him I need to get to him I need to get to him.

It didn’t take much for the old wires to come loose and she pried the rubber coatings off just as Simon and Arat burst through the courtyard door. Iris fashioned a sort of pick-shape from the wire and jimmied it into the ignition, flipping the switch and starting it up. 

She, for a moment, loathed the sense of familiarity in the humming and vibration between her thighs, the handlebars in her grip. It was not as if she would come out of this unscathed. Every waking moment of her life, something reminded her of Daryl. She heard his light, breathy laugh in the morning wind. She felt his touch echoed from every object he’d ever held. She saw his face in her peripheral, only to turn and see that he wasn’t there. After all of it, would he really leave her behind?

Iris pressed her body to the frame of the bike as the gunshots started, hissing as a bullet nicked her ear. But the bike was moving, and she was halfway to the gate. She felt her blood dripping onto her shoulder, crying out as another shot ripped through it. Her arm rippled with searing pain, but she urged the bike faster, peeling out of the compound and onto the highway. Home free. It seemed as though no one was chasing her, and if it didn’t mean crashing into the woods and shredding her limbs, she might have curled up into a ball and cried. 

-

“No! No way in hell. That was not the deal. You people swore you could take the Saviours out, and you failed. So, any arrangement we had is not done— null and void. We aren’t trade partners, we aren’t friends, and we never met. Hmm? We don’t know each other.” Gregory stated, raising his eyebrows as he placed both hands on his ornate mahogany desk. Rick, Michonne, Carl, Tara, Maggie and Jesus were dotted around the room, listening and reigning in the urge to throttle Gregory and toss him out the window.

Daryl was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, his hands tucked tightly under his elbows to avoid fidgeting. He tapped his toe inside his boot, but at least no one could witness it. Gregory sighed as he sat down in his chair.

“I owe you nothing.” He hissed. “In fact, you owe me for taking in the refugees, at great personal risk.”

“Oh, you were very brave staying in here while Maggie and Sasha saved this place.” Jesus snapped, arms folded across his chest. “Your courage was inspiring.”

“Hey, don’t you work for me?” Gregory replied. “Aren’t we friends?”

“Gregory,” Rick interrupted, “we already started this.”

“You started this!”

“We started this. And we’re gonna win.” Rick insisted. 

“These are killers!” Gregory replied. Daryl scoffed inwardly. So are we.

“Is this how you want to live?” Rick asked. “Under their thumb, killing your people?”

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose what our life looks like. Sometimes, Ricky, you have to count the blessings you have.” Gregory condescended.

“How many people can we spare?” Maggie asked plainly, narrowing her eyes. “How many people here can fight?”

“We?” Gregory scoffed. “I don’t even know how many people we have, Margaret. And does it even matter? I mean… w-w-what are you gonna do? Start a platoon of sorghum farmers? ‘Cause that’s what we got. They grow things. They’re not going to want to fight.”

“You’re wrong.” Tara fought. “When people have the chance to do the right thing, they usually step up. I mean, people just—“

“Let me stop you before you break into song, okay?” Gregory rolled his eyes. “And, by the way, who would train all this cannon fodder?

“I will.”

“Give me a week.” Rosita and Sasha said at the same time. Gregory threw his hands in the air.

“Rhetorical, okay?” He sang. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear another word about any of it, ever.”

“Would we be better off without the Saviours, yes or no?” Rick said loudly.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Gregory huffed.

“So, what will you do to fix the problem?” Michonne asked, stepping out in front of Rick before he could swing on Gregory.

“I didn’t say we had a problem. You did. And what happens outside of my purview is outside of my purview.”

“What the hell, man?” Daryl spat, standing straight. “You’re either with us, or you ain’t. You’re sitting over there talking out of both sides of your mouth.” Gregory stood, adjusting his cuffs.

“I think I’ve made my position very clear.” He said quietly. “And I want to thank all of you for not being here today and not having this meeting with me or being seen on your way out. In other words, go out the back.” Rick paused, his hands on his hips before he nodded to the group, leading them out of Gregory’s ivory office. Daryl brought up the end of the line, just catching Rosita and Sasha’s muttered insults.

“Yeah, well, we don’t need him anyway.” He decided, looking up at Rick. 

“That’s right. ‘Cause we have Maggie and Sasha and Jesus here.” Rick agreed. 

“And Enid.” Maggie replied, just as Enid walked in the front door. She seemed a little out of breath.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Tara asked.

“Nothing.” Enid breathed. “Just… come outside.”

They did as instructed, finding a small crowd of most of the Hilltop residents gathered in front of the steps to the old manor. 

“What’s going on?” Maggie asked. A young woman stepped forward, smiling softly.

“Hey, so, if you don’t remember, I’m Bertie. And I owe my life to you all, twice over. A bunch of us do. Enid says that you want Gregory to get us to fight the Saviours with you. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Maggie answered honestly.

“Do you think we can win, that we really could beat them? Us?”

“I do.” Maggie nodded. Bertie sighed quietly, steeling herself.

“Enid says you can show us the way.” She said firmly. “I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do this.” 

A chorus of agreement sounded from the small group, and Daryl nodded in satisfaction. Maggie explained they would iron out the details later, but that she was grateful for their support. Rick began to lead the Alexandrian party down the path toward the gate.

“It’s a start.” Michonne hummed.

“We’ll get more.” Assured Sasha. 

“It still won’t be enough.”

“No, it won’t.” Rosita seconded.

“Well, we find the right stuff, maybe we don’t need the numbers.” Daryl replied, recalling one of his first interactions with the Saviours. It involved him and a rocket launcher, and the pair of them made quick work of the snippy biker sect of Saviours they had encountered. “Blow ‘em up, burn ‘em to the ground.”

“You said there weren’t just soldiers with the Saviours, that there were workers there. People didn’t have a choice.” Tara protested softly.

“We gotta win.” Daryl replied noncommittally.

"We need more hands.” Rick said with a shake of the head. “Another group. Negan has outposts. The geography, the distance works against us. We gotta get back. If they come looking for Daryl, we need to be there.”

“You don’t have to get back. Not yet.” Jesus replied. The group turned around to question him, watching as Jesus produced a radio from a deep pocket in his cargo pants. “It’s one of theirs, long range. We can listen in, keep track of them.”

“So if we’re not going back, what are we doing then?” Michonne asked curiously.

“I think it’s time we introduced you to Ezekiel. King Ezekiel.” He said with a small smile. Rick turned up his nose, making a face.

“King?”

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 90

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Daryl makes his move. Negan's visit to Alexandria does not go as he planned. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; torture; coercion; evisceration; kidnapping

Chapter 90 - Heartbeats

Daryl took his opportunity and ran with it. The key taped to the back of the note opened his cell door, and he waited for the moment during which there were no footsteps in the hall. He silently slipped out. 

Every movement imbued a deep sense of guilt, and he felt it burrowing deep into his gut. There was no way he’d be able to, and Jesus had not planned for him to go up six or seven flights of stairs and collect another escapee before taking advantage of the small window he was gifted. But every step away from Iris felt like a deep, scornful betrayal.

As he crept through the hallways, he cursed Negan for taking Iris with him. He wouldn’t let her or Carl out of his sight, not while he was in Alexandria, taunting them with the concept of home. Daryl was pretty sure that Negan would let Carl stay, but not Iris. Not when it was so easy for him to lord her over him. 

He assumed that was what he was doing, at least. Using Iris’ presence at the compound as another part of Saviour life that could benefit him. Tormenting Daryl with all the things they had, now including her. Not that seeing her every day in Negan’s arms would be much better than not seeing her at all. He’d seen Dwight’s face as Negan eagerly kissed Sherry. He wanted no part of that. He knew Iris, and that meant he knew she didn’t want any part of it either.

Yet… she likely didn’t have a choice. Negan’s perverted version of consent was coercion, through whatever means necessary. Sherry had her own issues that made her somewhat attracted to Negan, but not all of his wives felt that way. And he was not blind to the position Negan kept Iris in on a regular basis. He struggled to keep his mind from imagining the things he could be forcing her to do. It flooded him with seething anger, each additional step adding fuel to the flames. His imagination then switched to the various ways he could make the rest of Negan’s life as agonizing as possible, and he would have years of torture before he’d be allowed the sweet release of death.  

He crept down the hallway until he heard voices, a muffled yell cutting through the hall as a loud crash sounded, broken glass and some sort of liquid spilling out around the corner near Daryl’s feet. Someone chastised someone else for the mess, footsteps growing closer. With no where else to go, Daryl ducked into the first room he saw. It was one of the Saviours’ apartments, decorated with the features of someone making a home out of what they had. He surveyed the room, checking the closet before diving fingers first into a jar of peanut butter. 

Daryl surveyed the room again, setting down the jar in favour of shrugging himself out of the sweat-stained t-shirt and cargo pants he wore, trading them for a different random grey t-shirt and pair of jeans left discarded on the bed. The t-shirt was a bit snug on his arms but he’d take it. 

And what about Iris? How could you just leave her? He wasn’t, he assured himself. There was no force in the universe strong enough to keep him from coming back for her. But Negan wanted her alive, at least. Relatively unharmed. And Daryl would not put her in further danger by strong-arming through the Saviour compound like a dumbass. That sounded like something she would say.

A sight out of the corner of his eye gave him pause, and he stopped to stare at the small wooden carvings sitting on the edge of a table. Pieces of wood and small toys set up along a chess board as makeshift pieces. Some of them carved into little statues resembling people. 

They were Dwight’s, of that he was sure. This was Dwight’s room. He took that information and ran with it, feeling every iota of guilt fly from his mind as he sat down in the plush leather chair in the corner, this time grabbing a spoon to finish off the jar of peanut butter. He even shrugged on one of Dwight’s flannel shirts as he listened to the people cleaning up outside.

Daryl waited patiently until their chatter died down, and a few more minutes just to make sure. He spitefully flipped the small chess board to the ground with a clatter, pushing to his feet. Grabbing a ball cap and slapping it on, he darted back into the hallways, moving as fast as he could go with as little noise. He bolted around a corner, just managing to freeze and press himself to the wall before the room of Saviours spotted him.

The open door on his left led into a small room fitted with a long table. The Saviours milling around it were playing soft music in the background, tossing poker chips and cards around as they bet various things they’d acquired through Negan’s system. So that was were he didn’t want to be. Daryl moved on, grabbing a spare pipe out of a bucket to use as a weapon in a worst-case scenario. 

He followed the maze-like hallways without trouble, effortlessly tracing a trail he’d tracked on a previous escape attempt. He wrestled a door open to the outside, finding himself in the same small courtyard that housed the inane number of motorcycles the Saviours had commandeered. He found his on the end, the leather of the seat still smooth and reminiscent of home. 

“What the hell?” A voice muttered. Daryl whipped around to see the man Negan referred to as ‘Fat Joey.’ He was holding a sandwich. Daryl must have had a wild look in his eyes as he straightened, taking a step toward Joey. He put his hands up immediately, careful not to drop his sandwich. “Whoa. Whoa. It’s cool, I swear. Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and I won’t say anything to anybody. I’m supposed to be there now, but, listen, I’m— I’m just trying to get by, just like you. Please—“

The end if his sentence dissipated as the pipe connected with the side of his skull. He crumpled, his sandwich going to the ants as Daryl brought the pipe down again and again, even as Jesus appeared around the corner, his hands up warily. Fat Joey became his punching bag, his outlet for a metric ass-ton of frustration he had been fighting off since Dwight cornered him in the forest. I’m not leaving her I’m not leaving her I’m not leaving her.

He stopped at the sound of his name, glancing up at Jesus as he threw the ball cap to the ground. He bent down to pick up Fat Joey’s gun, his chest heaving.

“It ain’t about just getting by here.” Daryl panted. “It’s about getting it all.” Jesus beckoned.

“I got the key. Let’s go.”

-

Iris watched Negan go to the door at the sound of voices, sitting down on the porch with Spencer Monroe and a bottle of whiskey. She scowled, bouncing Judith in her arms. She came back a few minutes later to see Spencer and Negan dragging the pool table out of the Millers’ garage, setting it up in the middle of the street. They were drawing quite a crowd, and Iris and Carl followed out onto the porch. 

Spencer was attempting to speak to Negan on his level, on his terms. Iris appreciated the logic of it, but it was also impossible to reason with a psychopath. They got quieter as they spoke, as if it was becoming more of a secret. Judith reached out for Carl and Iris passed her over to him, trying not to sink her nails into the wood of the porch railing as she grit her teeth. 

Everyone let out a collective gasp as Negan finished his ever-growing train of thought, ending his sentence by burying a knife into Spencer’s gut. He sliced him open, the thick gash splitting wide as his organs began to spill out into a bloody pile of gore. Iris was, at this point, unsurprised. 

“How embarrassing.” Negan mused loudly. She understood his humour. He thought Spencer had no guts. Well, now Spencer was on his side, writing on the ground as he attempted to shove his organs back into his body. Negan laughed at his own words, finding himself amusing. “Now someone oughta get up here and clean this mess up.” No one moved an inch. “Oh, anyone want to come finish the game? C’mon, anybody? Anybody? C’mon, I was winning!”

Rosita replied simply by pulling out her pistol and pulling the trigger. The bullet, of course, was miraculously buried right into Lucille, flush with the wood and directly between Negan’s eyes. He pulled the bat down, his eyes wide.

“Shit!” He cried. “What the shit?” Arat, who was the Saviour standing closest, smacked the gun out of Rosita’s hand, and Rosita herself appeared as if she just signed her own death certificate. Arat grabbed her by the neck, taking her to the ground. “Shit! You just— you tried to kill me?” Negan yelled incredulously. “You shot Lucille!”

“She got in the way.” Rosita spat, even with Arat’s thick hunting knife pressed to her trachea. Negan grit his teeth, swallowing thickly. He bent down, picking up the shell from the bullet.

“What is this? What is this? This little bad boy made from scratch? Look at those crimps. This was homemade. You may be stupid, darlin’, but you showed some real ingenuity here. Arat, move that knife on up at that girl’s face. Lucille’s beautiful, smooth surface is never gonna look the same. So why should yours?” He yelled. “Unless you tell me who made this.”

“It was me. I made it.” Rosita replied. Iris took one look at Eugene and she knew the answer, looking back down at the scene before her.

“You see, now I just think you’re lying.” Negan huffed. “And you lying to me now? Such a shame. Arat’s gonna have to cut up that pretty face. One more try.” Rosita set her jaw, leaning forward and pressing her face into the blade of the knife.

“It was me.” She repeated, the blood welling as she laid her head back to the asphalt, the cut fresh and bright across her cheek. 

“Oh! You are such a badass!” Negan cried, laughing. “Fine. Have it your way. Arat, kill somebody.”

“No. It was me.” Rosita pleaded as Arat straightened, pulling out her gun with a flourish, picking a target and pulling her trigger with no hesitation. “No!” Rosita screamed. Iris threw herself over Carl and Judith, pushing them backward as the bullet flew past them and found its target in Olivia’s cheek. Judith began to cry, Carl shushing her as Iris bent over Olivia, finding her blood trickling down and her body completely unresponsive. A one shot kill.

“Well, Dollface, is the fat bitch dead?” Negan called amusedly. Iris pushed to her feet, responding only with the curling of her lip in distaste. He laughed, turning around.

“We had a deal.” Rick’s voice cut through the thick silence. “We had an agreement!”

“Rick!” Negan cheered. His voice was suddenly hoarse. “Look everybody, it’s Rick! Ah, your people are making me lose my voice doin’ all this yelling. Rick, how about a ‘thank you.’ I mean, look. I know we started this relationship with me beating the holy shit out of your friends, and because of that we’re never gonna sit around and braid each other’s hair or share our deepest, darkest secrets, but how about a little credit? I just bent over backwards to show you how reasonable I am. 

“Your kid hid in one of my trucks, machine gunned a bunch of my men down and I brought him home, safe and sound. And I fed him spaghetti. Another one of your people, well, he wanted me to kill you and put him in charge. I took him out. For you. And another one, here, she shot Lucille, trying to kill me just now, so I gave you one less mouth to feed. And by looking at her, that mouth did some major damage. Now, personally, I wouldn’t have picked her to be the one to go, but Arat, I don’t know, didn’t trust her.”

“Your shit’s waiting for you at the gate. Just go.” Rick pleaded. 

“Sure thing, Rick. Right after I find the guy or gal that made this bullet. Arat?” Negan asked. She came when called like a dog, pointing her gun at the first person she saw. 

Iris internally lamented at the sight of Aaron, injured and hanging over Eric’s shoulder, barely holding himself up. They both gasped, clutching each other as they stood at the end of Arat’s barrel.

“It was me!” Tara cried, stepping forward. 

“No.” Eugene sobbed. “It wasn’t.” He was snivelling into his hands, covering his eyes so he didn’t have to look. “It was me. It was only me.”

“You?” Negan asked, stepping closer.

“It required one spent casing, one four-holed turret reloader, powder, one funnel for the powder—“

“Shut up.” Negan whispered. “I believe you.” He stepped away, breathing deeply as he gripped the baseball bat. “Lucille, give me strength. I’m gonna be relieving you of your bullet maker, Rick. That and whatever you left for me at the front gate. And however much you scavenged, it’s not good enough, because you’re still in a serious, serious hole after today. Let’s move out!”

“No! Please, just take me!” Rosita cried, but it was too late. Eugene was already being escorted away.

“Rick, I ain’t gonna lie.” Negan hummed. “Your kitchen is a goddamn mess. I’ll see you next time.” He meandered a few steps away, waving his hand over his shoulder. “C’mon, Dollface. We need to get you back to the compound. I have some stress I need you to relieve.” He mused. Quickly, Iris hugged Carl tight, pressing a kiss to Judith’s forehead before stepping off the porch. She bared her teeth at Negan as she followed the swarm of Saviours, ignoring the crowd of people watching her. She gave swift hugs to Eric and Aaron, albeit gently. Who knows when she would accompany Negan again? Likely not for a long while. 

-

Daryl rounded the corner of the medical trailer at the Hilltop, Jesus following behind. They’d heard and seen the large gate open, but Daryl was still unprepared for the sight of his family. Rick gave Maggie a swift hug, Michonne, Carl, Rosita and Tara joining in soon after. Rick looked up as soon as he saw him, his mouth opening in confusion, relief. Daryl nodded simply, but both of them broke, bringing the other in for a tight hug. Tara was next, then Michonne. Daryl got a little misty at the sight and feeling of his family embracing him. But his family was still incomplete.

Wordlessly, he handed the pistol, the one Fat Joey had commandeered, to Rick. It belonged to him, the same wood-handled revolver he’d been carrying since the beginning. Daryl knew what it meant to him, was glad to see it returned. And this moment, now, as they were reunited and refocused, was the beginning of their fight. Yet, Rick looked down, huffing.

“Iris, she…“ He trailed off, shaking his head. 

“I know.” Daryl replied quietly. Rick looked up at him in surprise and Daryl nodded.

“He took her back to the compound.” Rick explained.

“With your escape their security is gonna double.” Jesus said with a frown, already trying to formulate a plan.

“We have to get her out, Dad.” Carl said fiercely, staring Rick down. Rick nodded his agreement. He looked over to Daryl in question, and he nodded.

“I’m getting her out.”

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

bitch you better be dead or missing cause what in the fuck?

LMAO god forbid I find new hobbies. thx so much for your concern love

I decided I'd come back to post the rest of Skeletons because I'm feeling nostalgic. I've not finished it, (I might, you never know), but I'm going to send out the stuff I have. I will also upload a full document of the whole thing should anyone want to have a PDF of the whole fic chapter by chapter.

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 89

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Negan and Iris exchange words. Negan decides it is time for a field trip. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; sexual harassment; threats; bad language; coercion; non-consensual touching

Chapter 89 - Jailbird

622 DAYS AFTER THE OUTBREAK — MAY 7, 2012

It was early evening by the time Negan returned. Likely having been rejoicing with his lieutenants at the sounds of the harsh, tearing cries of the man who’s face was being put to the iron. That was what had happened to Dwight, she had gathered. Hence his tension at the very mention of the word. Negan, on the other hand, was jovial and downright musical. He whistled cheerfully as he set Lucille back down against the bedpost, Iris still sitting on the couch.

“You gonna—“

“You prick.” Iris declared lowly. Negan turned to face her, his eyebrow raised.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” He said, lips breaking into a smile.

“Fucking all of it.” Iris hissed. Her fingers still gripped the photo. There was nowhere she could hide it where he wouldn’t see or find it. She didn’t exactly have an abundance of pockets. “We had a deal.”

“And what deal was that, Iris?” Negan sighed, putting his hands on his hips like an old married man. She couldn’t imagine how Lucille tolerated him. But then again, what was Iris doing now?

She was sullying her good name. Well, as good as it would be. Sacrificing dignity. Sacrificing willpower. Trying to gather every iota of inner strength in order to persevere in the face of humiliation so consistent she had the consent urge to vomit the contents of her stomach across Negan’s plush carpet. 

“The deal was that I would do this,” She spat with ire, “in exchange for Daryl to have it better. Good even. Food, new clothes, a safe place to sleep—”

“And I have held it up. I’m not sticking a silver spoon in his mouth just because you asked, dollface.” Negan grit his teeth, stepping forward threateningly. “He’s in fresh clothes, he’s not eating dog food, and he’s not outside being walker food, and all of that is pretty damn generous.” 

“If you are going to…” She paused. “… touch me, or do things like that, there needs to be more. I can’t…”

“I am not heartless, darlin’. I am more understanding than most of the dead pricks out there.” He huffed as she looked away from him, the tears beginning to slip out again. He looked down, noting the photo gripped in her hand and knowing exactly where it must have spontaneously appeared from. He let her keep it, for now. Though, as he gazed at her, he noted something that had not caught his attention before. He took advantage of their positions, gently brushing his fingers up her side, tracing her tattoo. “What’s this, baby?”

“Bite me.” Iris spat, keeping her face turned away from him. Negan raised an eyebrow, his other hand drifting to her chin and gripping it tightly as he turned her face toward him. His eyebrow rose further and she grit her teeth. “What about it?” He looked back down at the tattoo, admiring the professional line work and shading that composed the flower and snake.

“Mean anything to you?” He asked quietly.

“Why, are you gonna skin me?” She asked. He sighed at her hostility, deciding to shelve it in his mind, come back to it later.

“You gonna come to bed?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the neatly made bed. As comfortable as the bed itself was, she was significantly less comfortable sleeping next to him.

“No.” She whispered. How could she? Her mind was a whirlwind of doubt. Was this really the right choice to have made, if Negan upheld the deal, but in the worst possible ways? Iris wouldn’t just lie down and take it if that were the case. 

Unfortunately for him, Negan had placed himself in a very precarious situation. They might have been completely surrounded by his Saviours, but that didn’t mean Iris wouldn’t put up one hell of a fight. There is only so much one can do when they’re locked in a cage with an angry animal. This place would go down burning.

“Suit yourself. Sleep on the floor.” He grunted, shucking his boots off and padding over to what must have been his closet. It was where he kept most of his things, anyway.

She knelt at the window, watching the sunset to the soundtrack of Negan preparing for bed. She finally let her eyes close when she was slumped against the wall, Negan’s soft snores in the background and her stars in the sky.

-

Iris woke before Negan, getting dressed as well as she could. As much as it would probably please Negan to see her wearing his clothes, she would much rather suffer through his obnoxious, self-important gloating about the fact that she wore his button-down than spend her days freezing her ass off in her underwear. While she waited patiently for him to wake, she looked around, eyeing the display he’d made of her knives on the wall. It would be obvious that one was missing if she took one, but he’d probably feel it buried into his skin before he noticed the empty space. 

He didn’t say much, in reality, when he got up. He noted the shirt, obviously, and offered a snide comment, but otherwise he showered, dressed and stood in the room silently for a moment. Iris raised her eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Field trip today, Dollface.” He said simply, tossing her a pair of pants and boots. They were hers, the same one’s she’d forgone when they arrived last time. She raised her eyebrow again and he simply motioned for her to dress, grabbing Lucille and walking out of the room. She wasn’t too far behind, following him as he walked jovially through the compound and out the front door toward the yard.

Dwight stepped forward, Daryl at one side and Carl on the other, gently pushing Carl toward a truck that stopped in front of the gate. Carl obeyed, getting into the truck. Negan gestured to Dwight, whispering something in his ear before he jerked his chin at Iris, and she climbed into the truck beside Carl. He grabbed her hand quickly, squeezing gently. Negan silently joined them not long after, a small notebook clutched in his hand. He leaned out the window.

“Daryl!” He called out. Daryl came stalking cautiously toward them. “You seem worried, so we’re taking the kid home.”

“Iris?” Daryl asked quietly. She didn’t respond, she couldn’t, but she could at least look him in the eye in this moment, and plead with him to trust her.

“She decided to continue keeping me company.” Negan replied with his sly grin. “If you know what I mean.” Daryl grit his teeth, steeling himself.

“She gets hurt, she dies, if she catches a fever, if she gets taken out by a walker, if she gets hit by lightning— anything, anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.“

Iris looked up then, meeting his gaze. Her face was filled with sorrow, but there was something like hope, something like passion and determination in her eyes that he followed even after she looked away. 

“Dwight!” Negan yelled. He simply flipped Daryl off as Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back. 

What Daryl noted on the way, however, was that Iris, Negan, Carl, and the random lieutenant Negan appointed to drive them were not the only passengers on the truck. Jesus was laid flat across the roof of the cargo space, in an awkward-looking position that allowed him to remain unseen yet still able to jump up at a moment’s notice. He didn’t look up to watch him, but he was grateful he was there.

Daryl was apprehensive, but he kept his mouth shut. Especially as Jesus slipped off the roof of the truck to follow him and Dwight inside. He was led, as usual, to his cell, and waited impatiently for something, anything to happen. Whatever Jesus had planned, even if it was simply reconnaissance, was destined to be thwarted. In some way, at least. After about an hour, he received a note slipped under his door. 

GO NOW

It was not surprising, nor was the match and key taped securely to the back of the paper.

-

The car ride was not quiet, instead filled by Negan’s usual ramblings and the music playing from the CD player. The people at Alexandria’s gate let them in without question or protest, the Saviour driving them straight to the supposed destination: Rick’s house.

Negan led the way as he knocked on the door with Lucille, Carl and Iris standing awkwardly behind him. Olivia opened the door, her face empty with shock. Negan stepped inside and she stumbled backward, opening the door wider for them to follow. He turned around in the kitchen, giving it a brief scan.

“Where’s Rick?” He demanded.

“Uh, I—“

“Don’t care.” Negan sang. “Where’s Rick?”

“Um, out scavenging for you.” Olivia stammered. 

“Cool.” Negan replied with a grin. “I’ll wait.”

“Uh, he went out pretty far. They might not be back today.” She explained, her voice shaking like a leaf. “We’re running really low on everything. We’re practically starving here.” Negan reeled and Iris winced, anticipating his next reply.

“Starving?” He echoed, heavily amused. Olivia nodded, none-the-wiser. He pointed. “You? So by ‘practically,’ you mean ‘not really.’” 

Olivia’s face crumpled as she choked out a sob, turning away. Iris scowled. After nearly starving herself, to the point where they resorted to what Iris considered to be the lowest she’d go, she knew that Alexandria was not there yet. But they would be, at this rate. The people in Alexandria had, so far, barely known the meaning of the word suffering. But Negan made sure they would. He chuckled at Olivia, making a face as he turned around to Iris and Carl, incredulous. 

“Really?” He mouthed. “You people seriously don’t have a sense of humour.”

“That tends to happen when you’re being pillaged and tormented by a man living out his own ‘Lord of the Flies’ fever dreams.” Iris replied. Negan pursed his lips.

“And yet you’re as witty as ever.” He stated, raising his eyebrow. “I suppose some are more resilient than others. That’s a compliment, by the way.” He turned back to Olivia, running his hand down his face. “Excuse me. What’s your name again?”

“Olivia.” She bit out between sobs, gritting her teeth as she kept her back to him. Iris’ frown deepened. 

“Right. Olivia.” He replied. He reached out, gently taking her elbow and turning her around. She seemed shocked he would touch her, her brows knitting together as she put her glasses back on. “I am sorry for having been so rude to you just now. And it looks like I’m gonna be here a while, awaiting your fearless leader’s return. And if you’d like, I think it would be enjoyable… to screw your brains out.” Iris’ eyebrows shot up, and Olivia’s confused expression turned from fearful to furious. “I mean, if, you know, you’re agreeable to it.” 

Ah, yes, the Negan-brand delusion of coercion instead of consent. Olivia was having none of it, however, and used that opportunity to slap Negan across the face. It wasn’t particularly hard, but he turned his head with it anyway, adjusting his jaw with a flourish as he turned back, his eyes narrowed. He licked his lips, taking a step closer.

“I am about fifty-percent more into you now.” He whispered. Olivia shuddered, pulling back as Negan grinned. “Just sayin’.” He laughed and stepped back. “Alright, well, I’m just going to put my feet up and wait for my stuff to get here. Olivia, would you be a lamb and make us a little lemonade? Now, I know I left you all some of that good powdered stuff.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be with—“ She stuttered. Iris realized then that Olivia was likely taking care of Judith. She scanned the rooms around her, listening for her. 

“Make it.” Negan ordered. “Make it. Take your time. Make it good.” His voice had a salacious tone to it, and Olivia shivered again before running out the front door toward the pantry. Negan spun around again. “Alright, kid, take me on a grand tour!”

-

Negan allowed Iris to stay behind as Carl escorted him around his house. Despising the fact that he was taunting her with her own home, Iris would rebel in ways that would not endanger anyone. She ensured they were preoccupied in another room as she bolted upstairs to Judith’s room. She closed the door gently behind her as Judith stood from her playpen, reaching out with grabby hands.

“Hey, little ass-kicker.” Iris cooed, hugging Judith tight to her chest. She started to make noise and Iris shushed her, keeping her quiet as Negan made himself at home.

“What about this room?” Negan asked loudly from the hallway.

“Oh, that’s just a water heater.” Carl said hurriedly.

“Come on, kid.” Negan scoffed, barging in anyways. Iris stood quickly, stepping back with Judith in her arms. “Oh my. Look at this little angel.” He stepped closer and Iris stepped back until her back met the window and Negan was already stroking Judith’s cheek with one hand. He gingerly took her from Iris, grinning as Judith whimpered. “Now this isn’t yours, is she?” He asked Iris. She opened her mouth to reply and he shrugged. “She just doesn’t look like Rick, that’s all.”

“Well she doesn’t look like me.” Iris retorted, raising her eyebrow. Negan shrugged again. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go have some fun while we wait for daddy, hm?” He cooed, tickling Judith gently as he swept her out of the room.

Negan had the three of them, Iris, Carl and Judith, follow him around the house as he made himself at home. He demonstrated how to shave with a straight razor, Iris clutching Judith closer to her chest. He also put on an apron and set himself up in the kitchen, cooking a marinara sauce for spaghetti dinner. Iris was unsettled by his now clean-shaven face as he turned around, feeding some of the sauce to Carl. 

Olivia returned with the tin of powdered lemonade, taking Judith from Iris to mix it up so Iris could distract Negan from Judith and Carl. They set the table like they were about to have Sunday dinner. Negan rubbed his hands together excitedly as Olivia came over with the pitcher of lemonade. She poured him a glass, standing by as he took a sip and hummed his approval. 

They sat for a long while, letting the pasta and fresh biscuits Negan made grow cold. Rick was not back yet. He wouldn’t be back for a while. Negan set Lucille up in the chair meant for Rick before declaring he would wait no longer, tucking his napkin into his shirt collar.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 88

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Felix and Tommy brave the city without the gang in the search for Iris. They meet some fellow survivors and find a common interest, but the walkers don't care. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; vomit; death; injury; bad language; TWDG features; blatant insults; threats

Chapter 88 - Where to Go

66 DAYS AFTER THE OUTBREAK — MAY 17, 2011

“Fuuuuuuuuuck.” Felix grumbled. The knife had slipped out of his fingers at an awkward angle, the racoon escaping at the last second. He continued grumbling, kneeling down and wrestling the knife out of the thick tree root it buried itself in. “Iris was so much better at this.”

“Mm.” Tommy replied absentmindedly. Felix glanced over his shoulder to see his father staring off into the distance, his pistol nearly slipping from his fingers.

The two of them had been walking for one week, absently through the city. They were combing the streets of Atlanta one block at a time. They’d yet to come across any other survivors, Carver had cleaned the place pretty thoroughly. But luck ran out. 

The two of them didn’t look very approachable, to be fair. Bandanas tied over their faces, gang vests on display. But anyone not wearing Viper colours would be far more approachable than the alternative. 

“You sure she’s in the city?” Tommy asked. He looked to his left to see a half-collapsed department store, scowling. 

“Where else would she go?” Felix asked, frowning as he stopped. They were in the middle of the street. A few walkers around, but not much. 

“She could be anywhere…” Tommy murmured. Felix scowled, shouldering past him as they continued down the block. They were getting closer and closer to the university hospital. Carver always said he heard a group was hiding out there, but there was no guarantee they’d be friendly. His scowl deepened.

"Fuck this.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

As the sun began to set, they took shelter in an old cafe, the windows and doors boarded up enough that it felt relatively safe. It was clear, and even had some coffee beans left behind the counter. Not that they had any supplies with them to make hot coffee. 

Tommy was slumped in a booth against the wall, playing spider on the table. Upon closer inspection, the cupboards beneath the counter revealed a bottle of whiskey, which Felix took up victoriously. He used to hate drinking, always hating watching Uncle Tommy get shitfaced, but that had been for Iris’ sake when they were kids. Now… he had more of a reason.

The sun had sunk low in the sky, only thin slices of sunlight peering through the wooden boards. Felix squinted as one of them caught him in the eye, turning away.

“You remember that first week, when we were looting that trailer park?” He asked, taking a large swig. Tommy barely glanced up from his cards.

“Yeah.”

“You remember when we found that RV, and that old guy asked us to kill him?” Felix asked. Tommy looked up again, frowning this time.

The old man wore a bucket hat and had a thick white beard. The RV he’d lived in seemed like it had been lived in by more than one person, the feminine touches of his wife still lingering after… whatever happened to her. The old man had been hopeless, damn lucky that the half-empty trailer park had been protected by the fences that surrounded it. Felix and Stu had killed most of the walkers before they found him in there, half starved to death. He pleaded, begged them to put them out of his misery, but Tommy wouldn’t allow it. Back in the day, he used to say that it was the coward’s way out.

“Yeah.” Tommy remembered.

“You said no.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Felix asked. Tommy blinked, looking down at his cards. Most of them had blood stains smeared across their faces. Blood and liquor. 

“He had a lot of fight in him.” Tommy said after a moment, shrugging. “Seemed like a waste.”

“And do you think this is a waste?” Felix asked. He knew he was starting something. They were exhausted. He was frustrated. He felt like they were so close, and yet… “You wanted to come, remember? To look for Iris? You said you would look.”

“And I have, Felix.” Tommy sighed. He huffed, sweeping the cards onto the floor. “I’m fucking tired. I’ve been at this shit for a long time, and I’m tired of chasing fairy tales.”

“So you lied.” Felix snapped, standing straight. He threw the bottle, the whiskey smashing against the wall a few feet from Tommy. “How can you not believe in her?”

“Yes, Felix, I lied! She’s dead! There’s no hope! We were dead as soon as V knelt to Carver.” He shuddered, slumping deeper into the booth. “I came for you, and I hoped after a few days, you would see…” Felix grit his teeth, kicking over a barstool in anger. 

“Rot here, then, old man. Just like you rotted before, and like you’ll rot after.” He hissed, shrugging his backpack on and shouldering the boarded front door open. The night had fully settled by then, the cold leeching through his jacket and into his bones. He didn’t hear Tommy call after him, but if he did, he would’t have turned back.

Tommy slumped in his booth in the cafe, silently lamenting the loss of the whiskey. Whether it was good shit or not… it was something. Iris always hated when he got drunk. Iris… Fuck. Felix was, as usual, probably right. Iris was one of the smartest, most resourceful people he knew. If anyone could survive any of this bullshit, it was her. But to have his family together… it all felt like a long lost pipe dream. 

Iris was his only daughter, the only kid he and her mother ever had. The fact that her mom was batshit crazy might have been why, but it made Tommy treasure Iris more, even if he was terrible at showing it. A part of him wanted to believe she was dead, if only to prevent her from ever seeing the person he’d become.

She’d likely resent him either way, but she’d definitely resent him more if he showed up without Felix, or if Felix showed up without him. Knowing Felix, he’d cover for Tommy with some sort of story about how he’d tried, even if he didn’t. But if something happened to Felix… that thought was what made Tommy get up and start out the door.

-

By the morning, Tommy was easier to see, lazily following behind him.

“You done yet?” Felix called impatiently, not turning back to glance at him.

“Not gonna leave you to the biters.” Tommy grumbled, kicking a piece of trash out of his way. Despite being clearly frustrated, Felix stopped for him to catch up.

The pair walked through the city until they were at the edge, making their way towards highways that turned to interstates, back roads turning to forests and farms. They walked along a road that eventually intersected with the train tracks, Tommy snorting at a sign advertising No Sanctuary. Up ahead was an overpass, the road arching high in order to allow the trains to pass beneath, but nothing was getting under it now.

A fuel tanker had curved near the edge of the overpass, a pickup truck having rear-ended it in the worst possible spot. The truck and the first tank were still at the edge of the overpass, but one of the tanks had been tipped over the edge, hanging precariously over the train tracks. A train was stopped before the fuel tanker, still steaming, obviously facing a larger obstacle than it had expected. Or rather, they.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuuuuuck!” A man’s voice called from underneath the overpass. Felix and Tommy slowly approached the tanker, peering over to see a small group of people emerging from the train. 

“Maybe we could walk?” A meek voice suggested.

“That’s fucking stupid, Ben.” The first voice snapped.

“I dunno. I ain't got much experience with y’all’s fortitude, but we could probably deal with that. We got a goddamn train.” A third voice proposed.

“That thing’s not full of milk, Charles.” The first voice snapped again. “That’s gas or diesel; something that’s gonna explode.” Tommy turned slightly at the sound of a walker, scowling as he put it out of its misery. The people below did not seem so concerned about the noise.

“You gotta get ahold of yourself. This is a crew here.”

“This ain’t shit.” The first voice huffed.

“This—“

“Yo!” Felix yelled over the side of the overpass. “You keep screaming like that and you’re gonna get your face chewed off!” Tommy stood by him, the both of them with their guns out.

"Don't cause any trouble now. We could’ve just kept walking.” Tommy warned sourly, glancing sidelong at Felix. “You friendly?”

“Could be.” A new voice replied, stepping forward. He was a tall black man wearing a mussed blue button down. A little girl scurried to hide behind his legs, hiding her face. “Who are you?”

“Depends.” Tommy snapped.

“We’re friendly.” The man said, holding his hands up.

“That’s what everybody says.” Tommy grumbled, jerking his chin at Felix, who simply shook his head.

“You guys got a problem with your train?” Felix asked.

“Yeah, you’re standing right in front of it.” The first voice answered. It belonged to a pale looking middle-aged man, suited with a ball cap and a handlebar moustache. 

“It’s not so bad from up here. Come look if you don’t believe me.” Felix suggested, craning his neck to examine the wrecked trucks. The first man grumbled something quietly to the tall black man before sending him up the ladder.

“If I come up there, you better not be murderers or thieves.” He called. Tommy snorted.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” He replied. Felix glanced at him sideways. Sure, technically, they were both of those things. But unless things went sideways, they’d hold off on showing that hand. The man climbed up, stepping in front of the pair.

“Hey. I’m Felix.”

“I’m Lee.” The man replied, offering a polite nod.

“Tommy.” Tommy grumbled unhappily. “What’s the deal with the train?”

"We're driving it.” Lee replied. “I’m not gonna bullshit you, our group is a little fucked right now. We had a bite victim, then his mom took her life, and before that, just…”

“It’s okay.” Felix nodded. They all understood what sort of loss you face in this new world. “Holy shit, you have a kid.” The little girl appeared behind Lee, hiding her face again.

"What are you doing up here?” Lee asked, somewhat concerned.

“What’s your name?” Felix asked.

“Clementine.” She said softly, smiling.

"You ain’t her dad. He down there?” Tommy asked, glancing at the obvious differences between the man and the little girl.

“No, he’s not down there.” Lee replied defensively, frowning. Thomas grunted in acknowledgement, narrowing his eyes.

“Your people? They cool?” Felix asked, interjecting. Lee winced. 

“Kenny lost his wife and kid…”

“How long?” Tommy asked.

"What time is it?” Lee asked. Felix and Tommy glanced at each other. That pretty much answered their question. Lee’s group seemed just about as fractured as the pair of them. 

“That tank is your real problem. We’ll help you with is, but if we see anything we don’t like, we’re moving on down the road. Alone.” Tommy grumbled. Lee nodded in understanding, his face brightening a bit.

“We appreciate the help.” Lee stated. Felix turned, examining the latch between the two tanks of gas.

“If you could get it down, the rest should be pretty easy.” He murmured. Lee nodded, walking around the overpass to scope it out. He snagged a roll of tape from a nearby rescue service truck. He leaned over to look at the hitch, frowning.

“This thing is mangled to hell.” He stated. Felix nodded. 

“Let’s go down and relay the plan.” Felix suggested. Lee moved to the ladder, but Tommy grabbed Felix’s arm before he could follow. He gave a sharp warning look, but Felix pulled his arm free with a yank. Lee’s people seemed apprehensive as they approached, but welcoming as anyone could be. 

“This is Felix and Tommy.” Lee introduced. “The plan is to cut that tanker down and be on our way.”

“Seems like plan enough to me.” The first man, Kenny, murmured. They separated to gather what they could to assess their supplies, Felix returning to the overpass where Tommy waited impatiently. Lee scoped through their supplies on the train, returning with a wrench and a blow torch. 

“Should make quick work of the coupling.” Felix nodded in approval as Lee climbed back up the ladder to meet them. He set up the blowtorch, leaning precariously over the overpass as he put torch to hitch.

The hitch squealed and shook as the strain increased. Felix frowned as the truck slowly began to move. In one quick movement, he grabbed Lee, yanking him backward before the end of the first tank could send him over the edge of the pass. The truck settled again with a suspicious creak against the concrete ledge. Lee was breathing heavily, and he looked backward at Felix.

“Thanks.” He huffed, putting a hand over his chest to calm his heart.

“No sweat.” Felix replied, running a hand through his hair as he reassessed the hitch. “Hanging by a thread. The smallest cut and it should go.” It was too far over the edge now, just barely out of reach. He glanced sideward, noting the young guy with their group standing and watching on top of the train.

“Here.” Lee said with a grunt, passing over the blowtorch. “The weak portion of the coupling is out of my reach.”

“If its out of your reach, it’s definitely out of mine.” Felix replied, raising an eyebrow. He wiped a hand over his brow to brush off the sheen of sweat that had gathered. Tommy looked over, frowning.

“Yeah, but if I dangle you over the ledge, you’ll be able to get it.” Lee said, shrugging.

“The hell you are!” Tommy huffed. “Let’s go, Felix. Got places to be.”

“So do they.” Felix murmured, glancing back at the hitch. “Fine, but if you drop me, Pops back there is gonna throw you over.” Lee nodded in understanding, grabbing Felix’s arm as he leaned over the edge. “Son of a bitch.” Felix grumbled as he put the torch back to the hitch. He hissed in pain, glancing down at the dangerous drop below.

“Guys, there’s something coming!” The kid on top of the train yelled suddenly. Felix glanced outward, noting the enormous hoard that seemed to be following the train tracks. Of course. Trains made noise, walkers liked noise, and now he was going to be dangling over a sea of them. “We gotta go!”

“Fucking hell.” Tommy muttered. Felix grunted as he stretched further, the tanker creaking as the hitch finally severed, sending the second tank down with a thunderous crash. 

On it’s way down, it, of course, struck the ladder, leaving Lee no way to return to the train. Kenny started the train, the other group members loading up into the cars as it began to slowly move beneath the overpass. Tommy and Felix ran alongside Lee to the other side, looking down at the train as it reappeared.

“We have to jump.” Lee realized quietly.

“No!” Felix replied, reeling. This guy had to be fucking crazy. Yet… it wasn’t that far of a fall…

“Jump, damn it!”

“Still no!” Felix replied, looking at him incredulously. Lee huffed.

“Fine.” He shrugged, leaping from the edge of the overpass and deftly rolling on top of the train. 

“Come on, kid.” Tommy grumbled.

“What?!”

Thomas jumped, hitting the top of the train unceremoniously as it began to pick up speed. Felix cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he leapt. He hit the train with a thud, grunting in pain as he landed on his shoulder. With no footing, Felix tumbled from the side of the train, only a quarter mile in front of the hoard. He cried out again as his leg struck the ground unevenly. 

“Felix!” Thomas yelled.

“Go!” He grunted, stumbling to his feet and clutching his leg. The train kept speeding up, and Thomas grumbled as he climbed down onto the last car, ditching the train entirely as he grabbed Felix, hauling him to his feet. 

“Come on!” Lee called from the train. But they would never make it. Tommy’s eyes fell on the station not far ahead, hauling Felix’s arm over his shoulder and half carrying him toward the building. The train began to recede into the distance, Lee’s silhouette disappearing from the roof.

The station was old wood and crumbling sheet metal, paint spattered across the top reading SURVIVORS INSIDE. Tommy kicked in the door, unceremoniously dumbing Felix on the floor and pushing a metal desk in front to act as a barricade. Felix grunted as he clutched his leg, breathing hard. The sound of the hoard got louder, almost deafening, the fleshy grunts and moans of the dead filling their senses.

A few walkers on the inside were quickly dealt with via Tommy’s knife, Tommy coming to kneel beside Felix once he was sure they were safe… momentarily. The place was completely overrun, and they settled in for a long night.

-

As the hours passed, Felix fashioned himself a splint out of a few old chair legs and the bandage from an old first aid kit. Tommy had been pacing at one point, nearly wearing treads into the floor, but he was old and tired, and gave into the need to sit down. 

“Thanks.” Felix murmured. Tommy looked up in the dark, almost unable to see his son’s face. He was barely audible through the drone of the dead. 

“For what?”

“Letting me help them.” He sighed, leaning up against a wall. Tommy frowned. There was a finality to his words that gave him an uneasy feeling. “For letting me look.”

“We’ll get going again as soon as the herd passes.” Tommy replied definitively, shaking his head. Felix huffed, looking to his left. There was a large hole in the dilapidated ceiling, allowing him to see the stars above them. It was a clear night, the stars brighter than they used to be.

He fell asleep staring at the sky. Tommy almost smiled. The two of them, Felix and Iris, used to fall asleep staring out the window together. It was as if he knew it was the way they would find each other again. 

In the morning, most of the herd had passed, continuing onward to follow the gargantuan noise the train created. There had to have been thousands, but as the sun rose, there were less, straggling behind. But less still meant dozens.

“C’mon kid.” Tommy knelt at Felix’s side, rousing him from his sleep. Felix grunted, hissing at the pain as he moved his leg. Their soft movements through the building called walkers to the doors and windows. “Gonna have to fight our way through.”

“You gotta pull it together.” Felix huffed, glaring up through his eyebrows. He glanced back at the do-it-yourself skylight, frowning at the sight of blue sky and clouds rather than his stars. Tommy looked over at him, confused. “For her.”

A loud splintering cut through the droning, both of them turning to see the boards across the back door failing, rotten, decaying arms clawing their way through the wood. The noise drew more to the back of the building, leaving the door they came open through a little less surrounded. Tommy began his pacing again.

“You gotta go.” Felix murmured, slumping against the wall and another desk. “Find Iris.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Tommy scowled. “C’mon.”

“I’m not coming, man.” Felix sighed as Tommy came closer, reaching to grab him by the arm. He would haul him over his shoulders if he had to. “Tommy, I can’t.”

“Can’t or wont? C’mon, kid, this is ridiculous.” Tommy huffed, throwing his hands in the air. Felix smiled sadly as he lifted the pant leg on his injured foot, revealing a deep, festering bite. “What? What the hell is this? When—“

“In the city, before you caught up.” Felix sighed, laughing quietly. “Never should have gone alone. You have to find her, okay?” He grabbed Tommy by the shirt collar, bringing him in close. “You have to find her.”

“We gotta find her, Felix.” Tommy said. Felix shook his head, letting go of Tommy’s shirt and slumping.

“Tell her I love her, okay?” He huffed, now looking far more pale than he had been before.

“Fuck.” Tommy muttered, pacing again. “Fuck!”

Felix let his Uncle Tommy take out his frustration on the broken furniture, making his way over to the back wall, the back door, where an old train bell hung on the wall, the rope dangling tauntingly. Tommy flipped a chair over, running a hand through his thinning hair. His nephew, his son. His only family left. If, by even the smallest miracle, Iris was still alive, she might never forgive him for this. Felix was everything to her, and he was just her shitty, deadbeat drunk father. He huffed, his voice breaking. 

“You gotta find her.”

“Tell her I love her.” Felix repeated, gripping the rope. With the remaining strength he had left, he pulled hard on rope, over and over, the loud clang of the bell echoing through the room. 

Tommy stumbled back in shock as the door finally broke down, the swarm of walkers entering the house and grabbing Felix anywhere they could. There was so much blood, the tearing of flesh— it was the worst sound he could have ever imagined. Tommy shoved the desk out of the way, his eyes wide in shock. He practically fell through the open door, hearing Felix’s screams cut through just before the door shut. They echoed loudly, drawing more walkers away from Tommy as he scrambled from the station.

-

For hours, his ears were ringing, even as he walked slowly and aimlessly along the road. He’d drifted from the train tracks, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of running into those people again. Especially without… He turned to the side, vomiting roughly into the grass at the side of the road.

He fell to his knees in his own vomit, curling into nothing and sinking deep into the ground. Or at least, that is what he wished he could do.

Tommy didn’t look up as the engines around him cut, heavy footprints calmly walking toward him. They stopped abruptly in front of him, shiny black boots accompanied by the dull thud of wood against asphalt. 

“Well, well, well. Who do we got here?”

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 87

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Iris receives a tour and gets acquainted with the Sanctuary. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f;

Chapter 87 - First Prize

622 DAYS AFTER THE OUTBREAK — MAY 7, 2012

It had been a few days at the Saviour’s compound, and Iris already wanted to throw herself from the windows. Except she couldn’t, because the windows in Negan’s room didn’t open. 

Negan had led her up there personally, past the main floor where there looked to be a small market of people trading and bartering, numbered cots for people to sleep on and keep their things near. They walked up a few sets of stairs and down a few hallways. They walked past a neat, well-decorated room that mimicked a cocktail lounge, fairly empty but for two women casually sitting on one of the love seats, straightening at the sound of his footsteps. He didn’t even glance at them on his way by. 

He took her to his suite, where Iris almost stopped in her tracks. It was as well furnished as any room in Alexandria, despite being at the top of a warehouse. He had a plush rug and two probably-expensive couches facing each other over a glass coffee table. There were ornate lamps and velour curtains, all leading toward a mahogany four-poster bed with the softest sheets one could find these days. 

One wall was occupied by a large shelf containing art, fake plants and various bottles of amber liquor, the adjacent wall completely made of windows. The wall with the door has a stuffed deer head. Everything was illuminated with a delicate crystal chandelier, and it made Iris hate Negan even more.

They stopped in the middle of the floor and Negan smiled. Except it wasn’t his classic, toothy grin he used to intimidate others. It was soft, and gentle, and terrifying. Iris froze as he ran his hands up her sides. His fingers hooked on something and she watched as he slowly and carefully removed a knife from its sheath. And another, and another. He pulled them from her for security reasons, obviously, and she had more knives on her than she would ever know what to do with. 

Yet, with every knife he took away, it felt as if he were stripping her bare, removing another layer of clothing, of skin, until he had her raw in his hands and ready to be flayed. He took each and every single one, no matter where it had been hidden. Even the ones beneath her shirt, he simply slid his hands underneath the fabric and pulled them free, as if he had known exactly where they would be.

When he had finished and the pile of knives on his couch was embarrassingly large, he’d shown her to his private ensuite bathroom and left her to bathe, ensuring that when she exited the walk-in shower her old clothing was gone. The only thing left in the room was the bag he’d taken and filled with items from her bedroom. She selected the most conservative set of lingerie, which was not very conservative at all, and waited.

Negan’s bedroom was fucking cold. Iris’ new outfit consisted of a slight satin one piece, loose and flowing, trimmed with lace across her breasts and thighs, the fabric flaring out into what was supposed to be a suggestion of shorts, but still had a slit up to her hip bone. She crossed her arms across her chest and sat at the end of the bed, frowning at the small ticking clock sitting on his bedside table.

The clock indicated that a half hour had passed by the time Negan returned, a sleepy bliss painted across his face. Iris’ frown deepened.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Dollface.” He murmured, setting Lucille down with a sigh against one of the thick bedposts.

“Can we drop the act when no one is around? Please?” Iris asked lowly. Negan nodded appreciatively.

“That’s not a bad idea.” He shrugged. “I do like your sharp little tongue, Iris.” It was the second time he’d ever said her name, and the intimate way his mouth shaped each syllable made her cringe. “I will lay out my conditions for this little experiment.” He smirked. “You’re gonna stay here, with me, in this room. I ain’t gonna chain you to the bed, but I expect you to stay. Outside, you’re gonna wear what I want, do what I want, say what I want. You will respond to Dollface like its the name God whispered down into your mama’s ear before she popped you out. I know your limits and you know mine. Don’t push them, or you’ll feel me push back.”

“Okay.” Iris nodded slowly. Negan clapped his hands, spreading them wide with his signature smile.

“Then welcome to your new home.”

Iris was already shivering at the memory of those words leaving his lips. He’d asked her to change in the morning, even though she currently had no plans nor expectations to leave the room, and she grimaced when she was handed another set of sheer lingerie. There was nothing incredibly explicit, but Iris almost wondered if she would feel less exposed were she entirely nude. She was cold.

Negan had tolerated her moving a small ottoman from his living area to the window so she could look out across the surrounding area. She couldn’t tell much about where they were from what she could see, aside from the enormous warehouse, a few small surrounding buildings, the yard, and the road ahead. A truck was supposed to come back today, she’d overheard on Negan’s walkie. Filled with supplies from the Hilltop. Iris hoped they hadn’t discovered their lie about Maggie. 

Men wearing the same dirty clothes as Daryl, except with varied letters, were ushered outside periodically to add or change something about the array of walkers tied, impaled or chained up in the yard. None of them were Daryl at the moment, so she was uninterested. Iris watched the clouds move across the sky from the window until the sound of the truck pulled her gaze downward.

It pulled into place in the gated area between the yard and their entrance. A few guys including Dwight appeared from inside the compound to unload the truck, and that’s when Iris noted the familiar face roaming around the yard. He’d become a bit thinner with hunger, yet they had traded the baggy sweat-clothes for a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. His caloric intake, or lack thereof, didn’t stop him from mustering up his usual strength, however, to defend himself by shoving walkers away, weaving in between reaching hands and chomping teeth.

Negan himself strode out into the small courtyard, calmly instructing the men exactly how he wanted them to unload the truck. One of the men pulled the plastic flaps of the back to the side, climbing in. Something inside happened, something that drew the attention of a couple others, before gunshots echoed loudly from inside. The man inside tumbled out of the back of the truck, bleeding out into the asphalt, the others running and ducking for cover. 

Iris could just barely see the muzzle of the gun peeking out from the back of the truck, until she watched, horrified, as Carl stepped slowly down from the truck with an automatic rifle, barking orders. The men put their hands up until Negan wandered over, addressing Carl. Iris grimaced, wishing again she could open the windows in the room, if only to hear what they were saying. Negan pulled a man in front of him as a shield, approaching slowly. He wore a shit-eating grin.

One of the men jumped toward Carl, causing him to reflexively pull the trigger. But the gun was big, a lot of kickback for Carl to handle, and he hadn’t spent much time training with them. He was caught off balance, even as the bullets found their mark, and Dwight took the opportunity to tackle Carl to the ground. 

His hat fell off, and even pinned, Carl got in a few good punches to Dwight’s face. But despite their similar builds and the fact that Carl was likely stronger than him, Dwight grabbed the fallen gun and held it to his face, barking a warning of some kind. Daryl had pressed himself up against the fence in the yard, watching the interaction with a look of fear on his face. Dwight disarmed Carl, letting Negan offer his hand. 

Carl ignored Negan’s hand for a long moment before accepting it, watching as Negan ordered his men around. Dwight escorted Daryl inside, most of the men disappearing before Negan and Carl eventually followed them into the building. 

-

Negan threw his bedroom doors open with a flourish, Iris keeping her back turned toward him as she sat on the ottoman near the window. He set Lucille down, tossed his scarf onto the bed, surveying the room with a satisfied sigh.

“Are all those women actually your—“ Carl began. Iris froze.

“Wives? Yeah. Always wanted to screw a whole bunch of different women. I mean, why settle for just one? Why follow the same old rules? Why not make life better? Ain’t that right, Dollface?” He asked loudly. Iris stayed where she was, her body tensing at the sound of Carl’s tentative footsteps. She pulled her arms around herself, muscling through a shiver that wracked her whole body. 

“Iris?” Carl murmured, whisper soft. Iris made no move to turn, curling inward. It was something akin to shame, embarrassment. Like she shouldn’t be caught with Negan, as if their relationship was a torrid affair she’d been hiding for weeks. Negan certainly acted like it.

“My apologies, I assumed you would be decent for company.” Negan feigned sympathy, the fake kind from a bad play. He meandered over to her, draping his leather jacket over her shoulders before gripping her chin forcefully and pulling her to her feet. “I expect you to greet me regardless, darling.” He murmured, close enough to kiss her if he leaned in. Iris was like stone underneath his gloved touch, and he pulled one glove off and shifted the jacket tighter around Iris. He tugged her over to one of his couches and had her sit down, Carl still standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching.

“Carl shouldn’t be here.” Iris bit out, refusing to meet Carl’s gaze. She didn’t even know if he was looking at her, but she hoped he wasn’t. She hoped he was pretending this was all a bad dream, like she was. 

“Now that, is something we can agree on, babydoll.” Negan agreed, sitting down beside her, spreading his legs wide in an anarchic display of dominance. He made sure he was sitting close enough that their hips touched, his leg pushing hers to the side. “Speaking of… sit. I want to get to know you a little better, Carl.”

“Why?” Carl asked, reasonably suspicious.

“Work it out.” Negan replied with a soft shrug. “You’re smart. In fact, I’m gonna tell you just how smart you are, in case you don’t already know. See, I’d expect a kid your age to be moping around, not doing a damn thing except crying about missing the prom. But you— you go on a mission.” He put his hands down for emphasis, his non-gloved hand landing possessively on Iris’ thigh. “You find me, you kill two of my men, and you’re smart enough to know that I’m not gonna let this slide.” 

Negan chuckled, absently shaking his head. He looked up, pointedly staring at Carl’s covered eye. Or, where his eye used to be. 

“I can’t— I can’t do it. It’s like talking to a birthday present. You got to take that crap off your face. I want to see what Grandma got me.” Carl blinked, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. With the same look of disgust on his face, he leered.

“No.” Carl replied firmly. Iris was so damn proud of him.

“Two men!” Negan yelled angrily, and Iris flinched. He squeezed her leg gently, almost as if to calm her down. “Two… men. Punishment. Do you really want to piss me off?” 

Carl faltered, blinking as he looked down at his hands. He sighed loudly, reaching up and carefully placing his hat on the table. He reached up, untying the bandage and unwinding it from around his head. His bangs hung down into his face, perfectly cut to cover his eye. That was intentional. Iris had cut them that way herself, per his request.

That day, she had been standing in her kitchen, Carl seated on one of the stools near their island. He needed a trim, but he had asked for this instead. He was scared that if anyone looked at it by accident, if Judith looked at it by accident, it would scare them away. Scare Judith away. He did just about everything for that little girl, and it broke Iris’ heart, because she knew that if Judith could talk just a little more, she would tell her big brother that no matter what he looked like, she adored him. Iris had put her hands on the side of his face and told him as much.

“You can’t scare me, cowboy. And you definitely won’t scare her.”She had said.

Carl brushed his bangs out of his face, revealing the concave space where his eye used to be and the gnarled scar tissue surrounding the old wound. His lip trembled as he looked up and revealed it to them. Iris imagined it hurt, probably most of the time. And to expose the nerves beneath the tissue to this much light after so long, it probably stung like a bitch.

“Christ!” Negan cried animatedly, recoiling. “That is disgusting. No wonder you cover that up. Have you seen it? I mean, have you looked in the mirror? That is gross as hell. I can see your socket.” He almost giggled, tilting his head. “I want to touch it. Oh, come on. Can I touch it?” Carl’s lip continued to quiver, his eye filling with tears as one barely slipped down his face. Negan sighed loudly, stroking his chin. “Damn. Holy hell, kid. Look, I… I just… it’s easy to forget that you’re… just a kid. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything, I—“

“Just forget it.” Carl whispered. Iris had tears tracking down her face, and she turned, facing the window as she cried. It took so much not to rip Negan’s teeth out one by one and make him choke on them. A loud knock echoed through the room as Iris opened her mouth to rip him a new asshole.

“Ah! Room service!” Negan said with a grin, walking over and opening the door with a flourish. Dwight stepped in slowly, accompanied by Daryl. He was somewhat better off than how Iris had seen him, still grimy and emaciated, but wearing clean clothes and appearing with a little more colour in his cheeks. This was what made her continue. The ability to see him regain his strength, his identity. Even if she was stripped of hers in the process.

Daryl stopped in the threshold of the door, his hands beginning to tremble as he gripped the ornate glass tray adorned with various meats, cheeses, grapes and crackers. Dwight had called it something he couldn’t remember. He immediately recognized the foreign presence in Negan’s room, both faces out of place. Carl was sitting awkwardly on Negan’s couch, spine straight as a board as he locked eyes with Daryl. He looked no worse for wear.

Iris though, did. She had bags under her eyes, goosebumps covering her exposed flesh despite the familiar leather jacket she pulled tighter around herself. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t even look up from her thumbs fiddling with the hem of the jacket. He felt something in his chest, sharp and aching, spreading out through his veins like wildfire. It tasted like guilt, sour and thick in his mouth. How could he have let this happen?

“Iris, will you grab this tray for me?” Negan asked, his voice quiet and edged. Iris felt numb as she stood, her bare feet padding against his carpet. She kept her head down, watching the small drops track down her face and drip to the floor. She reached for the tray and Daryl held it out to her. 

The jacket over her slipped as she extended her arm, the leather slipping down and off her shoulders. Iris winced, feeling her bare skin meet the cold air of the room. Did Negan keep it freezing in here on purpose? She felt him come up behind her, the heat of his body like a beacon as he caught the jacket. He tutted quietly, letting his fingers visibly trail up her side, eliciting more goosebumps, as he gingerly placed the jacket back over her shoulders. 

Negan met Daryl’s seething stare as he bent down and placed a chaste kiss against Iris’ leather-covered shoulder. She didn’t move away, allowing his hands to squeeze over her hips, her waist. Her hands shook as she took the tray from Daryl, ensuring that their hands did not touch. She felt so violated, so disgusted. But if it would benefit Daryl in the long run, it would be worth it. 

Daryl’s lip trembled, almost expecting a reaction from the others at the resounding crack of his heart and soul. There was anger and guilt, all of it mixing inside of him in this mass cloud of agony and suffering. He watched her retreat to the couch, setting the tray down a little too hard resulting in the loud clacking of the glass. Carl looked distraught, glancing between them.

“Why you got him here?” Daryl asked. His voice was hoarse and husky, rough without regular use, and he glared daggers into Negan’s eyes, unafraid of the consequences.

“Whoa!” Negan said, his eyes blown wide in surprise. “What we talk about when you’re not here is none of your business. Do not make me put this toothpick through the only eye he has.” His voice dropped into a growl and Iris gripped the jacket tighter around her, knuckles going white. “You go with Dwight. He’ll get you a mop. Dwighty boy, fire up that furnace. I’ll be down in a few.”

There was so many reasons for Daryl to rip the man limb from limb. And it took everything in him to ignore those instincts and allow Dwight to turn him around and shove him into the hallway. The doors were pulled shut with a frustratingly soft click, yet it echoed in his mind like the sealing of a tomb.

Negan cleared his throat as he sat back down on the couch, reclining as he placed his hand back on Iris’ leg. She pointedly picked it up, none-too-gently dropping it back in his own lap. He paused markedly, anger flashing in his eyes before clenching his fist.

“Look kid, all jokes aside, you look rad as hell. I wouldn’t cover that shit up. It may not be a hit with the ladies, but I assure you, no one is gonna screw with you looking like that. No one, no sir. This is the shit your dad’s supposed to be teaching you.” He paused, sighing. “Come on, kid. Get up. It should be ready.”

“What should be ready?” Carl asked.

“The iron.”

Negan strode confidently out of the room, leaving Iris sitting on the couch. Carl stood up to follow, looking down and meeting her gaze. It was pleading, but she didn’t say a word. Be safe. Be strong. Don’t do anything fucking stupid. Remember what I taught you.

He didn’t say anything in return. Except, he did reach into his pocket, producing a small slip of paper that he handed to her. Iris watched him go in mild confusion, hearing the same soft click of the door shut behind them. She glanced down, and put a hand to her mouth in hopes of stifling a sob that wrenched through her whole body.

The photo depicted her and Daryl, dirty, starving, and wishing they were anywhere else. Except they were peaceful and quiet, fast asleep. Iris’ head was laid atop Daryl’s, his on her shoulder. They both leaned against the barn doors that, a few hours prior, the entire group had been thrown up against to protect each other. What Iris hadn’t noticed before or even remembered, was how tight they both gripped one another’s hand in that moment, their arms and fingers laced together in an unmovable knot.

Iris’ soft cries carried down the hallway, and Carl felt another tear slide down his cheek.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 86

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Felix and Tommy -- 259 days after the outbreak. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f;

Chapter 86 - Seeing Red

259 DAYS AFTER THE OUTBREAK — MAY 10, 2011

Felix sat on the edge of the cot, his head hanging as he took a few deep breaths. His adoptive father, Thomas— or Tommy, as the boys liked to call him— sat across from him on his own cot. Felix reached up, wiping what could have possibly been a tear from his eye.

“I miss her.” He murmured, looking up. Tommy nodded his agreement, running a hand through the thinning hair on top of his head.

“I miss her too.” He replied quietly. Felix shook his head. His sadness was tinged with anger, and he balled his fists.

“She never would have let this happen.” He stated plainly.

“I know.” Tommy sighed. “But V’s like my brother. Where he goes, I go.”

“Even if he jumps off a bridge into hell.” Felix grumbled, frowning. Tommy made a face.

“Look, Felix, I’m not happy about any of this, but what the fuck am I supposed to do?” Tommy paused, checking his volume. Craven’s heavy footsteps still echoed from the roadhouse below. Most of the guys had gone to their own cots by now, but Craven lived here as much as they did. “The man is a grade-A lunatic. He put TJ’s head on a goddamn pike. Lonnie threw himself in with the biters, and Frankie just about pisses his pants every time he walks into a room. We have no backup on this.”

“We’re supposed to do the right thing.” Felix argued sharply. “He’s slaughtering innocent people. He’s torturing a guy down there right now.”

“What for?” Tommy asked, frowning.

“Medicine. Guy came along with a cooler full of stuff, almost threw himself in front of a bullet to keep it safe.” Felix explained. He looked guilty. Felt guilty. Tommy’s frown deepened.

“Felix, we can’t save every single person. We have to look after our own.” He said sadly. Felix scoffed.

“And how many of our own are left?” He asked, pushing up from his cot and walking out of their small, converted bedroom.

The roadhouse was more empty than before when Craven returned. Sometimes he took a few guys out to do some rounds. Sometimes those guys didn’t come back with him. They owned the block, for better or worse, most of the smarter men making their homes furthest from where Craven liked to spend his time. Which happened to be right under Felix and Tommy’s noses.

This particular evening, he was entertaining a guest. 

Felix and Tommy watched from the shadows as Craven approached the man, ripping the plastic bag off of his head. One of his lieutenants walked to a table, setting down a small, handheld cooler.

“You gotta let me go.” The man pleaded. His nose was broken, bleeding profusely across his face and shirt. He wore simple clothes, a zip-up hoodie and a denim jacket, some decent boots. His salt and pepper hair was cropped short, just a little length on the top, a beard grown in unevenly across his face. “My wife, she has cancer, she needs that.”

Felix immediately felt sick. He could see as Craven’s man opened the cooler, two IV bags of chemo kept nice and cool. 

“You gotta keep it safe, okay? I told you.” The man pleaded. “Keeping me here— it kills me and her. I told you—”

“I know.” Craven shushed. “I know you did, I know. And I told you, my heart, it goes out to you. I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now, god, just wondering… if she’s ever gonna get her next treatment.” Craven meandered over to the cooler, pulling one of the bags and holding it precariously over the ground. “We drove out to where you told us those doctors gave you this stuff, but they weren’t there.”

“That’s not my fault. I told you. I told you they move around—“

“They were never there.” Craven tutted. Felix grabbed his father’s arm tightly, but Tommy shook his head. They couldn’t intervene. Not if they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with all of their limbs attached. “I mean, that road was so overgrown, we couldn’t even get the pickup down it. So now, I know you can’t get this stuff just anywhere. It needs to be refrigerated. Somebody, they took care of this for a long time. If they’ve got something as rare as this, they’ve probably got a lot of other stuff too. So now, tell me where you got it, and I am gonna let you take this to your wife. Otherwise, I’m gonna pour it down the toilet and make you watch. Hmm?” 

When the man didn’t respond right away, Craven punched him across the face with a crack. The man panted as he righted himself, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

“Okay. Alright.” He breathed. “Just please put that back in the cooler. I will tell you whatever you wanna know. Just please keep that safe. The part about the medical clinic— that’s all true. And yeah, you’re right. They have a medical stockpile somewhere. They keep equipment, drugs. I don’t know where, but that is where that came from. I’ve been tracking them for weeks. I found them, I don’t know, two or three days ago.”

The man began telling a long winded story, illustrating every detail of his interaction with a young woman and a doctor who gave him the medication. But Craven was not a patient man, especially when the man was so clearly biding his time.

“Enough! Enough, enough, enough.” Craven spat. “I ask you where you got the drugs, and all you tell me is one stupid, pointless story after another. First you wouldn’t talk, now I’m begging you to shut up.” Craven stood abruptly from the chair he’d perched in backward whilst the man wove his long train of thought. He pulled a gun from his waistband, aiming it between the man’s eyes. “Well, story time is over, bitch. Now, either you tell me where you got ‘em, or I pull this trigger and your wife dies thinking you ran out on her. I’m not even gonna count. If you don’t start talking by the time I stop, I swear to god—“

“No, wait, wait, wait. Just bring me my map.” The man pleaded. He sighed as guilt washed over him. “Bring me my map.” He shuddered, fighting back a sob as Craven’s lieutenant brought the map over and threw it in his lap. He undid the man’s bindings and allowed him to circle an intersection a few miles out with a ballpoint pen.

“What about security?” Craven huffed.

“Security is light. It is a guy and his daughter.” The man explained, shaking his head. He sighed. “The guards on top of the RVs, they’re decoys. There could be a couple others and they have no guns.”

“If they’re not there, for literally any reason, I’m gonna come back here and kill you. Okay?” Craven said, standing up straight as he tore the map from the man’s hands. “No questions asked.” He patted the man on the shoulder and turned away, just barely brushing Tommy’s shoulder as he rounded the corner, narrowing his eyes at the pair of them standing there. “Lock him in the storage room.” He ordered.

Felix stepped into the light, moving to follow the orders as the man began to sob, his head hanging as he slumped in the chair.

-

Thomas Bowen was too old for this shit. He was a fair bit older than the majority of the men standing around him, murmuring in suspense and conspiracy. Felix sat beside him at the bar they had so graciously donated to the new cause. They, at the time, thought they were offering shelter to survivors. Little did they know.

“Flick, you hearing this?” V asked, jeering as he elbowed Felix. Felix did not return his amusement.

“Come on, V,” Tommy pleaded quietly, happy his voice was drowned out by the ruckus that came wherever bikers went. “You think when Stu and I named this place after you we did it just so you could kneel to some prick?”

“Watch your mouth, Tommy,” V warned. “Craven provided for us, brought us guns and eyes to watch our backs.”

“We watch each other’s backs.” Felix added, scowling. “We always have.”

“I didn’t sign up for this shit. I don’t need to be a goddamn warlord.” Tommy added.

“You two need to pull it together.” V hissed. “If he hears you talking like that, you and TJ are gonna get reacquainted real fast.” 

“What I need is to find my daughter.” Tommy growled, slamming his fist on the bar top. A few heads turned before going back about their own business. 

“You need to face facts, asshole.” V snapped. “The first being that your daughter is long fucking dead. The second being that you answer to me, and we both answer to Craven.” He slammed an empty whiskey glass on the counter, moving into the crowd to go find the man they both spoke of. 

“Coward.” Felix grumbled, pulling his own glass of liquor to his lips. Rum was his drink of choice, a choice his little sister used to tease him about. Something about drinking like a pirate. And he did enjoy getting sloshed like one. His vest, his new vest, lay across the bar top in front of him, and he scowled at it.

Valak’s Vipers was written across the top. Valak, commander of serpents. You give a biker a book one time, and they think they’re fucking Shakespeare. A grotesque ram motif with long curling horns was embroidered in red in the centre, their logo always bright, always visible. If Craven caught Felix with his colours off, he might get bashed over the head with a broken bottle.

The demon that gave the Vipers their name, their insignia, was Felix’s first clue that they should stay far away. The Vipers believed in all sorts of bullshit. White supremacy, kill or be killed, and divine justice in the form of my gun, my bullets, your face. Most of them weren’t the sharpest tools in the drawer, but Craven, the leader, he was smart. Brutal. Psychotic.

“We can’t do it.” Tommy agreed, shaking his head. They were lucky Craven didn’t force them to carve their old gang tattoos off with a potato peeler. When the last military camp around Atlanta fell, they assumed it was because of the dead men walking. And they were right, in a way. Just not about which dead men. 

Valak’s Vipers controlled most of the roads around this side of the city. They’d taken, looted and raided each camp they came across, making their name known quickly. They genuinely worshipped Satan, in their own fucked cult-ish way. As much as Felix and Tommy both hated being there, they both also knew they were damn lucky. If V, their own gang’s leader, hadn’t fallen in with the Vipers, they would be just another handful of dead guys walking around Georgia.

When Craven returned, he ordered Felix to go unlock the man from the storage room. The man stood in there, underneath the single fluorescent light, turning to look. The shelves surrounding every wall made it so the room was just big enough to step into and spin in a circle as you stood. An uncomfortable place to be held prisoner, but better than the bottom of a lake. 

“You’re free to go.” Felix murmured quietly, standing beside the door. The man shuffled out of the storage room, keeping his eyes down as he walked past Felix, Tommy, V, Frankie, and the rest of Craven’s goons. He didn’t look up at any of them, barely nodding to Craven as he grabbed his cooler, checked its contents and high-tailed it out of the bar. 

“Flick,” Craven called from his seat near the makeshift karaoke stage Stu built years ago. “You go make sure he gets out okay.” Felix bristled at the unwelcome nickname, but nodded, following the man out of the bar and standing at the sidewalk while he tied the cooler to the back of his Harley. 

The woman and the doctor, their trailer had been pulled into the parking lot, shouting and thudding seeping through the thin walls from inside. The man glanced up at it, pausing for a half second before looking over his shoulder at Felix. He turned back, finishing up with his bungee cords. He revved the engine of his bike, leaving the parking lot and the roadhouse behind him.

Felix winced at the soft scream coming from the trailer, muttering curses under his breath as he ran toward the door. 

-

Thomas winced as Felix hissed in pain for the fourth time. He held the bloodied cloth close to his son’s face, the two of them back on their pair of cots in the apartment upstairs. Felix’s face was bruised, bloodied and slashed. Thomas’ stitches were sloppy, but they were stitches all the same. Usually when Felix got into fights, Iris did the stitching up. 

“Shouldn’t have…” Thomas trailed off, shaking his head. Felix did the right thing, like he always did. He stopped that woman from getting hurt, and he paid the price for it. Craven was satisfied with the punishment and sent his man and Felix on their separate ways. Felix had stripped off his vest as soon as he came into the room, Thomas standing abruptly at the sight of his son.

“She wouldn’t have left the city,” Felix stated, rolling his shoulders as Thomas applied the last bandage. “She knows there’s supplies here, resources. But she stays off of the roads, or we would have seen her.”

“Felix—“

“She has those knives, those throwing knives. She knows how to use a gun. She can protect herself.”

“There is no guarantee—"

“I’m going.” Felix said, his voice just a little garbled due to his swollen lip. “To find her. And I’m not coming back.” He looked up at Tommy. “Come with me.”

Tommy’s heart broke when he looked into his son’s eyes. They lost… everything. Their family. Their home. Each other, and parts of themselves. Felix might not ever forgive him for choosing to follow V, to follow Craven, but he could try to make up for it for the rest of his life. At least by choosing, now, to go find his daughter.

“We go tonight.” Thomas nodded, “gather your shit, keep it quiet. Craven’s downstairs, beating the shit out of that doctor. If we're fast, we can get out before he zones back in.”

“What about the boys?” Felix asked, narrowing his eyes. Thomas shook his head as he pulled off his own Valak’s Viper’s vest, rolling up his sleeves to show off the snake and magnolia of their old insignia. “Frankie’s gone. V can go fuck himself. It’s me, you, and Iris now.”

-

“Alright, okay, that’s enough.” Craven sighed as his man pulled back, grinning ear to ear despite his split knuckles and the bleary-eyed doctor who was nearly unrecognizable. Craven took his man’s place, narrowing his eyes as the doctor’s head lolled. “You know, it’s been a long day. I… I did not get much sleep last night, so this is gonna be the last time I ask. Tell me where you keep the good stuff or I’m gonna bring out the girl. She's a little young for you, don’t you think?”

Felix and Thomas nodded to one another as they moved out of the back door. Felix glanced backward at the heap of doctor barely sitting up straight, but Thomas urged him forward. They crept around the building, backpacks slung over their shoulders as they moved toward their bikes. A few more feet, and they would be home free. Or, at the very least, free to search for a new home.

A shot sounded and they hit the deck, both of them kneeling as they pulled out their own guns. The crackle of a radio sounded distantly, Craven’s muffled voice coming from where a guard was supposed to be standing by. The trailer was unguarded, which was… not right.

“What the hell’s going on out there?”

"Stay there, we’re checking it out.”

“Over here! He’s over here!” Frankie yelled from somewhere outside. Felix and Thomas glanced at one another. He would be over by their bikes. Not safe yet. Felix’s heart pounded. They were so close. A soft growl came from the side and Thomas grimaced as he pushed to his feet, killing the walker with his knife. The shots would draw sound, draw the dead. They needed to go.

They moved around the corner as shots broke through the glass windows at the front of the bar, a few pained grunts and shouts coming from the front door. They mourned the destruction of their home, ducking down as the single shots became the sound of an automatic rifle. 

“Can one of you idiots tell me what the hell is going on out there?” Craven demanded. 

“Go, go, go.” Felix whispered as their way was cleared. Whoever was shooting had moved inside. Someone could be heard begging for their live, screaming before their body hit the ground. More broken glass. More gunshots. They kept low, crouching across the parking lot until they got to their bikes, starting them up quickly. More low raspy groans of the dead sounded from the edge of the woods, the shops nearby. Felix’s gaze was drawn once again to the trailer. “I can’t leave them.”

"You have to. That guy with the cooler, he’s taking care of it.” Thomas replied, grimacing. He tied his bandana over his face as the smell of blood, rot, gunpowder seared his nostrils. Felix glanced back, noting that the man with the cooler had indeed returned. His bike was parked neatly near the entrance, no cooler, and he’d left a trail of bodies behind.

“If he’s here to save them. He probably just needs more meds.” Felix argued. They looked up at the sound of footsteps, the doctor skidding to a stop in the door’s threshold, his shaking hands gripping one of their handguns. He pointed it upward, Felix and Thomas raising their hands in turn.

“D-don’t move.” He said, swallowing thickly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his nose broken and blood dried down his face, his neck. His surety faltered at the sight of Felix’s own injuries., no doubt recalling why he had them. He looked back and forth a few times between them and the trailer, forgoing the threat to dash toward his daughter. She was banging on the other side of the door, his hands shaking as he unlocked it.

Felix and Thomas were still there as the man emerged from the bar, an upturned bottle of damn expensive whiskey pouring out the last of its contents on the floor in a trail. The man had one of the bar toothpicks in between his lips as he struck a match, dropping it on the floor behind him. He took no notice of them as he walked past the woman and the doctor, getting back on his bike. 

As he turned to get onto the road, it was then that Felix noticed the bat in his hands, a vintage wooden baseball bat wrapped carefully in barbed wire. Stained a deep, wet red. He turned around to get a final glimpse of the bar behind them, even as it went up in flames. Not home anymore.

“Felix.” Thomas called, revving his own engine as he began to pull away from the curb for the last time. Felix turned away for the last time, setting his mind on one thing and one thing only. Finding Iris.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 85

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Iris remembers Negan. Negan ensures he will always be remembered. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f;

Chapter 85 - Daylight Burning

Iris walked around the pub tables in the high-cut denim shorts and tight t-shirt that served as her waitress uniform. Money was money, in her opinion, and there was no quicker way to get it in a place like this. And nothing beat the commute. 

It was a slow night, only their regulars and a few other customers milling around. A song was playing softly on the jukebox, and Iris glanced up from the bar at it just as the song ended, a couple walking over and choosing the next song with their quarters. It began to play, Iris focusing on the amount of head in the pint of beer she was currently pouring. It was never that serious, it was a roadhouse for better or worse, but she still liked to be decent to their regulars. Ted was playing darts with her dad at the other side of the bar, Stu polishing glasses. Felix was messing with his bike in the garage. He never really liked it inside the bar.

One of their regulars, a man who called himself Riff, burst through the door of the bar, his footsteps loud. It interrupted almost every conversation, and it was clear he was drunk. They didn’t usually worry about over-serving at V’s, but Iris definitely wouldn’t bring this prick anything except water.

He sat down at one of the tables in the back, loudly asking some of the guys to cut him into their poker game. They begrudgingly obliged, even at his obnoxious volume. It wasn’t until Riff loudly started to remark about the patrons of the bar that Iris pondered throwing him out. She was used to hearing objectifying comments from guys like him, and they usually said it loud and clear, but it was a whole other thing when customers disrupted each other.

“Excuse me, would you mind keeping it down? My husband and I are trying to listen to our song.” 

The woman asked kindly, suddenly standing at Riff’s table, her husband a few feet behind her, visibly trying to contain his anger. He brushed her off, and the woman returned to her husband, going back to the song they picked from the jukebox and their dance. Riff then began to talk about the woman from across the bar. Iris could see by the expression on the man’s face that he was far from happy with Riff. The man then took his turn.

“Hey buddy, you mind handing over the fifty cents you owe me?” He asked, one hand in his pocket and the other clenching and unclenching at his side.

“The fuck are you talking about, prick?” Riff asked gruffly, puffing out his chest. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“No, see, I’d like for you to shut the hell up so I can play the song again and my wife can enjoy it in peace.” He bit out. Riff, in his anger and drunken stupor, stood on swaying feet and swung. The man, to his credit or detriment, saw red. He left his wife near the bar, grabbing Riff by the shirt collar. The men at the poker table stood up, but they wouldn’t intervene unless they were attacked themselves. Riff was on his own. 

The man responded with a hard punch to the side of his face, Riff hitting the ground with a loud thud. A glass slipped off the table, shattering. The world was suddenly only blood. Or at least, Riff was giving their floors a nice new coat of deep red paint. Iris’ hands shook as she dialled 9-1-1.

Riff attempted to slur a response, but with one swift kick from the man, his jaw was displaced, his words garbled as blood bubbled from his lips. The man kept going, pummelling Riff into the ground. It was punch after punch, kick after kick. Iris hadn’t seen such rage in a person before. Even with as much as the gang members got into scuffles, arguments and even turf wars with other gangs, it wasn’t as blinding as the rage this man clearly felt. 

His knuckles were bloody, and Riff wasn’t moving. He had at least been grunting before. The man kept punching. He was using every ounce of strength in his body, throttling Riff with everything he had. It was an entirely bewildering level of anger.

“Negan, Negan please, enough.” His wife called sternly, coming over to grab his arm as blue and red flashes shone through the window. She could barely pull him back, his chest heaving, covered in Riff’s blood. Iris’ hands shook and she dropped the phone. 

The man stood, reaching down for Riff’s wallet. He pulled out a dollar bill and meandered slowly to the bar. His boots left sticky red footprints across the floor, his fingers nearly dripping.

“Mind exchanging this for some quarters, Dollface?” He asked, smiling. Iris was taken aback at the nonchalant nature of his request, as if he had not beaten Riff to death a few seconds before. His smile was charming, his face handsome, out of place amidst the scene. Iris did not respond as she changed the dollar bill for four quarters, placing them in his outstretched palm with her trembling hands. Her fingertips brushed his skin, coming away red. “Much obliged, sweetheart.”

He walked with sticky red footprints to the jukebox, playing their song again. Twice. It was the only sound in the entire bar, aside from the soft sounds of the pair of them dancing, and his wife’s soft humming.

-

Negan was waiting for her when she got home. Iris was alone, as she usually was when she returned. He walked his slow, methodical steps through her living room, eyes trailing across the disheveled couch where she slept, her furniture, her personal effects. Much of it had disappeared, courtesy of his men, though a few little things remained. Plus a couple small things she’d hidden so well no one would ever find them. Iris paused in the threshold, waiting for him to say something to offend her, to insult her, to make her uncomfortable.

“Mind if I stay for a little lunch?” He asked. He gestured to the kitchen table and she approached slowly. At his second gesture, she sat down in the middle seat while he began to pace across the floor on the other side.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Iris asked slowly, careful to keep the edge from her tone lest he catch a whiff of her disobedience.

“And where might I remember you from?” He asked in return, his eyes narrowing as he paused at the table.

“Does the name V’s Roadhouse mean anything to you?” He stopped, his eyes widening ever so slightly as the name settled, and he rounded on her.

“I have not heard that name in a long damn time, sweetheart.” He murmured. The gears were turning. “You were a waitress there.” He realized, leaning back.

“And you nearly killed a man with your bare hands.” She recalled, raising an eyebrow. Negan grinned as he rested his hands against the chair in front of him.

“He was disrespectful to my wife.” He replied.

“Lucille.” Iris nodded. Negan grinned wider, chuckling to himself.

“Now that is a blast from the past. I remember thinking you were cute back then, but you know, gotta stay loyal to the wife. Now you have grown into one fine lady.” He looked at her hungrily, and Iris resisted the urge to shrink down in her seat. 

“I have a hard time believing that you were loyal to your wife.” She bit out, testing him.

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult and more of an astute observation. Lucky for both of us, she isn’t around to judge me anymore.” He replied smoothly.

“Lucky her.” Iris replied lowly. Negan blinked. He tipped his head back in uproarious laughter, looking back at her with a salacious grin.

“You certainly have a mouth on you Dollface, for someone who knows what happens to people who sit at the business end of my bat.”

“Considering you’re here alone, I assumed you wanted something from me.” She replied, raising her eyebrow again. He snickered, shaking his head.

“Another astute observation. Now, I must apologize, because I have been extremely rude. Do, please, tell me your name, darlin’.”

“Iris.”

“Iris.” He repeated, whistling. He rounded the table slowly, extending his hand to her. She took it slowly, standing up with his gentle tug and following him as he guided her around her own table. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Iris, I am not here for no reason. Now, I gotta tell you, when Dwight gave me this picture I thought that the man upstairs was playing a cruel little trick on me. But then today, when I recognized you? Oh, I almost needed to have a little minute to myself.”

He stood close to her, intimately close, and carefully reached into his leather jacket, pulling a polaroid out of a hidden pocket. Negan placed it gently on the table, as if it was a secret between them both. Iris felt all the blood drain from her face. It was a particularly naughty photo of herself, the one she’d given Daryl and he’d tucked safely in his leather vest… the one Dwight now sported haughtily. He grabbed her chin between his two fingers, Iris no longer protected by the thick leather of his gloves.

“Now don’t you worry your pretty little face about it. Only me and Dwighty boy caught a glimpse, and he doesn’t have much peck left in his pecker.” Negan stated. He pulled his fingers away with a soft caress, his index finger coming away a little bloody from the tiny cut on her chin. He grinned, licking it off. “I was lucky enough, or you were, I guess, that I was the first and I presume only person to see these.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket and Iris felt her stomach leaden.

The envelope was also meant for Daryl, full of other equally or additionally racy polaroid photos of herself. Iris’ hand twitched like she might reach out and grab it, but Negan tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrow, as if he knew her instincts better than she did.

“Ah, ah—“

“Don’t…” She murmured, barely above a whisper. He grinned wide.

“I promise, I’m very responsible.” He said, putting a hand over his heart. “And generous. See, since you and I have a… a history, I would like to provide you with an opportunity. A proposal, if you will.”

“Which is?” Iris asked.

“I’m not an idiot,” He began. “I know this,” he holds up the envelope, his other hand gesturing around to the house, “likely means that you and Daryl are involved— I don’t see a ring, by the way— so I want to give you an opportunity to help me, help yourself, and help Daryl.”

“By doing what?” Iris asked again, frowning at the increasing magnitude of exposition without explanation.

“Marry me.” He said, flashing another grin. He spread his arms wide, letting the silence and his proposal settle in the room.

“What?” Iris asked.

“See, my wives— I have a few, to whom I am all loyal, by the way— have the opportunity to earn points, which they can in turn spend on themselves, or on whoever they so choose. Clothes, food, perks, I don’t care. But till death do us part, darling, we’re hitched.” Negan explained. “I really value consent, you know, it’s important, and it just makes it way more fun.”

“Are you mormon?” Iris asked, recoiling a bit. Negan laughed loudly.

“Damn, see, I like this.” He murmured, looking her up and down smugly. “Not that I know of, baby.” There was a beat of nothing, and Negan sighed. “What I’m trying to do is give you the chance to give him everything he could become as one of my top guys, a head honcho, especially since he’s been a particular pain in my fine ass for a while now. All you need to do, is say yes.”

Iris’ mind went blank and became a tornado, reeling and spinning with thoughts at the same time. Her eyes lined with tears. In most cases, if she had the opportunity to take Daryl’s pain and struggle away, she would do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Except, this… this was different. 

As a woman, you spend your whole life extremely aware of the thoughts and actions of men. You are taught to be aware, so as to avoid any situations where you might feel unsafe. Iris was often unsafe, growing up in a biker bar, and she learned to keep her eyes open and her wits about her far earlier than any girl ever should have to. 

Despite Negan’s claims to value consent, there is a line that would be crossed. A line wherein Iris would sacrifice so much of herself, her own body, her own autonomy. And after crossing that line, there is absolutely no certainty she would ever get it back. Some parts, when broken, cannot be glued back to the whole.

Iris would and has taken bullets for Daryl. But it is not so simple as life and death. And the very idea, of perhaps reuniting and going back, of trying to go back to how it used to be, to give the rest of herself to Daryl after using such a large piece to do this… she couldn’t. She didn’t know if she’d even be able to look him in the eyes.

“I can’t.” She murmured quietly.

“I’m sorry? I don’t think a woman’s ever told me no before.” Negan huffed, amusement and disbelief written across his face. 

“I doubt that.” Iris said, her frown deepening. “I have a counter-proposal.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of position you think you’re in right now to be making such claims. But, in the spirit of this conversation, I’ll allow it.” He mused.

“I’ll go with you.” She said slowly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I’ll do what you ask me to, I’ll fix things, I’ll help you, I’ll even pretend, if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want, but I won’t do that. Never that.”

Negan’s cocky smile turned into a frown. He hummed, exhaling slowly. He looked her up and down, though there was an air of respect this time, like he appreciated her honesty, her willingness, but also her boundaries. Even if he would press and push and shove up against them as much as he possibly could, to get everything he could out of this agreement.

“And if I wanted to call you my mistress?” He asked, pursing his lips as the controlled tone of cheer took over once more. “My new little toy, my—“

“Whatever you want. But not your wife.” Iris said defiantly. A tear slipped down her cheek and Negan tutted, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Does he know? That I know?” Negan asked, a small grin parting his lips. Iris shook her head slowly. His grin widened. “You have got yourself a deal, baby.” 

He said it gently, but everything about his expression, his stance, his movements, had alarm bells ringing off in Iris’ head. Did she know what she was getting herself into? Negan grinned, holding up the envelope of photos. 

“I’m gonna keep these. And these.” He added, picking up a bag she hadn’t noticed before. It was slightly open, revealing a few scraps of lace Iris was featured wearing in a few of those photographs. He winked, whistling a tune as he headed out the door, picking up Lucille after tucking the envelope in his leather jacket pocket. He turned back to her, looking over his shoulder. “Well, come on, Dollface. Daylight’s burning.”

-

Iris followed Negan’s slow, confident pace all the way to the gate where the Saviours were waiting. Some of the trucks began to peel away as he waved Lucille in the air, some of them staying behind. 

“Hell of a place you got here, Rick.” Negan announced as he approached. Rick and Daryl were waiting beside the remaining Saviours, Daryl’s face twitching in confusion as he spotted Iris walking behind him. “This is something to build a relationship on. Good for you. You’re reading the room and getting the message. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You sir, are special.”

“Now that you know we can follow your rules…” Rick murmured.

“Yes?” Negan asked unctuously.

“I’d like to ask you if Daryl could stay.” Rick pleaded.

“Not happening.” Negan replied quickly, but still with the usual arrogant cadence. Rick tilted his head, giving Negan a look, which irked the man in charge. He paused, looking at Rick right back. “You know what? I don’t know. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me. Or maybe he’ll want to stay. Especially now that I’ve found a new toy to play with.” He emphasized the last few words by slipping his hand possessively around Iris’ waist, ignoring the way she tensed at his touch. Rick’s eyes widened and his face contorted in fear.

“Iris—“

“Ah-ah, nope. You’re talking to Dollface here. That’s her new name. Isn’t Dollface pretty, Rick?” Negan asked, drawing a finger down Iris’ neck. Rick stuttered and Negan grabbed Iris’ jaw tight, pulling her closer to Rick. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes.” Rick bit out, looking confused and terrified between Iris and Negan.

Iris didn’t look to see Daryl’s expression. It was likely he would not, for a long time at least, know why she was doing what she was doing, but she would endure it until then. Daryl’s face wore a look of horror, of rage. He was shaking where he stood, and Negan was well aware of that fact. Negan made sure Daryl would witness every squeeze, every caress on Iris’ body, to inflict as much punishment on both of them as possible. No one turned Negan down and lived without regret. 

“Daryl? You have something you want to say?” Negan asked, turning himself, and with him, Iris, to face Daryl. Iris felt more silent tears fall down her face, Negan dutifully wiping them away. Daryl still shook, but he said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists into the baggy sweatshirt he wore. “Daryl?” Negan prodded again. Iris simply closed her eyes. “Well, you tried.” Negan shrugged, gently shoving Iris behind him, turning back to Rick. 

“Now what you gotta do is climb over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there. Earn for me, because we’re coming back soon, and when we do, you better have something interesting for us, or Lucille, she’s gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don’t have something interesting for us, somebody’s gonna die.” He turned around. “Arat! Grab our shit, it’s getting late. Let’s go home.”

Iris was saddened to see Rosita and Spencer return from the outside and hand Daryl’s motorcycle, which had been hidden, to Dwight. He brought it to life, the familiar purr of the engine filling Iris’ ears. She missed that. The engine she built with her own two hands, with Daryl’s hands. But it sounded wrong in Dwight’s hands, and he revved the engine eagerly. 

“Nobody died.” Negan pointed out honestly. “And I think you and I have begun to refine our understanding. Let me ask you something, Rick. Do you want me to go?”

“I think that’d be good.” Rick replied hoarsely. 

“Then just say those two magical words.” There was a long pause.

“Thank you.” Rick spat out, like the words physically pained him. Negan smiled widely, chuckling.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Thank you.” He replied. He licked his lips. “You know what I think, Rick? I think we’re both gonna come out of this winners. Yup. Win-win.” He stepped close, his voice lowering to a whisper. “In case you haven’t caught on, I just slipped my dick down your throat, and you thanked me for it.” He turned back to Iris, sidling up just as close. "Come on, Dollface, we’re gonna find somewhere for you to lay that pretty little head of yours.” Negan said with a charming smile, leading Iris toward the convoy of trucks with a hand on her hip.

They loaded Daryl into a separate truck in with a selection of cargo and a few of their men before pulling the door shut with a loud clang. Negan shut the door beside Iris and climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck, grinning like a madman.

They pulled away, and in the rearview mirror, Iris caught just a glimpse of Carl sending the Saviours off with a middle-fingered gesture.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

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@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

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[the-name-is-z]

BITCH GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE NOW

so valid... uhhh... I honestly don't have an excuse other than I've been doing other things. but I'll try to post the stuff I have. my bad lol

[the-name-is-z]

Hi was jsut wondering if Preston is still alive? And If he will be featured more???

I think I remembered he existed like halfway through the season. Which means yes and no! I’ll say he got eaten during one of the attacks. Imaginary rival gone 😂😂

[the-name-is-z]

AAAAAAAAH I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE BACK! hope you're doing well 🤍

IM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK!!

thanks love 😭😭

I hope you are doing well and are prepared for what’s to come 😉

[the-name-is-z]

Do you still upload on Wattpad your story? Sorry just asking

Hiya anon!

Yes! Skeletons will still be available on Wattpad. I haven’t gotten around to updating everything properly but I have some time this week so hopefully I can get everything queued up to go!

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 84

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Alexandria meets Negan. Iris finally places a familiar feeling. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; extortion, manipulation, threats via guns, hostages, mind games, taunting, insults, assault, Negan, GORE, description of injury, discussion of a minor's genitalia in a non-sexual context

Chapter 84 - Live to Serve

Any sleep Iris would have had was riddled with nightmares, so she found it easier to just… not. She couldn’t even close her eyes, so instead she just stared at the ceiling, the walls, the cushions of the couch. When they returned to Alexandria, she simply couldn’t stomach the idea of sleeping in their bed. Carl helped her bring pillows and blankets to her living room, setting her up on the couch. It was him that was knocking on her door gently before stepping inside.

“Hey.” He called softly, walking around the couch to kneel at her side. Iris looked up at him, knowing the dark circles under her eyes were deeper than the pits of hell.

“Hi.” She replied quietly. She sat up slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Are they going?” She asked.

“Rosita and Spencer just grabbed a car.” He replied. Iris frowned.

“I’m going with them.” She grunted, pushing to her feet and grabbing her things.

“I really think you should stay—“

“I’m going.” Iris replied, grabbing her clothes and slamming her bathroom door behind her.

-

When Iris jogged up to the car, they were waiting at the gate. Eugene was saying something to Rosita, who was trying to ignore him. She had hid in her bedroom for an entire day after she heard about Abraham. She opened her mouth to call after them to join their supply run, but she was cut off by the sudden roar of engines from outside.

They stopped after a moment, ominous whistling coming from outside the gate as Negan’s silhouette appeared against the fence, Lucille swinging in his hand. He hummed the tune of Beethoven’s fifth symphony, banging Lucille on the gate as if he was knocking.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in!” He called. Rosita and Spencer exchanged a look, and Spencer moved to open the gate. Eugene looked as if he was pissing himself. Spencer wheeled the chain link across, standing in front of Negan. “Well?”

“Um, who are you?” Spencer deigned to ask. Iris felt the blood drain from her face as Negan reeled. 

“Oh, you better be jokin’.” He laughed. “Negan, Lucille. I know I had to make a pretty strong first impression.” Rick appeared behind Iris, tapping her on the elbow to let her know he was there before walking out in front of her toward the gate. Negan grinned at the sight of him. “Well, hello, there.” Iris stepped up to back him up, and Negan’s face fell. “Do not make me have to ask.”

“You said a week.” Rick stated as he unlatched the gate. “You’re early.” Negan smiled, tilting his head.

“I missed you.” He replied. They turned as a walker weaved its way in between the cars, shambling toward the gate. “Oh, Rick, come out here, will you? Watch this. Calling it!” Negan spun on his heel, slamming Lucille into the side of the walker’s head with a grunt. He laughed. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy! Alright, everybody, let’s get started. Big day.”

Iris sucked in a breath as she and Rick stepped outside of the gate. Just to their left was what felt like an entire battalion of Negan’s men, lined up neatly beside the gate to allow their man to make his dramatic solo entrance. But Iris’ surprise was not at the sight of his men, even Dwight, who stood patiently waiting. It was Daryl.

He was worse off than when she last saw him, though she knew his presence meant his gunshot wound was healing. He wore dirty, baggy clothes that were stained with likely every bodily fluid imaginable, his face bruised and bloody. His left eye was swollen shut, black, red and blue with bruising, his right eye on the way. His lips were split in multiple places and he looked as if he was about to keel over. Clearly they had not been treating him kindly. He barely looked up at them, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. Iris felt Rick grasp her wrist gently behind his back. 

“Hey, Rick, you see that, what I just did?” Negan asked. “That is some service! I mean we almost get turned away at the gate. ‘Who is that guy anyway?’ Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger’s dome in? Nope. I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could’ve killed one of y’all.” He flourished his hand in front of him as if he were taking a bow. “Service.” He strides forward, shoving Lucille into Rick’s palms. “Hold this.”

He strode on in, brushing past all of them as he spread his arms wide and took in the sight of their community. His community.

“Hot diggity dog! This place is magnificent! An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.” Negan declared. The men filed inside, and Rick turned.

“Daryl, hey—“

“No.” Negan called sharply. “Nope. He’s the help. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, and I don’t make you chop anything off of him.” He moved over to Rosita, who was staring at Daryl. “Same goes for everyone. Right?” He got real close, just waiting as she turned to face him before walking away. He grinned, shifting excitedly. “A lot of suspense there. I don’t think she even knew how much. But you do, don’t you?”

Negan turned to Iris, looking her up and down hungrily. Iris’ brow knit together, and she pondered if he wanted a response from her. She simply nodded, and he laughed loudly. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road! See what kind of goodies you’ve got in the cupboard.” He called, wandering forward.

“We put aside half the supplies.” Rick stated. 

“No, Rick. No.” Negan sighed, turning around. “You don’t decide what we take. I do. Arat.” One of his soldiers stepped forward, a severe-looking woman who was stiff in every movement she made.

“You heard the man.” She stated, looking around. “Move out!”

-

“You see this, this is the kind of thing that really tickles my balls.” Negan declared as they meandered through town. Two Saviours walked out in front of them, carrying an armchair from someone’s house and placing it in the road where someone would pick it up. More Saviours were doing the same to the rest of the houses, items piled out in the street at random or by specific selection. “A little cooperation and everything is pleasant as punch. You see, we really are reasonable people once you get to know us. Honest.” Negan stopped to open a cooler, pulling out  a nice can of cold beer. He popped the tab, took a long sip, then chucked the mostly-full can to the side of the curb. “Damn, I love this place!”

“Negan.” A random mad called, walking up to them holding something. Iris remembered the camera from when they’d first arrived, Deanna’s interviews. “Something you might wanna see.”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Negan mused. He looked at Rick, laughing. “I got my fingers crossed for a little freaky-deaky.” He pressed ‘play,’ Rick’s voice coming quietly from the small speaker. I’ve killed people. I don’t know how many by now, but I know why they’re all dead. “Je-hee-sus.” Negan whistled. “Is that you, Rick, underneath all that man-bush? Shee-ot. I would not have messed with that guy.” He looks down at the camera, pressing ‘record’ and pointing it at Rick. “But that’s not you anymore…is it? Nope!”

Iris turned to Daryl, while Negan was distracted. He said nothing, did not move, but he looked back at her through bleary eyes and she knew he was still there. It made her own eyes line with tears, and she wished she could run into his arms and wipe his blood, his bruises, his sorrows away. She made to mouth something before someone’s fingers gripped her jaw, and she turned to see Negan.

“Ah, ah.” He tutted. “That’s against the rules, darlin’. Unless you think you and I and Lucille should get… acquainted.” He said, pressing the smooth end of the bat underneath her chin. His other hand was hovering around her waist, far too close. She shook her head gently and he nodded, grinning. He got a good look at her face then, and she watched his eyes flash, his smile widening a fraction.

Iris frowned for a moment as he turned away, her eyes drifting to the bat in his hands. Lucille. There was something about him that oozed familiarity. He seemed at home wherever he walked, making himself at home. It was pure authority, but there was something else. Something more.

“Whatever happened to that sick girl? Seemed like a hell of a stressful night for her. The way she was carrying on, she was married to number two, right?” He asked. Iris’ gaze turned lethal, and he tilted his head, exhaling sharply. “Careful how you’re looking at me, doll. Don’t know what you might do with those pretty eyes. You know, widows, especially ones like that… they are special. I love them. Right after their husbands go, they are just empty inside… usually not for long.” He remarked suggestively. Iris resisted the urge to bear her teeth and tear his throat out as he stood over her. “Where is she? I would love to see her.”

“Do you care to pay your respects?" A soft voice asked and Negan whipped around, the wire on Lucille scraping against Iris’ chin just barely, a soft bead of blood welling before sliding down her neck. 

“Ho-ly crap!” Negan cried. “You are creepy as shit! Sneaking up on me, wearing that collar with that freaky-ass smile.” Gabriel swallowed thickly, something akin to hurt flashing across his face.

“My apologies.” He replied carefully. “I’m Father Gabriel.” Negan ignored him, instead turning to Rick with downturned eyebrows.

“She didn’t make it?” He asked. Rick swallowed, willing himself to shake his head.

They decided, for the good of everyone, to lie. Maggie was very much alive, and thriving at the Hilltop, but Negan did not need to know that. It was a very dangerous lie, but one they kept for the good of… a lot of people. Glenn’s grave, and the one they made for Maggie, were right next to one another in the graveyard. Negan wanted to go there for proof, of course, but he stood by them as if he were mourning.

“Damn tragedy. That’s what this was.” He breathed, shaking his head. “This must really suck for you guys. Number one, that was on me. No choice there. Lessons had to be learned. But number two? That didn’t need to happen. Daryl, there, he forced my hand. Probably put her right on her back, huh? Damn. I was gonna ask her to come back with me.” Rick looked up at him, not surprised, but enraged. “I know what you’re thinking. How could I have a shot, the guy who just bashed her husband’s head in? You’d be surprised. Boy, people, they—“

He was cut off by a gunshot, the blood draining from their faces. Negan's smile fell, replaced with cool anger. Something shattered, like glass, and they walked to greet their fate.

-

They walked into Rick’s house to see Carl pointing a gun at two Saviours carrying duffel bags. The china cabinet was broken, the shattered glass littering the table’s surface along with the hardwood floors. 

“Put some back, or the next one goes in you.” Carl hissed. Iris was so proud, despite how stupid he was probably being. 

“Kid, what do you think happens next?” The man asked carefully.

“You die.” Carl answered.

“Carl, Carl, put it down.” Rick pleaded softly.

“No. He’s taking all of our medicine.” Carl replied sharply. “They said only half our stuff.”

“Of course.” Negan called, announcing his presence. He walked in between them, chuckling. “Really, kid?”

“You should go.” Carl said cooly. “Before you find out how dangerous we all are.”

“Well pardon me, young man. Excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but did you just threaten me? Look, I get threatening Davey here, but I can’t have it. Not him, not me—“

“Carl, just put it down.” Rick repeated. Iris winced at the interruption.

“Don’t be rude, Rick.” Negan said, holding up a finger. “We are having a conversation, here. Now, boy, where were we? Oh, yeah. Your giant, man-sized balls. No threatening us. Listen, I like you, so I don’t want to go hard proving a point here. You don’t want that. I said half your shit, and half is what I say it is. I’m serious. Do you want me to prove how serious? Again?” Carl sighed as he lowered the gun, handing it over to Rick. Negan immediately took it from Rick, turning his back to Carl. Iris brushed his wrist, getting Carl to look at her. She said nothing, staring into his soul for a minute to get her point across. For now. For now. For now.

“You know, Rick, this whole thing reminds me that you have a lot of guns. There’s all the guns you took from my outpost when you wasted all my people with a shit-ton of your own guns, and I’m betting there's even more, which adds up to an absolute ass-load of guns, and as this little emotional outburst just made crystal clear… I can’t allow that. So tell me, Rick. Where are my guns?”

-

Rick took Negan to the pantry, where Olivia met them with her catalogue. She led the Saviours through the shelves into the armoury while Negan stayed behind to speak to Rick. He pointedly did not take any of their food, acknowledging their dwindling supply like he was giving them a miracle. 

They also looted the armoury, Negan testing out one of their guns, just to ensure they’re being used regularly. He was particularly interested in the rocket launcher. And the fact that they were two handguns short. A Glock 9 and a .22 Bobcat.

Rick spoke to everyone publicly in the church, explaining the new order of things, the new expectations placed on each of them by Rick, by Negan. He listed the guns they were missing, asking for them to be given up, or Olivia would be killed. Eric asked if there was a way out, and Rick admit that he surrendered complete control to Negan. 

Negan waited, while they figured it out, making Olivia uncomfortable with the way he spoke, the way he acted. Rick practically tore Deanna’s house apart while Gabriel reassured him with his nauseating faith. Somehow the guns were recovered and surrendered, Olivia saved. Just barely. 

The semi truck the Saviours brought was full to the brim, along with the half-semi, the mail truck and their commandeered military vehicle. They were parked, waiting at the entrance to the gate for their fearless leader.

Iris remembered then, in a wave of the familiar feeling that had been tugging at her stomach since she’d laid eyes on him, exactly where she had seen him before.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 83

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Daryl is introduced to his new life among the Saviours. Dwight makes a discovery. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; Being kept prisoner, abduction, psychological torture, forced to eat dog food, starvation/malnutrition, forced nudity, references to non-consensual (coercive) sex, threats via walkers, injuries, assault, guilt, fear, photos of dead loved ones

Chapter 83 - Something Borrowed, Someone Blue

A week had passed, and they were still playing that damn song. The same song, over and over, lyrics talking about how easy and simple and joyful life was. Champagne bubbles and rainbows and yet, every morning and evening, or what Daryl could assume was every morning and evening, Dwight would open the door to the freezing cell and pass him another pathetic excuse for a sandwich.

What it really was was leftover dough from the bread someone obviously was baking fresh, but baked in odd-shaped clumps and left to become stale. That, cut in half, and covered with a blended meat-reminiscent spread that one could safely assume was dog food. 

By the end of the next week, Daryl was much thinner, and fucking freezing. They’d taken every stitch of his clothes, and now Dwight demanded that when he came to feed him, Daryl must stand when he opens the door. It was made worse by the sight of his own vest over Dwight’s shoulders every time. 

A few visits later, when Dwight entered the room, he tossed a bundle of clothes at Daryl, which he caught with fumbling, shaking fingers. The door closed again and Daryl dropped the ‘sandwich’ to put the dirty beige sweatshirt and sweatpants on. Whether or not they were that colour to begin with, he didn’t care. They smelled like death, however. It had a zipper and a handle that was hastily put in down the back and a large orange ‘A’ spray-painted across the front. 

Later that day, Dwight stepped in the cell with Daryl’s crossbow and hauled him to his feet. Daryl was escorted down the hallway, Dwight holding the back of his sweatshirt like he was holding the scruff of a dog. 

They moved down the labyrinthian hallways of what was clearly a made-over warehouse to one of the other basement rooms. Dwight opened the door without knocking, revealing what was used as the Saviours’ doctor’s office. There was a dentist’s chair in the middle of the room, a stainless steel table beside it equipped with various tools and a bright desk lamp. There were shelves with pharmaceuticals and a neat glass desk in the corner.

“Carson.” Dwight greeted. The man in the doctor’s coat straightened, a girl sitting in the dentist’s chair sitting up straighter and tugging down the short dress she wore. It was nice, paired with a set of tall wedge sandals that Daryl would only describe as impractical. 

“We were just finishing up.” Carson replied, clearing his throat. 

“Chop-chop.” Dwight replied as the woman stood, surveying them both. It was then that Daryl realized he had met this woman before. She was with Dwight when they had run away from the Saviours before. Shelly? Sherry? Something like that. 

“Hi, D.” She greeted.

“Hey.” Dwight replied, his demeanour softening. She turned to look at Daryl.

“Daryl, right?”

“Don’t talk to him.” Dwight said sharply. He shoved Daryl into the chair, his eyes falling on a pink pregnancy test sitting on the stainless steel table.

“It’s negative.” Sherry stated honestly. Dwight swallowed.

“Well… maybe next time.” He murmured in reply. 

“Sorry.” Carson interjected. “Still getting used to being my own assistant.” Daryl and Sherry made eye contact, but Daryl quickly turned his gaze to the ground.

“Whatever they say, just do it.” Sherry whispered to him.

“I said don’t talk to him.” Dwight bit out.

“Okay, let’s take a look.” Carson stated as he unzipped the back of Daryl’s sweatshirt. Sherry took the opportunity to leave. “It’ll get better, if you let it. Negan will take care of you, trust me.” Carson explained as he examined Daryl’s gunshot wound. 

They left a few minutes later, back down the hallways and past a pair of men that moved out of the way with large mops. Slow, patient footsteps echoed from around the corner, and Dwight knelt down immediately, shoving Daryl down with him as Negan grinned at them both.

“Dwighty boy.” He greeted cheerfully. He looked at the men mopping. “I need to talk to my associate for a minute. Go about your business. Except you, you stand right there.” He turned to the man who had followed him, pointing at the wall with Lucille. Dwight had Daryl sit down in a small red metal chair around the corner with the man aiming his gun toward him. Negan and Dwight were speaking quietly around the corner. 

Daryl looked into the open door ahead of him, analyzing the room. It was like a small studio apartment, maybe fifteen square feet. Part of the far wall was occupied with cabinets and a full-size refrigerator, a microwave oven and sink accompanied by dishes and canned goods. There was a neatly made bed on the left wall, across from it a short, half-full bookshelf, a potted plant, lamp and a very nice, antique-looking easy chair. There was a box TV on a short stand next to the chair, though it was unknown whether or not it worked. Part of the bookshelf was occupied by DVDs, which led to the impression that it just might. 

He didn’t listen to, or care to listen to whatever conversation they were having around the corner, but when he glanced to the right, Daryl saw Dwight watching him carefully. It was then that he realized what they were doing. Not only the respect Dwight received from the men mopping the floors, but the doctor, the nice room. They were showing Daryl exactly what they had here, what he might receive if he surrendered and swore to kneel to Negan like Dwight must have. And he knew exactly where they would take him back to, and what kind of treatment he endured in his cold cell with dog food and terrible music. 

But they didn’t go back to the cell right away. Instead, Dwight took him up a set of stairs and outside. Their compound was enormous, and one of their entrances was guarded by a fenced-in lot of walkers, inside of which were two men, dressed the same as Daryl, wrestling with the walkers to chain them into place, spear them to something to act as guard dogs. They each had a different letter painted on their clothes. Another person he might become if he refused to kneel.

“You know, I’m getting the hang of this thing.” Dwight murmured, holding up the crossbow to Daryl after using it to narrowly save one of the men inside from a nasty bite. He then shoved Daryl into the fence, ensuring he was looking. “That’s you, asshole. Unless you’re smart. Your choice. You could be like them, or me. Or… them.” 

It was then that Dwight took him back to the cell, shoving him into the corner.

“Make it easy on yourself.” He advised. 

“I ain’t ever gonna kneel.” Daryl said, his voice hoarse and low with dehydration. 

“Yeah, I said that, too.” Dwight hummed, looking off into the distance as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Yeah, I know.” Daryl replied sharply. 

“See, that’s the thing, man.” Dwight sighed. “You don’t. But you’re gonna.” The light coming from the nearby basement window did well to illuminate the gruesome scar across Dwight’s face. Dwight’s face contorted under Daryl’s stare and he turned, slamming the door behind him, leaving Daryl in the dark. The lock echoed loudly.

He groaned as the music started up again, covering his ears with the palms of his hands. When it didn’t work, he decided to see what could be done about the door. He ran his fingers alone the doorframe, pulling at it to see if anything would come away from the wall to be used as a shiv or an opportunity for escape. The door handle wouldn’t budge and the door itself was metal so it wouldn’t break beneath his weight or effort. Even as he threw his foot into it, he knew he would be in the cell for a while yet.

-

Daryl’s next meal came from the larger guy who’d been pointing the gun at him earlier. He handed Daryl the sandwich, getting a good look before shaking his head and shutting the door behind him. Except this time, the loud clang of the lock did not sound. 

Daryl put the sandwich down, the song starting up again preventing him from hearing any footsteps coming or going. He pressed his face to the floor, using the small crack underneath the door to watch the man’s feet disappear around the corner. He waited a few minutes before trying the door handle, pushing it open slowly and gently, and then it was just… open. He crept through the hallways quickly and quietly, following the trail Dwight had led him down toward the doctors office, and then the stairway up and out. 

He paused at the corner, seeing one of the Saviours going into a room. He waited for the door to swing shut, then quickly ducked around the corner as a trio of men came up the hallway behind him. He continued around the next hallway, watching as the trio of men walked past. Daryl suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and wheeled around, ready to punch, but he faltered at the sight of Sherry. 

“Go back while you can.” She whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “You know I did. Whatever he’s done to you, there’s more. There’s always more. You won’t get away. And when you’re back, it’ll be worse.” Daryl glanced back at the hallway, and when it was clear, he slipped away, leaving Sherry behind. 

He crept to the exit, seeing six motorcycles and a truck parked outside, ready to be used by whoever put them there. Daryl bolted out the door, looking for any that might have a key left in the ignition. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. The neighbouring warehouse door slammed open, as well as the one he had run from. He turned to take a stand, to defend himself as the ten men surrounded him. Including the one who’d left the door unlocked. On purpose, it seemed.

Negan whistled his anxiety-inducing two-tone song, stepping between the bikes with Lucille over his shoulder. He chuckled and sighed.

“Are we pissing our pants yet?” He asked quietly. Daryl grimaced, settling his feet into the ground to prepare. He slung his bat over his shoulder, Lucille pointing at one of the men. “Who are you?”

“Negan.” He replied. Negan himself moved onto the next. 

“Who are you?”

“Negan.”

“Who are you?” He asked, spreading his arms wide.

“Negan." They all echoed simultaneously. 

“You see that?” Negan laughed. “I am everywhere. And this was your shot to prove to me that that fundamental fact was sinking in, and you failed. Which sucks, because your life was about to get so much cooler. Am I right?”

“Damn right.” The large guard answered, a smug look on his face that would have taken Daryl have a second to wipe off had he not been surrounded, injured, and barefoot. Negan leaned forward, tapping Lucille on the ground near Daryl’s feet. Daryl shuffled away, grunting as he tried to protect his feet from the barbed wire. Negan chuckled.

“Now, Dwight gave you some options.” He mused. “I don’t think you get it yet. I’m gonna break it down for you. You get three choices. One, you wind up on the spike and you work for me as a dead man. Two, you get out of your cell, you work for points, but you’re gonna wish you were dead. Or three, you work for me, you get yourself a brand-new pair of shoes, and you live like a king! Choice seems pretty obvious. You should know, there is no door number four. This is it. This is the only way.” He paused, waiting for Daryl to answer, and when he didn’t, he chuckled to himself. “Screw it.”

Lucille came down fast, Negan coming along with her, but Daryl did not flinch. Negan and Lucille both stopped short, about an inch from his face, Negan wearing a bloodthirsty grin. He whistled.

“Wow.” He murmured. “You don’t scare easy. I love that. But Lucille, well, it kind of pisses her off.  She finds it to be disrespectful. Lucky for you, she’s not feeling too thirsty today. But I am. So, I am gonna go… get me a drink!” He finished cheerfully, smiling wide. 

He turned, walking away slowly, whistling his song, leaving Daryl in the circle of his men. Daryl shuffled on the asphalt, watching as they closed in, closed fist, and started to beat him to the ground. He choked as the blood filled his mouth, pushing up onto bloodied hands and knees. 

-

When he woke again, he was back in the cell. It was quiet, oddly quiet, and he realized that god forsaken song wasn’t playing. He glanced to the sliver of slight beneath the door, his only indication of time, and paused at the slim moving shadows appearing between. They settled.

“Daryl?” A soft voice called. 

It was gentle and calm, and Daryl realized then why he hated Sherry so much. It wasn’t that she was weak, or betrayed him, or did whatever they told her to do. It was because she sounded so much like Iris. The tones of their voices were so similar, the ever-so-slight accent, only on some words, that reminded you they came from the south. She sounded like Iris, but they could not have been more different. Iris was sharp, witty, passionate. And that simple, iota of a reminder, that Iris was somewhere that he wasn’t, still stuck under Negan’s heel, was agonizing. He stayed silent.

“There’s so many things I wish I never found out.” Sherry continued anyways, her voice breaking. She didn’t sound like Iris when she cried. “I wish I didn’t try… Back in the woods, after I lost Tina, when we took your stuff, when we decided to go back, I told you I was sorry. And you said, ‘you’re gonna be.’” She paused, swallowing thickly. “I am.”

Daryl leaned against the wall, sighing. Of course she was sorry, but what did that do for him? Then that fucking music started up again.

-

The next time the music stopped, he was half-asleep. It was hard not to sleep, when you sat in the dark, day after day. But the lock clicked and the door opened almost immediately, and it was Dwight again. He held the dog food sandwich out, but Daryl didn’t eat. He didn’t even move. Dwight sighed, dropping it beside him.

“Eat.” He instructed. “You got your friend killed, I got Tina killed. And don’t pretend like you don’t know the score.” Daryl moved then. He grabbed the moldy, disgusting excuse for food and whipped it at Dwight. It missed, hitting the door frame and crumbling into pieces. Dwight sighed again, kneeling down. “You should be dead.” He hissed. “But Negan’s taken a shine to you. You’re lucky. Don’t forget.” 

He shoved his hand into the pocket of Daryl’s leather vest, pulling out a polaroid photo with tape on it and sticking it to the wall. They’d taken a photo of Glenn’s body when they left, and now Dwight had the audacity to stick it to the wall in front of Daryl’s face. He closed the door, locking it behind him. 

Daryl ripped the photo off the wall, throwing it to the ground next to the pieces of sandwich. He stared at it for a moment before picking it up and looking at it properly. It was truly gruesome, to see the photo of Glenn like that. He put it back down, leaning back against the wall. 

The tears fell quickly, and he made no move to brush them away or keep them inside as his shoulders shook. Dwight hadn’t walked away, he knew he hadn’t heard his footsteps, but Daryl didn’t care as he let himself sniffle and shake, thinking of all the people he failed. It was then that Dwight left, content with the fact that Daryl was breaking, and he was the one to break him. 

-

When Dwight came back the next morning, Daryl was asleep on his side, the half-eaten sandwich still sitting beside the photo of Glenn, now newly accompanied by a small puddle of vomit. Dwight smirked, shaking his head a little before grabbing the handle at the back of the sweatshirt and hauling Daryl to his feet.

Despite the rude awakening, Daryl staggered down the hallways where Dwight led, following a familiar path to that fully-stocked, neat, tastefully furnished room that was meant to persuade Daryl to kneel to Negan. Dwight opened the door and ordered Daryl to step inside with a shove. Negan was sitting on the plush leather easy chair, chuckling at them. 

Daryl was slightly startled at the texture of carpeting beneath his bare feet. Dwight closed the door behind them and Daryl took notice of the rack of clothing behind the door, freshly pressed and just waiting for whatever hand picked them up. 

“Jesus.” Negan murmured. He stood, picking up Lucille and a clean glass of clear water from the side table. “You look awful. Don’t you worry, we’ll have Carson fix you all up. You thirsty? Here. Ah, hell, I forgot. Your mouth is all… puffed up like a baboon’s ass. Need a straw? D, give him a straw, what’s wrong with you?” 

Dwight rushed to obey, moving to the kitchenette and rummaging around. 

“See that guy, he hustles. I like hustle. But believe it or not, things weren’t always cool between us. D, here, he worked for points. Him and his super hot wife and her super hot sister. But, see, sis— she needed meds. And that shit is hard to scavenge, so it cost more. Sis fell behind on points, so I asked her to marry me. Told her I would take care of her in sickness and in health, blah blah blah, because I am a stand-up guy.” He narrowed his eyes. “She tells me that she’s gonna think about it. Next thing you know, I’m dealing with an orange situation. Dwighty boy here stole all the medication and took off with his super hot wife and my super hot maybe soon-to-be fiancée. So I had to send my guys after him, because I can’t let something like that stand. There… are… rules.”

He stopped, sighing, tapping Lucille against the ground.

“Cost me and arm and a leg going after him, and you know what— Dwighty boy? He still got away. But here’s the thing. D— he saw the light. He manned up. He came back. He asked for my forgiveness. I like that. Made me… take notice. But Lucille, well, you know how she is. She is a stickler for the rules. So Dwight, he begged me not to kill Sherry, which I thought was kind of cute, so I was just gonna kill him. But then Sherry says that she will marry me if I let Dwight live, which, if you think about it, that’s a pretty screwed-up deal, ‘cause I was gonna marry her sister until she wound up dead, but… Sherry is super hot.”

He paused, turning to Dwight and giving him a pointed look.

“Anyways, it was a start. But it wasn’t enough. So Dwight, he got the iron. And then I married his super hot wife. Ex-wife. And then after all that, he still got on board. And now look at him. Bow! One of my top guys. And we are totally cool. The point being, I think you can be that guy. I think you are ready to be that guy. Look around here. This, well, it can all be yours. All you got to do is answer one simple question. Who are you?” Daryl did not answer. Negan came closer, got quiet, stood in front of him and held Lucille like a microphone. “What, cat got your tongue? You’re just overwhelmed by the awesomeness of this? I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who are you?” 

Daryl tilted his head up, looking Negan in the eyes through the blood sweat and tears.

“Daryl.” He answered lowly.

“This is the only—“ Dwight hissed.

“Hey. Sst, sst, sst.” Negan tutted, holding Lucille out toward Dwight. He still did not take his eyes from Daryl’s stare, each of them waiting for the other to brake eye contact. “It’s cool, D. He made his choice. Ain’t my problem if he made a dumbass choice.”

Dwight took Daryl back to his cell, angry and violent in every breath, every movement.

“You’re gonna wind up in that room or hanging on the fence!” He yelled. Daryl didn’t look at him, so Dwight turned, making to slam the door shut.

“I get why you did it.” Daryl said suddenly. He looked up at Dwight when he turned back. “You were thinking about someone else. That’s why I can’t.”

Dwight clenched his jaw, pushing the door shut. He walked to the yard, then, where two of their prisoners were wrestling with their new addition to the fence. A Saviour who tried to abandon his post. Dwight downed the beer from the bottle he was drinking, chucking it at the fence, watching it shatter. He sighed as the walker that used to be his friend stared up at him, growling.

He shoved his hands casually into the pockets of the vest, prepared and happy to wear it as another element of Daryl’s psychological torture. It made him look cool, a little more badass. Like he knew what he was doing. Like an authority figure, because everyone knew the wings across the back just like they knew Negan’s clean, crisp leather jacket. After all, what did he have left, if not this?

He felt something inside the pocket, making him slow his steps along the corridor to his own Saviour-brand suite. He grasped at it, but the lining of the pocket prevented him from touching it properly. It gave him pause. He had never considered the vest might have more pockets. Dwight held open the left side, running his fingers along the seam between the leather and the lining, before they caught on the fabric. He slipped his fingers inside the hidden pocket and pulled out another polaroid, one he knew none of the Saviours had taken themselves.

“Dwighty boy!” Negan called suddenly, appearing behind him like a shadow. “What have we got here?”

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[the-name-is-z]

Hey! Remember me? Me either. I'm back though! And so is Skeletons! And boy, what a brutal place for me to disappear at. And a gruesome return. Here's to Season 7!

SKELETONS | ch. 82

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Negan makes an introduction, and leaves quite the wake. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; extortion, manipulation, threats via guns, fire, hostages, mind games, murder, someone being hanged, hunting people like animals, taunting, insults, assault, non-sexual bondage, Negan, GORE, vomit, canon character death, threatening to force amputation

Chapter 82 - Day One

Iris flinched, then everything was numb. Every nerve in her body pricked and shrouded by empty space. She stopped hearing with the first wet thud of the bat, her ears ringing instead. She would not close her eyes, but she would not dare move, not a millimetre, to look. Each thud resounded in the earth beneath them, vibrations Iris would not feel. 

She couldn’t feel the blood and flesh spattered across her neck, eyes, mouth. She didn’t taste it on her tongue. It was easier this way, to completely lose yourself into time and space and not witness any of it. She couldn’t hear Negan’s taunts to her family, their pants and cries as they remained kneeling in line. She didn’t shake like the rest of them. It would be wrong to say she didn’t feel fear, because in that moment, it was all she felt. Gut-wrenching, mind-numbing, conscious-splitting terror. 

They had all cried out as Abraham sat up on shaking knees, a Lucille-shaped dent bleeding profusely above his left eye. He swore at Negan then, his last words in defence of himself and his family. He had taken it like he knew it would be him, standing taller when Negan faced him like he had accepted it was time. Negan kept hitting, even as they sobbed and he was long dead. His head was a bloody pulp on the ground, and it took everything in them not to cry out as Negan flicked the bat, flinging Abraham’s blood around, on all of them. 

“Sweetheart.” Negan murmured, holding the bat up to Iris’ face. “Take a look at that.” She shuddered through an inhale and he blinked. “Oh damn. That sucks. Well, you should know, there was a reason for all this. Red— and hell, he was, is, and will ever be red— He just took one or six or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look. Take a damn look!” He shoved the dripping bat in her face and she made no movements, but Daryl was angry. Beyond angry. He cried out as he shoved himself to his feet, half alive and bleeding, and punched Negan squarely across the jaw with his bloody fist. 

He grunted as Negan’s men grabbed him, tackling him to the ground and making him bleed more. They kicked and punched at him as he curled to protect his bullet wound, Negan wiping his face. Iris was wide awake now, her eyes lined with tears as Negan’s smile had been wiped off his face. He pointed Lucille at Daryl, gritting his teeth.

“No!” He yelled. Negan took a breath, replacing his smile. “No. That? Oh, my. That is a no-no. The whole thing. Not one bit of that shit flies here.” He crouched down next to Daryl as they pinned him to the ground, pressing Lucille close enough that Daryl could taste it. He was forced into an unnatural position, grunts of pain spat from his mouth as he was held down. Dwight replaced one of the men as he pointed Daryl’s own crossbow down between his eyes. Iris was seconds from emptying her stomach across the gravel and blood in front of her.

“Do you want me to do it?” Dwight panted, his own hands shaking. “Right here…”

“No. No, you don’t kill them.” Negan tutted. “Not until you try a little.” Dwight’s rigidity faltered, lowering the crossbow before he and the other two raked Daryl across the gravel, back to his place in line. Negan pushed back to his feet, sighing. “And anyway,” he called loudly, “that’s not how it works. Now, I already told you people. First one’s free, then what’d I say? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions. Now I don’t know what kind of lying assholes you’ve been dealing with, but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So… let’s get back to it.”

Iris sucked in a sharp breath as he whipped around, bringing Lucille down on the top of Glenn’s head, right beside her. She froze again, all of them gasping, wheezing, sobbing as Glenn slumped to the ground, hearing thud after thud, more gore spattered across their clothes, hands, faces. Glenn groaned, blubbering, attempting to speak through the blood dripping down his face. His forehead was gone, skull splintered with pieces littering the ground. His left eye was moments from popping out and rolling to the gravel.

“Buddy, are you still there?” Negan asked, amused. He leaned over, looking at Glenn and admiring his handiwork. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re trying to speak, but you just took a hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out and it is gross as shit!”

“Maggie, I’ll find you.” Glenn said, garbled and almost inaudible, but they all heard it. He choked, wheezing, coughing.

“Oh…” Negan feigned sympathy. “Oh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys. I am sorry. I truly am. But I did say it. No exceptions!” He swung around again with a grunt, striking Glenn across the face. He was no longer recognizable.

Iris felt bile fill her mouth as she watched Maggie’s face, contorted in such horror. Every nerve was alight with fear and she wrestled with her own body, trying not to violently shiver or scramble away. She winced as Glenn’s hand grasped for hers on the ground, simply holding tight to it. He squeezed hard, his body violently twitching. 

With each blow, each squelch and responding sob from Maggie, they broke. They all cried hard, lips cracked and bleeding, eyes bloodshot. “You bunch of pussies.” Negan panted in between swings. “I’m just getting started.”

There wasn’t much left of Glenn’s head when Negan was done. The chunks of bloody pulp no longer attached, simply in an unceremonious pile on the ground near where his body sagged. His hand still twitched in Iris’, and she let the tears fall as she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, her mouth filling with copper.

“Lucille is thirsty!” Negan said as he stood back, laughing. Something akin to skin or muscle hung in a strip off of the barbed wire. “She is a vampire bat!” All Iris could think about was how Glenn’s hand was still so warm, gripping hers tightly. Whether it was warm from the blood or his body, she couldn’t tell. But she was extremely aware of the cool piece of metal and glass that was Hershel’s pocket watch sandwiched in between their palms.

Familiarity settled in Iris. A familiarity with death, with loss, with suffering. Negan’s face, his voice, it ricocheted across her mind. After this, there was no way she could ever forget it. It would haunt her until her dying day. Maybe only a few minutes more. It was a face Iris felt like she had seen before. A generically handsome man with an anger problem and a loud voice. It all suited him nicely. As did the blood that flecked across his skin.

“What? Was the joke that bad?” Negan asked as he flicked the blood and minuscule bits of flesh off of Lucille. Rick looked up at him, blinking through his tears.

“I’m gonna kill you.” He whispered. He made the mistake of glancing sideward, witnessing everything. His eyes were fuzzy, pupils blown. Negan knelt down in front of him, Lucille still dripping, onto Rick’s jeans. 

“What?” He asked, barely above a whisper, bringing Rick’s gaze to his face. “I didn’t quite catch that, you’re gonna have to speak up.” Rick gathered himself then, already numbed, it seemed, to any horror Negan might inflict. He swallowed, sniffing as he looked Negan in the eye.

“Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.” He repeated. Negan blinked, sucking on a tooth as his attention faded to somewhere in the back of his mind. His face was still set in his charming grin, though it had faltered in the spirit of retaliation.

“Jesus.” He murmured. His voice got louder as he addressed the cheerful man. “Simon… what did he have, a knife?”

“Uh, he had a hatchet.” Simon replied quietly, respectfully. Negan blinked as his persona settled back into place, looking over at Simon as his grin spread wide.

“A hatchet?” He mused. 

“He had an axe.” Simon nodded.

“Ha.” Negan breathed. He looked at Rick then, holding his gaze intimately, almost tenderly. “Simon’s my right hand man,” He explained, “having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without them? A whole lot of work. Do you have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…” He clicked his tongue as he gently bopped Lucille into his hand. Rick was shaking now, with rage. Negan sighed, smiling. “Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” 

Negan didn’t break eye contact as Simon walked over, gently depositing Rick’s hatchet in his outstretched palm. He waited for any sort of reaction, the silence stretching across the night, accompanied only by crickets. He stood suddenly, slipping the hatchet into his belt and grabbing the collar of Rick’s jacket, throwing him forward.

“Be right back. Maybe Rick will be with me. And if not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left.” Negan called to his men, dragging a flailing Rick with him as he took methodical steps back to the RV, slamming the door shut behind them.

When Iris blinked again, she hadn’t registered Glenn’s blood seeping through her pants, staining her knees. No one dared move as the dawn began to break over the horizon, a thick mist or layer of smoke, Iris couldn’t tell, settling in the coming daylight. The RV moved, Negan driving them off somewhere, perhaps to torture Rick a little more. 

Memories of Glenn flooded through Iris. Every second she’d known him. When she’d looked up from the bag of guns in the middle of the street in Atlanta, seeing the shocked expression on his face. When they’d officially met, over a man wheezing with asthma, and he almost didn’t shake her hand. Every moment she looked down from the RV on guard duty, seeing Dale and Glenn elbow deep underneath the hood. 

When she’d been loopy after a series of intense blood transfusions, and he held her up. His facial expression when Iris was hauled out of that well, barely alive, and she grinned at him. Sarcastically saying the prison was ‘home sweet home’ before they made a true home of it. When Daryl caught him and Maggie in the guard tower, and a few months later they walked around with wedding bands. He assured the group they had to stick together to survive, so they could stay together, after Terminus. 

Giving Carl a camera so he could capture a cute moment of Iris and Daryl sleeping against one another. The sound of his fist crushing Aiden’s nose when he stepped over the line. When Carl revealed everyone had been betting on Iris and Daryl’s relationship, only for Glenn to have been continuously betting and now in debt because they took too damn long. His smile when Abraham revealed that Maggie was pregnant. And the hug he gave Iris, the very last one, when she was scared of losing Daryl and he ensured that she knew she would be supported no matter what. 

He was one of the only ones Iris was absolutely sure of, that was far too good for this world, and they would be at so much more than a loss now that he wasn’t in it.

-

When Negan parked the RV in the same place it had been when they left, the sun had already risen. The RV was covered in blood stains, having mowed down more than a few walkers on the way to wherever they’d been. Negan shoved Rick, who was considerably bloodier than he had been before, back out the door and dragged him across the space like he had when they left. No one had dared move, not their group, not Negan’s men, they barely even uttered a word, only Simon and Dwight exchanging a few hushed ramblings. 

Iris had stayed put, only leaning back, pulling her hand from Glenn’s to slip the pocket watch into her own pocket before someone noticed. Daryl was getting paler by the second, his clothes dark and sopping with his own blood. They all had deep circles under their eyes, gaunt with the trauma they had witnessed. Maggie was barely sitting, every breeze seeming like it would send her to the floor. 

Negan threw Rick to the ground in front of them. Rick stayed on his hands and knees as Negan paced behind him, all of them waiting to see what he would do.

“Here we are.” Negan said, seeming only the slightest bit exerted. “Let me ask you something, Rick, do you even know what that little trip was about?” He sighed when Rick didn’t answer. “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Okay. Okay.” Rick murmured, his eyes searching for something in his mind, flickering blankly across the empty space in front of him.

“That trip was about the way that you looked at me.” Negan explained. “I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still looking at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work. So… do I give you another chance?” He knelt down, making sure Rick could see Lucille out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Rick panted, his voice shaking, “Yes.” Negan pat him on the back, standing straight.

“Alright.” He said, satisfied. “And here it is— the grand prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day, or just another crap day.” He waved a hand at his men. “Get some guns to the back of their heads.”

The men did as they were bid without question, handguns and rifles cocking as footsteps sounded behind each of them. Iris felt the cool metal press into the back of her skull, not for the first time and perhaps the last, and breathed deep, inhaling the smoke and mist of the morning. 

“Good, now, level with their noses, so if you have to fire,” Negan mimicked an explosion, making a noise from the back of his throat as his hand motioned outward, “it’ll be a real mess.” He turned and surveyed the group, his eyes landing on Carl. He did a gentle ‘come here’ motion with his index finger, beckoning as he undid one of three belts he was wearing. “Kid… right here.” Carl didn’t move right away. “Kid… now. Are you a southpaw?”

“Am I a what?” Carl asked, doing nothing to hide the venom in his voice. 

“Are you a lefty?” Negan asked again, grinning ear to ear.

“No.” Carl replied sharply.

“Good.” Negan replied simply as he wrapped the belt around Carl’s left arm, tightening it like a tourniquet. “That hurt?” Iris felt her mouth fill with bile again. 

“No.” Carl answered. 

“Should.” Negan smiled. “It’s supposed to. Alright, get down on the ground, kid, next to Daddy. Spread them wings.” He grabbed Carl’s hat, tossing it over his shoulder as his other hand guided Carl to lie face down on the ground with his arms out. “Simon.” Negan called. “You got a pen?” Simon blinked, before nodding incredulously. Not as if he could not believe the question, but as if he could not believe that Negan would think he didn’t have a pen. 

“Yeah.” He said, in the tone of ‘of course.’ He pulled one from his pockets, tossing the sharpie across. Negan caught it easily, using his teeth to pull the cap off and kneeling on the ground.

“Sorry, kid.” He muttered through the pen cap. He started pulling up Carl’s shirtsleeves, helping himself to the flesh canvas beneath. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across the forearm. There you go, gives you a little leverage.” He pulled the marker away, a thick black line drawn across Carl’s arm.

“Please.” Rick whispered. “Please. Please don’t. Please don’t.” Negan smiled, finally pleased with the reactions he was receiving. 

“Me?” He asked earnestly, chuckling. “I ain’t doing shit.” He stood, sighing. “Rick, I want you to take your axe, cut your son’s left arm off, right on that line. Now I know, you’re gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die, and then you… eventually. I am gonna keep you breathing for a few years so you can stew on it.”

“Y-you don’t have to do this. We understand.” Michonne pleaded. Iris turned her head to look at her, feeling pain in her neck as she did so. How many hours had she sat still? “We understand—“

“You understand.” Negan corrected. “Yeah. I’m not sure that Rick does. I’m gonna need a clean cut, right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like, a… salami slice. Nothing messy, clean, forty-five degrees, give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid’ll be fine. Probably.” Rick was shaking furiously, though he made no move to reach for his axe. “Rick, this needs to happen now. Chop, chop, or I will crush the little fella’s skull myself.”

“It can— It can… It can be me. It can be me.” Rick stammered. “W-w— you can do it to me. I can go with— with you.”

“No.” Negan sighed, standing up again. “This is the only way. Rick, pick up the axe. Not making a decision is a big decision. You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every ugly thing.” Rick groaned and Negan huffed. “Oh my god. Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting. Three—“

“Please!” Rick wailed. “Please! It can be me! Please!”

“Two!”

“Please!” Rick blubbered. “Don’t do—“ Negan slapped him across the face, gripping his jaw. 

“This is it.” Negan hissed. Rick cried out, wailing. “One!” Rick sobbed.

“Dad… just do it. Just do it.” Carl whispered to him. Rick’s fingers extended, moving outward, searching for grip on the axe but failing. One hand gently cradled Carl’s, the other lifting the axe up as he cried out. He lifted the axe above his head, sobbing, when Negan knelt beside him and Rick looked at him like he was the second coming of Christ.

“Rick.” He whispered tenderly. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?” Rick was panting, nodding frantically, putting his head down while he sputtered for breath. “Speak when you’re spoken to!” Negan demanded, grabbing his jaw again. “You answer to me. You provide for me.”

“P-provide for you.” Rick sputtered. 

“You belong to me, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” Negan echoed. He pointed a finger at Rick as he let go of his jaw, settling back on his heels. “That… is the look I wanted to see.” He stood, grabbing the axe and looking around at all of them, utterly cheerful. “We did it. All of us, together… even the dead guys on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure. Today was a productive damn day! Now I hope, for all your sake, that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you? That is over now. Ah, Dwight?” He asked, pointing Lucille toward the man. “Load him up.”

Iris opened her mouth to protest when Dwight grabbed Daryl underneath the arms, but nothing came out, her jaw trembling. Daryl wrestled weakly, stumbling as Dwight shoved him back into the dark van they’d been shoved into before. He pushed up onto his hands and knees as Dwight drew his crossbow, shifting back and forth like an animal trapped in a cage. 

There was rage written in his face, fear. His eyes moved over to her over Dwight’s shoulder. There was a thousand words exchanged in just one look, and then he mouthed something. But then the doors shut, and Iris couldn’t see him anymore. She felt dizzy, nauseated. She felt like if she tried to vomit, her organs would come out one by one and she might be rid of the terrible feeling that caused her trembling, her sickness.

“He’s got guts.” Negan praised quietly. “Not a little bitch like someone I know. I like him. He’s mine now. But you still want to try something? ‘Not today, not tomorrow, not today, not tomorrow—‘ I will cut pieces off of—“ He stops, frowning, looking up at Simon. “Hell’s his name?”

“Uh… Daryl.” Simon answers. Negan blinks.

“Wow. That actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep— or better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.” He pats Rick on the back as he stands again, chuckling to himself. 

“Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’m gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then…” He pauses, turns around toward one of their cars and throws the axe over his shoulder carelessly. It clangs as it hits the gravel in between Rick and Carl. “Ta-ta.”

-

They sat there in relative silence for a long time. Maggie cried, still barely able to hold herself up, unable to look at Abraham’s body beside her, or Glenn’s a few feet away. But she was the first to stand, Sasha faltering slightly as she raised a hand, ready to catch her if she fell.

“Maggie. Maggie.” Rick murmured quietly, urging her to sit down. She sucked in a sharp breath as she limped over, now looking directly at Glenn. “Maggie, you need to sit down.”

“No.” She bit out. Aaron stood up, along with Rick, in case they needed to catch and carry her. They would have one less man to carry the stretcher to the Hilltop.

“We need to get you to the Hilltop.”

“You need to go get ready.” She corrected. Which was true. Negan wanted half their shit, in one week’s time, and if they wanted to have enough to feed themselves, they sure as hell needed a lot more than they had now. The Hilltop. What would happen to them, now that Alexandria was under the Saviours’ control as well?

“For what?” Rick asked.

“To fight them.” Maggie replied. She looked exhausted. Carl turned to look at her, a defiant expression on his face. Eugene simply sobbed into his hands. 

“They have Daryl. They have an army.” He muttered. “We would die, all of us.”

“Go home.” Maggie said, louder, even though it pained her to speak. It pained her to stand. She was hunched over, her body naturally cradling the part of her that ached. “Take everybody with you. I can get there by myself.”

“You can barely stand up.” 

“I need to go.” She sobbed. “You need to go to Alexandria. You were out— out here for me.”

“We still are.” Rick assured. Maggie shuddered as she sobbed.

“I can make it now. I need you to go back.” She pleaded. “I can’t have you out here. I can’t have you all out here anymore. I need you to go back.”

“Maggie…” Michonne murmured. She had stood up at one point, Iris didn’t notice. “We’re not letting you go, okay?”

“You have to.”

“It’s not gonna happen.” Rick replied. Sasha pushed to her feet, approaching slowly. 

“I’m taking her.” She decided. “I’m gonna get her there. I’m gonna keep her safe.” Iris thought, for a fleeting moment, she sounded like Abraham. “I’m not giving you a choice.”

“I’m taking him with me.” Maggie replied. She shuddered through a few sharp breaths as she knelt in front of her husband. Aaron knelt down to help her, but she shook her head. “I need to do this. Please.”

Iris had not yet moved from her place beside Glenn, at the end of the row, clutching Glenn’s watch like it was keeping her tethered to that point in space and time. Carl knelt down in front of her, carefully reaching out to brush her hand. Iris flinched hard anyways, her eyes darting from their thousand-yard stare to his worried little face. Her hand still shook as she held out the watch, bloody as it was, toward Maggie. She let out another heart-wrenching sob as she took it into her hands, clutching it to her chest. 

“I need to do this. Please.” Maggie pleaded.

“We need to help you.” Aaron replied softly.

“No… no.” She murmured.

“Pl-please let us.” Rick insisted. “He’s… he’s our family too.” Maggie stood, accepting a short hug from Carl as Aaron and Rick lifted Glenn’s body as neatly and as gently as they could. Eugene and Sasha struggled at Abraham’s side, and Iris stood to help them. “Iris…” Rick called, but she brushed past him wordlessly, instead standing at Sasha’s side and nodding, taking one half of Abraham’s body as Sasha took the other, Eugene holding his legs. 

They carried the bodies as quick as they could to the pickup truck Negan had left them. Negan’s words echoed in their minds. Iris got into the driver's seat as they loaded onto the truck. Rick walked over to the RV, sitting himself down and turning it around the gravel lot. Iris followed in the truck, and they were on their way to the Hilltop.

“Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sitting around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after. No. Doesn’t work like that, Rick. Not anymore.”

-

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