Chapter 1: I: First Day of the Rest of Your Life
Summary:
After witnessing a horrific murder, Carl is forced to face the reality of living under Negan's roof, while also worrying for the safety of his friends and family.
Notes:
This is based on the fanfic series, Stale M&M’s, with an alternate plot-line near the end of part 3, Lost Boy, in which Hilltop and Kingdom do not step in on time to save Alexandria in the battle against the Saviors and the Scavengers. It also takes heavy inspiration from the comic books, especially in the third act (chapters 20 – 29). Our main characters are Carl Grimes and Oliver de Luca, who are 15yo and 16yo respectively in the first act (chapters 1 – 9), and then they’re in their 20s for the second, third, and fourth act. Chapters will alternate between their POVs, indicated by their names at the beginning of each chapter.
Special thank you VerbalWalker for your endless help with the planning of this AU. This would still be a skeleton without your imagination and advice! Go check out their story, 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', too!
Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT ONE: THE WAR
FALL
2012
~ Kid ~
Through the tiny, murky window, I watch the sun as it sets across the Sanctuary factory, casting dull dust-streaks across this otherwise grey room that Negan has assigned to me. He said I should feel lucky I'm in here, in this small, square room, instead of in solitary confinement like Daryl had been when he was a prisoner here. This feels like something similar, though. Negan wouldn't tell me where my sister is. He hasn't let me see another person at all since he left me in here hours ago, unless I count the walkers I can just make out through the window all the way down in the foggy, dirt courtyard, guarding at the gates.
Beside me, on a small nightstand, there is a stained vase filled with wilting dandelions. I throw it across the room. The shatter of glass against cement rings in my ears. I gulp back heavy breaths, afraid my heart might thump right out of my throat, so I sit on the bed again and sink my face into my hands.
This morning plays through my head again.
❂:❂:❂:❂
"Well shit, Rick," Negan said. "You just couldn't stick with us, huh? You had to go with these... filthy, garbage people? No offence."
Jadis regarded him indifferently. "Deal is for twelve, yes?"
"Ten," Negan said. "People are a resource."
Gunshots trailed off in the distance across Alexandria. Maybe aimed at Aaron, or Rosita, or someone putting down Sasha's walker...
Jadis glanced towards the noise, then said, "Ten."
Negan grinned at her. He stepped over to my dad and sighed loudly . "Ah, Rick. This is just gonna make you sad. Broken. You're gonna wish you were dead. I like having fun, I do. But maybe you think that the guy that did what he did to your friends... wasn't me... like that was some sort of a put-on, like I'm not the guy with the bat — I'm just the guy that makes your kid spaghetti. I'm the guy who takes a fucking loogie in the face from cripple-mc-four-eyes here and lets him keep his heartbeat."
More gunfire, and a scream.
"Oh..." Negan grins. "Oh, fuck. Maybe this is on me. Maybe this is all on me. I gotta make it right. I guess I gotta start all over again. I gotta tell you, Rick, if I had a kid, I'd want him to be just like your kid, which makes this so much harder..."
I glared up at him. "You're not gonna win..."
"Carl, it is over. Now, listen, don't take it personally. I don't wanna replace you, but your daddy here's given me no choice, see? So why don't you point your one ball up the street there and take everything in, one last time..."
I looked up the street, at all the dead bodies littering it, and I looked at my dad, knelt to my right, shot in the side and bleeding, and then I looked at Oliver to my left, who was slumped on his side, his leg broken and his arm bleeding so badly that it was like he was dying right there next to me.
A shout came from the distance and I remember a figure falling from one of the Brownstone roofs. My first thought was that it was Michonne. Dad must've thought the same thing, because he moaned.
And Negan laughed.
"Oh. Wow. You just lost somebody important to you right now, like, just now. Fuck. That... is... timing. Well, Rick, you chose this. I truly don't know what more I could've done to warn you. And this isn't a warning. This is punishment.
"I'm gonna kill Carl now.
"I'm gonna make it one, nice, hard swing — try to do it in one because I like him.
"I just want you to put that in your brain and roll it around for a minute.
"I'm gonna kill Carl, and then Lucille here, she's gonna take your hands, and then your son's achy, breaky, handicap, little boyfriend is gonna come with me to get himself patched up. And he's gonna stay with me for a while. I'll even let you keep Daryl as fair trade. One of mine for one of yours. How's about that?"
"You can do it right in front of me," Dad answered. "You can take my hands. My boys. I told you already. I'm gonna kill you. All of you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but nothing is gonna change that... Nothing... You're all already dead..."
Negan watched him. His face twitched. I didn't know it then, but I realise now that that was the moment he realised it. He realised my dad wasn't ever going to bend to his will. He was never going to kneel.
That was the moment Negan decided what he was going to do.
"Fuck..." he said. "Wow, Rick... okay... well, you said it."
My hat was knocked off my head.
I heard Oliver cry out my name.
I saw my dad's eyes wide open in horror.
And I saw it happen.
I watched...
As Negan sent his baseball bat through the back of my father's skull.
❂:❂:❂:❂
There's nothing anyone could've done to save him. There was nobody left to save the rest of us. None willing, at least. Kingdom and Hilltop have given up on us. Oceanside never even tried at all. And Alexandria is probably slaughtered by now, or left starving and defenceless. And Oliver, Judith, and I are here, all alone.
Footsteps approach from outside the room.
I jump to my feet, adrenaline ramming me like icy water.
The door swings open, slowly.
And Negan stands there in the doorway.
He grins at me.
"Hello again," he says, propping his bat on his boot toe and leaning his waist into it. "May I come in?"
I don't speak. I just watch him, so Negan steps into the room, bowing his head in greeting. His eyebrows raise as he sees the shattered vase on the floor.
"Aw, you don't like flowers?" he asks me. "Come on. Everybody likes flowers."
I frown at him, wanting to ask what he's talking about, wanting to know where my sister is, if Oliver is okay, but it's difficult to get the words out. All I can do is swallow around my tongue until—
"I never asked," Negan interrupts me, "but that stutter of yours. It's brain damage, ain't it? From however you lost your eye?"
"Where is m...m-y sister?" I say.
Negan sucks his top lip and frowns disapprovingly. "I already told you—"
"I need to s... need her here." I squeeze my fists. "And Oliver."
"Hold your fucking horses, kid!" Negan says patronisingly. "Do not talk back to me. And do not interrupt me." He grins. "I don't want you overheating the ol' noggin now, do I? You might lose the last few brain cells y'got left rattling around in there."
My blood boils, and before I know it, I rush at him, shouting in anger. He snatches my arms on one fist like there's nothing to it —like I'm not almost the size of any man now but just some small child throwing a tantrum— and before I can stop him, he sends the butt of his bat through my gut and I fold forward in shock and pain, the air knocked out of me. As I hit the floor, shards of vase cut my hands and I wince, knelt there in agony and clutching my stomach, waiting for the air to come back into my chest again.
"That was a bad fucking idea!" Negan shouts at me. "One that will not go without punishment. Arat?"
I hear her step to attention behind him in the corridor.
"Bring me his baby sister's fingernail," Negan orders. "Any one will do..."
"W...w-ait!" I shout, forcing myself to sit up. "Don't hurt her!"
But I can hear Arat walking away.
"Please, I'm sorry! N...N-O!"
Negan makes a sharp, "Agh!" noise, and Arat's footsteps stop abruptly. I see her shadow past Negan's legs, turning back to my room, and I lean forward to hold my gut again from the pain, choking frantic breaths.
"That's more like it," Negan says. He bends sideways so that I can look him in the eye. "Now, tell me what you'll do for me, in order to keep your baby sis alive — in order to keep your boyfriend alive. What... will you do... for me?"
My hands are trembling.
I look up at him and swallow.
And I say, breathlessly, "Anything. I'll do anything."
"That. Is. More. Like. It."
I glare up at him. He leers down at me. I have to look away, and I see past him that Dwight and Eugene are standing in the corridor with Arat, too. They both look away from me. I grit my teeth and glare at the floor.
"Oh, say it again!" Negan growls to me, like he might hop on the spot from excitement. "Knelt just like you are, right there, so's I know that it is finally drilling into the ruins of your broken brain..."
And I tell him, "I'll do anything. I s...s-wear it."
"Then answer me this one question, kid... who are you?"
I frown, glancing sideways. "Carl G—"
Instantly, Negan bashes the end of his bat hard against the door frame and I flinch away in shock. I have to shut my eye, flinching at the image of my father lying on the ground like he was this morning, with the top of his head wide open and gushing like a geyser.
He died staring at me.
He died trying to say my name.
"Who are you!?" Negan shouts, and this time it's Arat, Dwight, and Eugene who answer him.
And in unison they shout back, "I am Negan!"
And I swear I hear it echo through the whole factory, too — spreading outward like a shockwave.
I stare up at them all, breathing fast. Negan grins at me. He tips his bat down, so it stops just before my chin. I force myself not to flinch.
"Let's try that again, shall we?" he says. "Because this moment will decide how today ends for you. This moment... oh... it is the first day of the rest of your life."
It hurts to breathe in the truth of it. I have to take a second so that I can bear it, until I can look up to him, forcing the hardness in my face.
And he asks, "So, who are you?"
And I say, "I'm Negan."
Negan groans happily. "Wonderful... fuck, I wish I had a camera on me. What a moment to document. Rick's own kid, swearing his allegiance to me. Fucking beautiful."
Arat grins with him. Eugene and Dwight watch the floor.
"Anyway," Negan says, "I came here to tell you that I stuck to my word: Oliver's surgery was a success. The bullet in his arm has been removed, blood has been transfused, he has been stitched up, and his very broken leg has been re-set. Dr. Carson has assured me that he's back on the road to recovery. All is well. You can thank me later."
My skin prickles desperately. I put my hands on my knees and take in the relief of it for a moment.
"And in regards to your sister, she's being taken good care of, too," Negan adds. "Really, my wives are plenty desperate for their own little carpet crawlers. She'll be callin' all of them momma before you know it."
I feel my lip start to curl but I'm quick enough to stop it.
"You can see them both in the morning," Negan tells me. "But don't forget, you're still being punished for your little stunt just now. Two days without food will do just nicely, I think."
I keep my mouth shut, which seems to please him, and I can tell as he nods to me and turns around that he and the rest of them are going to leave me here again, and suddenly I'm so afraid of being alone that I can't help but clamber to my feet and call out his name.
"N...N-egan..."
He turns to me curiously.
And I gulp several times until the right words find me.
And I ask him, "You promise? You p...p-romise I can see them?"
Negan smiles at me. "I promise."
And then he's gone and shutting the door behind him. I don't hear any lock, but I know trying to leave would be useless, and as their footsteps leave down the corridor I notice one shadow doesn't leave, so I step closer, pressing my ear to the door to listen.
"This place," Eugene's voice says hoarsely from the other side, "it may lack the same creature comfies of hom— of Alexandria. But given a couple ticks, and a whole lot o' tocks… you kids'll come to get used to how this particular cookie tends to crumble... proverbial cookie, of course. Although, we do actually have—"
"Eugene!" Negan shouts from down the corridor. "Let's get going! We got shit to get done!"
As Eugene's shadow rushes away, I step back from the door, wishing I could kick it, but instead I slump down on the narrow, dusty bed, feeling like some caged animal, only too tired and afraid to struggle anymore, until somehow, hours and hours later, it's in that fear and exhaustion that I manage to fall asleep.
No more kids stuff.
I wish you could have the childhood I had,
but that's not gonna happen.
People are gonna die.
I'm gonna die.
Your mom.
There's no way you can ever be ready for it.
I try to be, but I can't.
The best we can do now is avoid it as long as we can.
Keep one step ahead.
I wish I had something better to say,
something more profound.
My father was good like that...
But I'm tired, son.
Notes:
Thank you again, VerbalWalker, for your help to flesh out this whole story! And a super thank you for the Eugene dialogue there at the end! You're amazing. Go check out their story, 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', if you want!
Lock-down has given me too much time to dwell on the things that are nostalgic to me, like many others right now. This idea has been floating around in my head for about a year, and things have gotten to the point where I don’t have anything better to do anymore, and I somehow managed to write the first thirty-three chapters of this in less than a month, so here you go…
Things that aren’t cannon, for context if you haven’t read the fanfic this AU is based on, or just need a recap:
- Carl has a speech impediment (stutter) after getting shot in the face. He struggles with words that begin with m, s (or soft c), w, n/kn/gn, p, hard g, and f. His stutter is badly written in the og fanfic, but I think I’ve cleaned it up much better here after doing some more research.
- As mentioned before, Kingdom and Hilltop do not step in to help in the fight at Alexandria, but the actual reasons will become clear as the story progresses.
- Sherry did not run away from the Sanctuary after helping Daryl escape, for reasons that should become clear in the second act, henceforth Dwight did not see any repercussions from this. I did this so I can fiddle with that arc later, for various reasons. (The young Dr. Carson is still at the Sanctuary after the old Dr. Carson was thrown into the furnace, though, but for non-canonical reasons that will be explained next chapter.)
- Carl and Oliver have been boyfriends for about a year, give or take a few breaks here and there due to complicated circumstances, for example, kidnap, brain damage, living in separate communities, Carl thinking Oliver was dead, Oliver falling out with Carl for locking him in a laundry room… you know, the usual.
If you want to read their story before this AU, feel free to check out the first three parts in the Stale M&M’s fanfic (until about chapter 133) but otherwise, continue on all you like.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 2: I: How Leverage Works
Summary:
Summary: Oliver is cooped up in the infirmary after being shot and breaking his leg in the fight. Negan explains to him the new way of life that he expects Oliver to live by, and gives a demonstration on what exactly it will cost if he does not obey.
Notes:
Thanks for the support.
The OC, Oliver de Luca:
He/him, 16yo (and, of course, the obligatory visual: bushy brown hair, olive skin, brown eyes, tall nose, long face, under-bite, glasses, blah blah).
He’s an orphan. His mother was born in Italy, his father was Jewish-American. He had an older brother, Patrick, who died canonically in season 4. He’s a right-hand amputee after being bit by a walker in season 5, he’s an abuse survivor, and he’s killed five people so far (Mikey, ‘Chelle, an OC called Merope, and two Junkyard People), unless you count those he and Carol indirectly caused to die at Terminus.
Main characters he’s closest to are Carl (his boyfriend), Carol (his adopted mother, though things are complicated between them after she left), and Daryl (who saved Oliver’s life in season 4). Others include Judith, Enid, Michonne, Maggie, Tara, Rosita, Gabriel, Eric, Aaron, Jerry, Ezekiel, Morgan, and Jesus, in generally that order. He’s got a complicated history with Rick, after Rick betrayed him, which will be elaborated on throughout this AU.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kiddo ~
Without my glasses, this strange room I wake up in is a blur of dim, grey light. The air tastes stale and muggy and dusty. A stranger is sitting at a metal desk across the room with his back facing me, hunched and busy with something. He runs a stressed hand through his auburn hair and sighs tiredly.
I try to sit up, but find that I can't because my leg is strung up in a sling hung from a frame on the ceiling. A bandage is wrapped around my right elbow, where I was shot, just above where there is usually a bandage wrapped around my amputation. And I remember how Jadis crossed us, and how Dwight did, too. And I remember Sasha, turned, and in the mess of the fight, I was injured, but things after that are vague. I'm so confused that I don't notice the desk dweller approaching until he's already crossing the room towards me.
"Get back!" I yelp, attempting to throw out my fist only for it to jerk short because my wrist is handcuffed to the side-bar of the bed. The image of me as a piñata pops into my head, which I try to dwell.
"Hey, take it easy," the blurry stranger says, in a voice much kinder than I'm expecting. "Take this. You're wheezing." He hands me my inhaler. I guess he found it in my pants pocket, which I'm no longer wearing because I've only got my underwear and an oversized canvas shirt on.
I take the medicine. My chest opens up again. My broken leg pangs in its cast. I wince and have to lie back, a headache stirring.
"Where am I?" I ask, squinting. "Who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Carson," he says, moving around the bed to uncuff me. "You're at the Sanctuary. Negan brought you here yesterday afternoon. Sorry about the handcuffs. Can't be too careful. You know how it is."
By the light through the windows, I can guess it's night-time. The moon looks too big. I feel heavy and achy and itchy. Dr. Carson holds something out to me. My glasses, I realise, when I squint. I put them on and the room becomes clear. I'm in an infirmary. What I thought was the moon is really just a lamp in the corner of the room. It is night-time, though, even if the window is too murky to see through very well.
Dr. Carson coaxes me to lie back again. I think about how the Kingdom's secret allegiance to Alexandria is blown now, and the consequences that will have for us all, and I think of Sasha again, and then I remember Michonne, falling... and Rick… and I have to wipe my eyes and push away the nasty breaking feeling in my chest.
Dr. Carson clears his throat. "I'll go and get Negan..."
"No," I beg.
Dr. Carson sighs. Without looking at me, he says, "I'm sorry, Oliver. But it's not up to me."
I watch him go, out of breath and not knowing what to do. I can see my prosthetic arm over on Dr. Carson's desk — he'd been stitching the strap back together, after Negan sliced it off me to get a better look at my amputation. I try to shuffle aside on the bed and get up, but with my leg still strung to the ceiling there's no way I'll get it down on my own. I can barely even sit up with just one working arm to support me. I twist around in the bed, trying to reach for something I can use as a weapon, something I can hide in my sling, or cast, but I don't find anything within my reach except for my inhaler. My chest is still a little tight, I notice, so with a wan, wheezy sigh, I take a few more doses to breathe properly again.
Footstep begin echoing along the corridor outside, towards me. When Negan turns into the room, it's a shock to see Judith fast asleep in his arms, curled up against his chest with her head tucked under his chin.
"Judy..." I mutter. "What's she doing here?"
Negan raises a finger to his mouth to shush me, giving a considering glance to Judith. Negan didn't bring any of his henchmen. He's not even carrying his bat with him. He sits carefully on the chair next to my bed, stroking Judith's back.
"Good to see you're finally awake," he tells me quietly.
I look at his eyes, then I look at Judith again, searching for any sign of something wrong with her — tear streaked cheeks or a suspicious bruise or something, but she looks as well and as peaceful as if she were sleeping on mine or Carl's chest, or her fathers…
A dark cloud closes over my head.
"You killed him," I whisper. "You killed Rick..."
"I killed a lost cause," Negan says, and I wipe my cheeks, glaring at him, at his dead eyes and the harsh lines across his face. "You saw it," Negan adds. "I tried to give him an out."
"You were gonna kill his son."
Negan just shakes his head. "You don't understand war, kiddo. You don't understand how leverage works. But you will. I was never gonna kill Carl, 'cause I needed him to control his father. But it was never gonna be enough. Rick left me no choice."
Angry tears roll down my face, like hot wax.
"I hope you understand why you're here," Negan tells me. "I hope you can learn from Rick's mistakes, because it's down to you now not to let things end up the same way for yourself, and for the folks you care about."
I shake my head, overwhelmed. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"You will, soon," he says. "I assure you of that."
Negan sits there for a moment, gently stroking the hair out of Judith's face. She must be dreaming because her nose scrunches up.
"See," Negan says to me, "from here on out, yours and Carl's lives are interlinked. Your choices will directly impact the quality and the longevity of each others lives. One of you fucks up, the other will be punished for it. And if both of you fuck up… well..."
He places his hand firmly on the back of Judith's head then, and presses hard enough that she gives a tiny grunt of discomfort.
"No!" I bark. "Don't touch her! Vaffanculo!"
Negan lets go of her, but my shouting has woken her up and she looks around, startled, and begins to cry.
"Judy," I coo, my voice cracking and sweat prickling along my forehead. "Judy, it's okay. I'm sorry."
She sees me and reaches out, but Negan cuddles her close, apologising to her on my behalf and whispering for her to go back to sleep. She glances at me, sniffling and confused, but does as Negan says and lays her head back on his chest.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask him. "Why did you bring us here? Where is Carl? What do you want from us?"
"I'm giving you both a chance," Negan explains. "I'm giving you both a future, that I've worked so hard to build for us all. You can waste what I'm offering you all you want, but you'll only end up like the rest of your people — those who are left, at least."
"What did you do to them?"
"I dealt with them."
"You killed them..."
"No. But I knew I would have to some day if I didn't do something now. Those who kept giving me hassle, like Rick, those who I know are only going to be a threat to me one day… I got rid of."
I stare at him, horrified. "Got… rid?"
"That, I did," Negan says through a grin. "Ms. Jadis and I had a little deal together — she helps me kick your little Alexandrian asses, I give her ten of you as trade. Well, it was originally twelve, but I haggled her down. People are a resource, after all."
"Ten?" I ask. "What does she want with them?"
"How should I know. But she promised me, regardless, that I would never see them again, which was good enough for me."
My brain is spinning. "Who did you give to her?"
"Never the fuck you mind who," he says, like it's a rude question. "It doesn't matter to you anymore. What matters now is how you choose to move on from all this."
I lay here, losing my mind.
"It went the way I wanted it to, kiddo," he tells me, "the way it was always going to."
He gets up, propping Judith higher on his hip.
"Now, I must get along. Things to do. But I will be back, and I will have questions." He grins down at me. "And you better have the right answers."
All night, I don't sleep. My heart leaps inside my face every time I hear someone walk by the infirmary outside, expecting Negan to come back with some new information to curdle my skin with. I don't eat when Dr. Carson leaves a bowl of stew by my bed. He sleeps at his desk to keep an eye on me, and in the morning, when the rising sun begins to turn the murky windows a dull, pale, brown-blue colour, Dr. Carson wakes up to rewrap the bandage on my arm and give me more pain medication for my leg.
"You really not gonna eat that?" he asks, pointing to my cold stew bowl.
I shake my head. He takes the bowl to his desk.
"I used to be Hilltop's doctor," he says as he eats. He chuckles dryly to himself. "Gregory traded me for a box of aspirin."
I know this already, but I don't say so.
Dr. Carson shrugs. "I mean, truth be told, it wasn't quite that simple. Simon didn't exactly give Gregory a choice. Negan needed a replacement doctor here, after he threw my brother in the furnace for helping that Red-neck feller from your community escape. Eh. Gregory got his due anyhow. Now he's got to put up with this place just as much as I do."
"What?"
"He ran away from Hilltop," he explains, "a few days ago. Came here."
I worry about what that means for Hilltop's safety, not liking where my thoughts take me or this conversation at all, so I don't say anything else.
As Dr. Carson goes back to his desk, I hear people coming along the corridor again. My heart does that horrible leaping thing another time, but this time for good reason, because Negan turns into the infirmary. Four people come into the room after him — Simon, who is wearing Michonne's katana and Daryl's waistcoat, Dwight, and then Carl and Judith. I'm so thrilled that I hurt my leg badly trying to twist around on the bed to face them.
Carl checks Negan's face, to which Negan gestures out an arm, so Carl quickly brings Judith over to me. I grab them both, practically throwing Judith up to my chest with Carl's help. Our hug is messy and even though it hurts my leg and my arm, I don't let go of either of them.
"It'll be okay," Carl tells me. "Everything's g...g-onna be okay..."
"It can't be over," I gulp out, "someone still has to be fighting for — hey!"
Carl is yanked out of my arms.
"Absolutely not!" Negan growls, gripping Carl by the collar.
"Stop!" I shout.
Judith screams, reaching for him. I pull her close, watching helplessly as Negan drags Carl a few feet away across the infirmary. Carl fights against him, so Simon and Dwight step in, too.
"Let him go!" I shout again. "Please!"
Dr. Carson shushes me.
"See, that right there," Negan tells me. "That is plain disrespect. Talking about fighting me? Winning against me? In my own home? After I am being such a hospitable host to you both? Unac-fucking-ceptable..."
He draws his huge, steel knife from his hip. The blade sparkles under the bright, clinical light. With Simon and Dwight holding Carl still by the arms and shoulders, there isn't anything he can do to stop Negan from snatching a fistful of his hair behind his head and slicing it off in one clean cut. Carl yelps in shock. His head reels forward at the release of pressure. For a moment it's like he's convinced that Negan has cut his throat. When he realises what's really happened, though, his mouth falls open, and his face turns red.
I realise I'm covering my mouth, so I let go.
"Carl..."
Negan marches over and throws several inches of Carl's hair at me. I falls in locks over the bed and the floor. Judith curls up to my chest, flinching. I can't move. It's like the horror of what just happened has paralysed me. Carl doesn't look at me or anyone, just hangs his head in humiliation as his chopped hair dangles unevenly around his cheekbones.
"We have a give and take relationship now, like I said," Negan says to us all. "For every fucking ounce of disrespect either of you give me, I take something away from you. Now, I'd like to keep it to things like this. Hair, or food, or the pillows and blankets on your beds, but do not get me fucking wrong when I tell you... I will take fingers, I will take tongues, I will take your God damn balls... I WILL IRON THE SKIN OFF YOUR FUCKING FACES IF I HAVE TO! One way or another, you will both respect me. Hell, you might even grow to like me, once you see the good I do around here."
And without another word, he snatches Carl by the collar and pulls him out of the room.
Notes:
Following on from last chapter’s notes, I changed the reason the old Dr. Carson was thrown into the furnace to him being framed for letting Daryl escape, instead of being framed to be having an affair with Sherry, like in the show. I didn’t really need to at all. I just didn’t want to write the old Dr. Carson. He was no fun, and far less fleshed out, whereas his brother had a pretty endearing arc in that one episode with Gabriel and I grew quite attached to him.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 3: I: Even After We Said Goodbye
Summary:
Summary: Negan is busy outside the Sanctuary. Dwight lets Oliver in on some information about the other communities, but urgent questions are still left unanswered. The boys are being used against each other, causing their paranoia to grow, and Carl is beginning to process the loss of his father.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kiddo ~
Negan hasn't come back yet after what he did to Carl, even though he said he had questions for me. Dwight comes by the next morning to bring me some food. He hovers for a moment. I don't like that, so I glance at the door in the hopes he might leave.
"Negan told me to stay and watch you eat it myself," he says, catching my hint. He gives Dr. Carson a side glance. "Seeing as you're just giving your food away and all."
Dr. Carson clears his throat guiltily.
"I'm not hungry," I tell them.
"Of course you're not," Dwight says, softly — too softly for a man who I watched murder Denise right in front of me and my friends just a few weeks ago. "Eat," he says. "Negan's orders."
I want to refuse, but I think of yesterday and what happened when I did something against Negan's wishes, so I pick up my fork and stab a small piece of potato. Hilltop's, no doubt.
"Where is Negan anyway?" Dr. Carson asks Dwight. "He said he'd be by for questioning."
"He's busy with the communities."
"Hmm. Seems like he's been in a good mood lately. Things going his way and all."
"Not exactly," Dwight says, and glances quickly at me, so I look away at my plate. There's meat on it, but I can't tell what kind from the smell or texture. I put it in my mouth. It's pork. I never liked pork. Smells too much like burning people. "He's pretty frustrated, to be honest..." Dwight goes on.
"'Cause of the King still missing?" Dr. Carson asks.
I look up again, my mouth full. "The Kingdom's missing?"
Dwight shrugs.
"Hilltop, too?" Dr. Carson asks him.
Again, Dwight shrugs.
"Can't blame 'em," Dr. Carson says. "I'd be long gone, too, if I were them."
I sit back, processing all this while I force myself to eat. How did the Kingdom and Hilltop know to run in time? They had to have found out Negan knew about the Kingdom's allegiance to Alexandria, but how? Did Maggie realise, after Gregory ran away? Did she tell Ezekiel, so he, too, could weigh the risk of Gregory spilling information he had about the Kingdom that put them all at risk? Or maybe Ezekiel found out I'd left Hilltop to fight with Alexandria, and predicted correctly that Negan would recognise me from the time Morgan and I spent helping out on the secret supply runs at the Kingdom.
Guilt racks me. I was so stupid. How did I ever think this would turn out our way? How did any of us? I can't speak for several minutes. I can't even keep on eating.
At some point, Dr. Carson gets up to go to the bathroom. Dwight watches him go, then turns to me with a small, awkward nod.
"I shouldn't have let him tell you all that," he admits. "Negan wants to keep you and Carl on as much of a need-to-know basis as possible... for now."
I glare at him. "Then why did you let him?"
Dwight shrugs again. "Guess I… feel somewhat responsible, for your situation."
"You are. You ratted us out."
"I did my job," Dwight retorts, the stress lines rippling along his burn scars.
I watch him, disgusted, folding my arms because I don't want him to see me shaking. "So… you were double crossing us? You were on his side the whole time? You knew the Scavengers were double crossing us all along, too?"
Dwight grits his teeth. He shrugs. "Actually, that's the one thing I didn't know about at all. I didn't know they were at Alexandria. I didn't know Negan knew they were at Alexandria either. Nah, he and Rick kept those little gems up their sleeves all on their own. Funny, how they're similar like that. Or were, I guess."
"That's not true," I say, even though my voice falters. "Rick was nothing like Negan."
"You sure about that?" Dwight asks me.
Overwhelmed, I choose not to think about his question, or my answer, and instead fall into my own thoughts for a minute, thinking, at the very least, regardless of Dwight crossing us, this all means that Maggie and Enid could be safe still. Carol and Ezekiel and Jerry and Morgan and the rest of them, too. Only, what does safe mean for them now? Where will they go? Can Alexandria keep them safe, in secret? Or help them at all? Negan will have considered it, and taken measures to prevent it, I'm sure. He already said he 'got rid' of those he considered the biggest threat. That'll be Daryl and Rosita definitely, considering they've both attacked him themselves or caused trouble for him at one point or another.
I wish I could remember something from after Rick was killed, but the horror of that day, and all the blood I was losing, and the terrible pain in my leg and arm all were too much, and I blacked out before we even left Alexandria. I thought I'd died. And then the next thing I was aware of was waking up here last night.
My mind goes to Carol, and what Daryl told me at Hilltop right before the rest of us went to Oceanside. He told me Carol hadn't left the Kingdom like she told me she would when she made me leave. He said she didn't even know why she was still around. He said he expected her to try to convince the King to help us in the fight; Daryl was sure of it. But I guess that didn't really mean he heard it from her himself. And I hate how regardless of any of that, I can't think of anything except the fact that I just wish she was here to tell me what I should do, or to just hold me and tell me things will work out. I hate that. I hate how easy it is for me to still fall back to her for comfort, even after she said she would leave me, even after she already left me... even after we said goodbye.
Dwight opens his mouth to say something else, maybe taunt me some more about how he got the better of us all, even if he doesn't look all that pleased with himself, but he steps back from me and crosses the room again because we can hear Dr. Carson returning. For a few minutes, I finish my food, and then Dwight takes my empty plate and leaves the infirmary without saying another word.
Something's been going on all day. I could hear lots of urgent talk outside the infirmary, along the corridors, but nothing I was able to make anything out of. I worry myself crazy that the Hilltoppers or Kingdommers have been found. It would explain all of the rushing around.
Then, late in the evening, Negan comes by to finally question me about my involvement with everything, and considering that none of what I know can help him find them, which he clearly hasn't done yet, to my relief, I tell him, carefully, what I know, and what I'm pretty sure he already knows by now, too: The Kingdom, Hilltop, and Alexandria were working together, against him, and that I have no idea how the Hilltop and Kingdom knew to run before he found them.
I'm feeling pretty lucky, all things considered.
He can't use me against anyone like he said he would.
That is, until he asks me this: "Where did you get the guns?"
I stare at him, quickly trying to work out what he'll already know or not, to gauge my answer, but he speaks again before I can.
"I know you don't just find that much firepower lying around… so tell me… where was it all from?"
"We got them from the Scavengers."
Negan pulls a face, like he's offended, and shakes his finger. "See, I believe you, but I know it's not all of the truth. I know how many fucking guns those Junkyard People have... and the numbers just... don't... add... up. So, please, tell me where you got the rest of the guns. I am making this so unbelievably, fucking easy for you... so tell me the simple, honest, God-damned... truth. And you know what's at stake. Who is at stake. So just tell me, would ya? Where did you get the rest of the guns."
It's like I'm being squeezed to death.
Squeezed and squeezed until there's no choice left but to say the truth, like I'm yacking my guts up and out through my mouth with it.
Only it hurts worse than that.
"Oceanside," I say.
"Oceanside," he repeats back to me, with a suddenly easy-going smile on his face. "The quaint, little, seaside, shanty town in Maryland. Sheesh. I really did a number on their people, huh? They tell you about that? They tell you what I did to them in the early days?"
I nod, not even breathing.
"I admit," Negan says, "I was a little more temperamental back in those days than I am today. I was new to things, still figuring out my groove. And I perhaps went a little overboard sometimes, like when I told Arat to kill that one girl's little brother. How old must he have been? Ten? Eleven? Yeah… not my best moment. But, see, I learned from it. I do my own dirty work nowadays. Seein' a pattern here yet?"
I don't answer him, and Negan laughs to himself in this gravelly way.
"The nerve of them," he says then, more to himself than to me. He gets up. "Thank you, kiddo. Your honesty means a lot to me. As in, it means so much to me that you, sir, just earned yourself a gold fucking star!"
He goes away quickly after that, while I lay here feeling like mud.
But he isn't gone long.
To my surprise, he comes back with Carl and Judith. I realise this is a thing now: a daily visit he allows so long as we do as he says. A reward for good behaviour. It's difficult not to react at the sight of Carl's head, which has been totally shaved since the incident I caused last night, almost to the scalp. He looks completely miserable as he brings Judith over and sits at the end of my bed.
Carl rubs his head when he sees me looking at it. I stop. He glances at Negan, who is standing by the door watching us with his arms crossed and that nasty grin plastered across his face. Carl turns to me again, forcing the lightness in his voice.
"How are you f...f-eeling?" he asks.
I feel so guilty, but I don't know if saying so will help at all, so instead I just say, "I'm okay. Are you…" And again it's impossible to stop myself from glancing up at his bare head. I look at his eye quickly, and swallow. "...okay?"
Carl's face tells me no, he's not okay in the slightest, but his mouth just says, "W...w-ish I had my hat," and he rubs the Velcro-short hair on his scalp self-consciously again. "Or something to cover..." he adds quietly, pointing with his knuckle to his eye socket.
Holding back a sympathetic groan,I reach out and touch his hand. His skin is warm. Sore-looking scabs are littered across his fingers. He pulls his hand into his lap to hide them. I stare at him, catching the way he glances hungrily at my half-eaten bowl of oatmeal.
"Do you want some?" I offer, but he glances at Negan, who grins, and Carl shakes his head. Worry makes me start to sweat, but Judith, who is watching us both, begins to fuss so I force the anxiety from my face and smile at her.
I ask her what she's been up to for the last few days, but it's difficult to get any information that makes sense out of her on account of her not even being two years old yet, and barely learning to pull half a sentence together. Something about dress-up and colouring, I think. Carl and I try to play with her a little, showing her the pictures in a magazine Dr. Carson let me read, but she can tell that there's tension in the room and soon only wants to cling to her brother for comfort.
"She's okay," Carl tells me, "she's been s...s-taying in my room all day."
"Not only that," Negan says. "But she's going to be staying in your room from now on. I've even got Dwight setting up a nice little cot for her in there right now."
Carl turns to him, shocked. "Thank you."
Negan nods, and before he can say anything else, Simon rushes into the room. Michonne's katana jolts over his shoulder.
"Boss," he says, "you busy?"
Negan glances at him, twirling his fingers in our direction. "A little, yeah."
"My apologies. But I got news," Simon tells him, glancing dryly at me and Carl. "About... the thing."
"Aw, I gotta miss out on all this wholesome family time? Shit. Alright." Negan groans, making a big, dramatic scene as he makes for the door. "Back in a few, boys. Be good."
And then he and Simon are gone and it's just me, Carl, Judith, and Dr. Carson, and it's the best thing that's happened to me for days, as far as I'm concerned. Carl, too, visibly relaxes.
"Carl?" I ask nervously. "I have to tell you something. Something bad."
He waits, his eye flitting left to right between both of mine.
"I told him about Oceanside," I admit, the regret of it pulling my arms. "Just now, before he brought you here."
He blinks in surprise. "I did, too," he says, "this m...m-orning. He sent Simon and a group out to interrogate them hours ago. I… think that's the thing Simon's talking to him about now."
This blind-sides me. I have to lay very still and think about it for a minute.
"He was testing us," I say. "Seeing if we'd come up with the same answers..."
Carl frowns. "But… S...S-imon left hours ago. He believed me..."
I watch him suspiciously, feeling my eyebrows fold together. Is he taking Negan's disbelief personally?
"Oceanside'll be okay," Carl says to me. "Negan said Simon w...w-ouldn't kill them."
I grimace, not finding this all that comforting. It's difficult to believe that Negan is capable of tuning down his wrath, let alone the wrath of his henchmen.
"Did you hear about Hilltop and the Kingdom?" I ask him.
Carl nods. "Maybe, if he finds them, he won't kill them, either."
"He'll kill them," I disagree. "Maybe not all of them. But he'll kill someone, at least."
"But, he said... people are a resource."
"He said that to me, too, but he still killed Sasha, and your dad," I tell him, "and traded ten others. Did he tell you that?"
Again, he nods, but I can see by the sadness in his face that he's thinking about his father.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, even though I've always hated it when people said it to me after my brother died. Saying sorry is useless when you lose someone that close to you, but, I realise now that it isn't any less true. There is nothing more that I feel I can say about it. I am just sorry that it happened. Sorry that Carl had to see it. Sorry that there was nothing we could do to stop it. I add, "Your dad didn't deserve what happened to him."
Carl flinches, but plays it off as a shrug. He mulls over his words for a moment, but eventually says to me, "Dad kn...kn-ew it was coming, one day. He knew we couldn't stay one step ahead of everything…. not forever."
I shake my head, wishing I could tell him that even though it's true, Negan can't stay one step ahead of everything either. He didn't know that Sasha was dead inside the coffin, so clearly something somewhere went wrong for him, too. Only I think of what happened yesterday because of what I'd said against Negan, and I think of how, even though he's not in the room, even though there's no way he could hear me, Dr. Carson might still tell on me... or maybe someone might be listening outside the door... and the fear grips me so hard it's like I can't even breathe, so I don't say anything at all.
"I can't even go to a funeral," Carl says, tears swelling in his eye. "I don't even know if there w...w-as one. Not for dad, or Sasha, or Michonne... or anyone. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't even get to chose if I wanted to say goodbye."
Judith looks up to him worriedly, hearing the catch in his throat. Carl hugs her to him. I wish I could hug them both, but with my leg strung up, I can hardly sit forward or even move much, so I just watch them, feeling useless.
When Negan comes back, he looks bothered.
"I gotta hand it to your people," he tells us, waving his finger in our direction. "You are a slippery bunch when you want to be. Now, I'm not going to accuse either of you of lying, because I know that's unlikely."
He throws his hands up.
"But still, Oceanside is somehow abandoned. Just in time. Somehow, they knew we would be coming for them and they ran. Fucking cowards! Bunch of pussies — although, I guess that kinda makes sense, considering it's only the ladies left anymore."
Carl and I don't say anything. We know what's coming.
And Negan asks us, "Who told them to run? Who tipped them off?"
We both shake our heads.
"Dwight," Carl says, "he w...w-as our spy."
"Yeah, I know about that," Negan says. "He was spying for you for me. How do you think I knew I needed to get Jadis to disarm those explosives in the moving truck? What, you think those garbage people told me themselves? Oh, no. Jadis was just as ready to let the fight go Rick's way as she was to let it go mine. She would've only made the same deal with him as she had with me. That's why I needed all these fucking angles. So I can stay one step ahead."
"We don't know who tipped them off," I say, "we weren't there. We were being kidnapped."
Negan finds this funny.
"Simon was right about you," he says to me. "You are a little smart-mouth, once you're warmed up a bit. How very fucking endearing. Well, we'll soon snub that out of you."
The regret and fear hits me again, expecting him to punish me for what I said. Maybe he'll have Carl's mouth washed out with soap on my behalf, or worse.
But Negan just yawns.
"I need to get my head on straight," he says to us, "fuck a few of my wives. Kid number one, take you and your sister back to your room. I trust you to know the way by now. In the morning you and I'll get to work. And kiddo number two, focus on healing that leg of yours, so I can finally put you to work. We'll talk more some other time. Dr. Carson, as you were."
And then he leaves, whistling those two tone notes as he goes.
Dr. Carson doesn't let Carl and Judith stay any longer. Carl steps around the bed and hugs me tightly, and then he just looks at me for this long moment until he kisses me once, nods, and then takes Judith and leaves the room.
Notes:
Last set-up chapter, I promise. Things kick off from here.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 4: I: Father, Friend, and Fool
Summary:
Carl and Oliver aren't seeing eye to eye. Carl is taken to visit Rick's grave, and Negan allows him one thing to remember his father by. Only, their shifting relationship is causing a negative influence on Carl in his time of vulnerability.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kid ~
For the next few weeks, Negan brings me with him to meetings with the rest of his henchmen —Simon, Dwight, Regina, Arat, Eugene, and also Gavin, who Oliver mentioned once from previous supply runs with the Kingdom— and in these meetings, Negan expresses his anger by bashing his bat against the long, wooden table, where a splintered dent has long-since formed in front of his seat.
They discuss mostly how to continue organising the distribution of all the neglected crops, livestock, and supplies left at Hilltop, Kingdom, and Oceanside, to Alexandria, who has been picking up a lot of their slack. Although, some of the responsibility to keep feeding the Saviors is going to a few of the other outposts, too, and as far as it sounds, the Saviors who live there aren't happy about it. Eugene and his crew are stressed, too, at the bullet factory, as they've been working overtime to make ammo since the battle at Alexandria.
Negan is fully expecting an attack from the runaways, despite their low supplies and weapons. He's set up day and night patrols between Alexandria, Hilltop, Kingdom, and Oceanside to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He thinks the King has now most likely formed a coalition between the communities, in order to try again to overthrow the Saviors at some point. He suspects that Alexandria is helping them, too, but at this point he's run out of people to interrogate.
It's strange, living in both dread and hope for an attack. Except, as time goes on, and still nothing has begun, the more frustrated and pent up I get, until it's the only thing I talk about today on my visit to Oliver in the infirmary.
"Carl, please..." Oliver says, glancing nervously at the door. "Dr. Carson's gonna be back with our food any minute. You're only gonna get us into trouble for talking about this."
I decide I don't care, only I do really, so I try to calm down.
"I guess I just…" I sigh. "I can't help thinking they'll be coming for us s...s-oon, you know?"
Oliver shakes his head. "Trust me, man. They aren't... I already know how this story goes."
"You don't know."
"I do," he insists, curtly enough that Judith jumps. Oliver's eyes watch me, sharp and dark. "Nobody is coming, Carl. It's just you and me now. We have to protect your sister. We have to protect each other. And you have to start accepting that. Nobody is coming to save us anymore."
I stare at him, thinking about what happened at the suburbs. I feel winded, so I sit back on the chair and pull Judith down from the bed to sit with me. Oliver frowns at his lap, avoiding my eyes, and for several minutes we don't talk to each other at all.
Dr. Carson comes back with a tray of bowls at some point. He hands one to each of us, including a small one for Judith, and goes to his desk to eat his own bowl.
"Please," Oliver whispers to me, as we begin to eat. "Just drop this."
I pick at my food.
I nod. "Okay. I will."
Early the next morning, I'm sitting inside Negan's big, black truck, and he's bringing me outside of the Sanctuary for the first time since he brought me here. I don't get told where we're going, but as Negan drives on, I get an idea, and my suspicion is confirmed as we turn in to the burned cul-de-sac. We drive a few miles in, following the main road towards Alexandria.
I get it now, why Negan is bringing me outside the Sanctuary.
He's just as pent up as me.
He wants something to begin, anything to.
Like revving a generator to get it to start.
He's trying to dangle me out in the open, as bait.
"Thought I'd bring you to see your ol' man's grave," Negan tells me, while I keep my eye on the burned houses. "O' course, we're not only going for that reason. It's well overdue for me to come collect my rent. Now, I am a reasonable leader, or, if we keep the metaphor going, landlord. I have taken into consideration Alexandria's dwindled numbers, as well as… limited resourced. But Alexandria's had plenty of time to by now to cook up at least a little somethin' for me to chew on, I'm sure."
I think of how hard the last few seasons have been for Alexandria. The drought in summer, and the late crops this fall. Winter is going to be hard enough for us —I mean, for them— as it is. But I don't say any of this. I sit and feel the rumbling engine under me, and soon Alexandria's tall, steel-beam walls come into view ahead.
"See, it's all for the greater good, kid," Negan goes on, one hand on the wheel and the other hung casually out the window. "The new world wont spin without an oiled cog. I'm cultivating the oil and the cog. Without me, the cog would rust, and the world would come tumbling down around us."
As we arrive, Eric and Tobin open the gate.
"Carl," Eric says, as we stop beside them, and I open my mouth to say something, to say how glad I am that he's alive, and here, but Negan swings his bat between me and the window and hits the door frame loudly, leaving a dent. Eric and I startle. Eric jumps back, swallowing. I look at my lap, almost desensitised at this point.
"You don't talk to him," Negan growls at Eric. "We are just here for a pick up. No catch up."
Eric nods his head. "Sorry… Negan..."
With a dismissive wave, Negan drives on in through Alexandria. My eye glues to the spot by the solar panels where my father was murdered, the weapon it was done with knocking against my knee as we turn the corner, as if the bat is mocking me itself. Negan waves out his window to the three other trucks behind us, which all pan out along the main streets to begin their collection.
A few streets on, Negan parks up beside Gabriel's church. We both get out.
Gabriel comes outside. "Carl..."
"No, thanks, Father Stokes," Negan says to him, raising a palm. "No services required today."
"But I..."
"Why don't you go on take your holy-self over to the pantry and help your friends with the collection," Negan says, grinning, "thank you..."
Hesitantly, Gabriel turns and leaves down the street. Negan keeps his hand on my shoulder as he walks me to the graveyard. There are several new graves, their dug earth still raised and unsettled, and a fresh bouquet of flowers beside each cross or plaque. I walk along each one, reading their names. Sasha Williams. Kent Lambert. Agatha Philips. Theo Abbot. Ellie Winifred. Sebastian Amaro. My hat hangs on one cross, rocking slowly in the chilled breeze.
I go to it, slowly, until I'm standing before my father's grave.
Rick Grimes
Father, Friend, and --a-e-
1971 – 2012
The word 'Leader' is scratched out.
"Oh, yeah, that," Negan says, when he sees the expression on my face. "Yeah, had to edit that a little bit there. Didn't want to, you know, send the wrong message. You understand. I even thought about putting the word 'fool' there instead. Has a ring to it. But I chose against it. Like I said. I do have some respect for the man. I respected his fight. And I respect that without him, you wouldn't exist."
I sniff, stepping over to the grave to touch the old, tattered, Stetson hat. I thumb gently at the tiny hole at the front where Dad's badge used to be. I force myself not to cry, not here in front of Negan.
"You can have it back," Negan tells me, "if you want it."
I let go of the hat and step back from the grave, shaking my head. I only have to force the catch from my throat for a moment before I speak.
"Don't need it anymore."
And I don't even have to look to know Negan is smiling.
"Fuck, kid," he says. "Right on. You're a new man now. And you're acting like it."
I shut my eye, forcing the tears back.
"But come on, now," Negan tells me, opening his arms and gesturing towards the houses, "there must be somethin' you want back from this place?"
There really isn't. I don't want my drawings in my sketchbooks, and barely anything survived after the Saviors rampaged this place the first time and burned all our mattresses, and by now who knows what happened to Oliver's things in his backpack, so I just shake my head. And I'm just standing here, feeling numb and like this is all so messed up, and trying so hard to just mourn my own father...
And Negan throws me a curve ball.
"How about I get you his old gun back?" he asks. "A revolver, wasn't it?"
I blink at him, taken off guard.
Negan grins at me.
"What for?" I ask him.
"What the fuck do you think for?" He laughs. "To use it!"
For what? I think.
"Oh, don't worry, kid," Negan says, "I'm not gonna make you waste anybody with it. I told you. I do my own dirty work these days. Who you bury your bullets into will be entirely up to you, and it always will be."
I watch him, then nod.
"Alright..." he says, in an impressed, growling tone, "that will be the first thing we do when we get you home. So help me God, I will get you your daddy's gun back!"
For the next few hours, I follow Negan around like a foal to its mare while the collection process is completed. The fact that I didn't see Michonne's grave at the church makes my whole day a little brighter, only as I keep my eye out for her, it becomes easy to guess that she was among the ten who were traded to Jadis. I figure out, too, that some others must've been Tara, Aaron, Rosita, and Daryl, because I don't see them around anywhere either, and like Michonne, I know they would try to see me while I'm here, at least. I can't tell for sure who the other five traded Alexandrians were, but I'm aware that I don't spot Scott around, or Barbara, or Francis, or Anna, or Nora.
Without letting me say goodbye to Eric or Gabriel, Negan takes me back to his truck. As we drive out of Alexandria and towards the Sanctuary, he asks me for information about my father's gun so that he can better locate it for me, so I tell him.
"You know, kid," he says at one point, "I think you're rubbing off on me."
I look at him, narrowing my eye in confusion.
"I was going to kill some of the Alexandrians," he says, "after interrogating them wasn't working. But I thought about that day I sent Simon off to deal with Oceanside. How you looked at me like I was complete scum, 'cause you assumed I wanted him to kill them, until I explained that that wasn't the case. And I saw the look on your face at that, and I saw you starting to trust me..."
He looks at me briefly, and smiles.
"See," he says, "I'm starting to understand that people respond better when you're not busy murdering them or torturing as a form of punishment. Doing my own dirty work ain't just for my own integrity no more, but the well-being of the rest of my people, also. Don't get me wrong, I still think a good bludgeoning comes in handy every now and then, which I'll do whenever I see fit to — you know that better than anyone. But still, you've taught me the value of stepping back a bit, and letting people realise in their own time that they're better off working with me, rather than against. In a way, you're saving lives by living with me."
When we return to the Sanctuary, the first thing Negan does is flick the PTT button on his radio. He grins at me and says, "Negan to Sigh. Negan to Sigh… over."
"Simon here. What can I do for you, boss?"
"Check in the armoury for a point-three-five-seven Magnum revolver. Nickel-coated fame and barrel, with a nice, pretty, varnish-print action."
"The Colt Python?"
"That's the one," Negan says with a grin. "Get it for me, would ya? Along with a nice leather holster, I think." He leans across to me, releasing the button on the walkie-talkie to ask me, "You like leather, kid? Or'd you prefer nylon? Nah, you're a leather man, I can tell..." And before I even answer he presses the button and says to Simon, "And if the Python's not there 'cause somebody checked it out or decided to take it for themselves, ask around, search every bedside table and cabinet, rip up floor boards — get whoever has it to hand it in immediately."
"Yes, sir. Over and out."
We go up stairs through the factory, to Negan's headquarters, where I find Judith napping in a cot in Negan's living space. Four of his wives —Amber, Tanya, Belle, and Lanelle— aren't around today. It's just Sherry and Frankie. When Negan asks where the others are, Sherry tells him they're busy downstairs playing with Eugene's science experiments; Eugene came back from his bullet farm this week to fill Negan in on their progress.
Negan laughs as he slumps down onto the couch, pulling Sherry onto his lap.
"And you and Frankie stayed here together to look after the baby?"
Sherry nods. Frankie sits next to me. I'm much more used to being around Negan's wives now than I was the first time, now that I've come to see them as people, instead of just property, like Negan made them seem like. Sherry is quiet and kind, and she looks at my face without flinching, unlike most other people. Frankie makes Judith laugh, and she always has something encouraging to say if you look like you need it.
"Judith been alright?" I ask her.
"She went down for her nap a half-hour ago after playing," Frankie answers, so I thank her, and she tells me, "No problem. Taking care of Judith keeps me occupied." Only she says it like it's not something she necessarily thinks is an all around good thing, and I guess I know why. I guess all Negan sees in her and the other wives is something to use, and other than Eugene's science experiments, they don't really have anything else to do around here.
"Aren't you two gonna ask me about my day?" Negan croons into Sherry's ear, rocking her side to side on his lap. Frankie sits forward to face him.
"I suppose so," she says, but sounds bored as she and Sherry listen to him boast about how he showed me my dad's grave. Negan doesn't seem to care, or really notice. He starts to undo the buttons on the front of Sherry's dress. I look away. He must notice because he snickers.
"Oh... the kid's shy."
Frankie tuts. "Don't embarrass him, Negan."
"I'm not embarrassing him!" he says, pulling Sherry to one side so he can speak over her shoulders. "Sure I'm not. He's just being polite, aren't you, kid?"
I don't answer, and luckily I don't have to because someone knocks on the door. Simon comes in at Negan's call to enter, carrying a leather holster and something wrapped in a silk cloth.
"Got the revolver," he says. "Locked in the armoury like you first suspected. And a holster."
"Many thanks."
Once Sherry climbs off Negan's lap, re-buttoning herself, Simon hands everything over and then leaves when he is dismissed. Negan sits forward in his seat and holds the holster and cloth out to me.
I stand up, carefully, and take them in my hands.
I unfold the cloth.
I put on the new holster.
And I fit the Colt Python into it snugly.
"Thank you," I say.
And Negan beams.
Judith wakes up from her nap by the time someone arrives to bring lunch, informing me that a plate has been left in my room for me. I consider taking Judith and her bowl with me, but I choose to leave her with Frankie because she looks lonely, after Negan took Sherry to the bedroom several minutes ago. So I go alone, to my room, where I eat, and then I go for my daily visit to Oliver in the infirmary.
"Where's Judy?" he asks me.
"With Frankie."
"Who?"
"One of Negan's wives."
Oliver looks uncomfortable at this prospect, but otherwise chooses to trust my judgement. He asks me if I went out today with Negan, that he heard rumours, so I tell him about it. Dr. Carson is sitting at his desk, reading, so Oliver is subtle while he tries to console me about what happened at the graveyard, but I don't want him to, so I change the subject. I tell him that Michonne is alive. Traded, but alive. And Oliver doesn't do or say anything for several minutes except hold his face and stare at his lap. I realise this may have been an even worse subject to bring up, so I show Oliver that Negan gave me back my father's gun.
"He gave you a weapon?" he asks.
"Sort of," I say, shrugging as I open the cylinder and spin it with my thumb so that it rattles. "No bullets."
Oliver looks disappointed, but not surprised.
I smile. "I think I'm... helping him."
Oliver frowns. "Helping him?"
"Helping him learn to n...n-ot be so cruel," I say, only hearing it outside of my head, coming from me and not Negan, I see how deluded it sounds, and the stress of knowing Oliver thinks so too twists up my tongue.
I sit back, shaking my head. Oliver sighs. He must feel sorry for me because he leans forward and reaches for my face. I pull away. Oliver pauses, waiting for the bitterness to leave my expression, and when it does he reaches for me again and this time I let him touch me. He runs his thumb across my scarred eye socket. He's so gentle. I forgot how gentle someone could touch me. I'm so used to Negan's kind of touch, dragging me here and there. I lean into Oliver's palm and I kiss it. And then I push myself closer on the bed and I kiss him.
I don't know why, but I undo the buttons on his shirt.
"What are you doing?" Oliver asks, pulling my hand away by the wrist, but I push his hand aside. He tells me Dr. Carson's only sitting with his back to us, and that his leg hurts too much for me to sit how I'm sitting, but I ignore all that and I try to touch his chest. He pushes me off. "Stop it!"
I do stop, and I try to apologise, but the words get lodged around my tongue, blocking my throat shut, and Dr. Carson turns round and asks what's going on and it's like I'm so humiliated that I can't breathe.
"Don't you see what's happening to you?" Oliver asks me angrily, buttoning himself up again. "He's brain washing you! Listen to yourself. Negan 'gave' you back your dad's gun? He stole it! Negan murdered him. What is wrong with you? You're acting just like him."
I stare at him, and the shame is hitting me over and over like waves in a rip-tide, and I know he's right but I'm so angry, so disgusted by it, by myself, that I yell at him.
"You told me we had to learn to live here! You told me there was no hope in being rescued! I'm only doing what you wanted me to do, to protect you! You said it yourself: Nobody is coming." I'm so angry that I don't even stumble over the words, but I do now, as I calm down and realise how mean I sound. "You can't turn around and be angry at me f...f-or listening."
Oliver glares at me, shaking his head.
"Alexandria is s...s-afe because of me," I go on. "But Hilltop and Kingdom and Oceanside are gone now, because of—"
"Because of me!" Oliver shouts. "I know! I know that I should've stayed stayed out of the fight, so that Simon wouldn't recognise me! I know they're all gone because of me! I know they're all probably dead because of me!"
And he sits there and folds up into himself and he cries so hard that I have to stand back, all words gone from my brain like fleeing birds. I have to leave the infirmary. I have to go back to my room. I'm so angry that I want to beat my pillow or break another vase or throw my fist through the tiny window. But I don't do any of that. I just pace back and forth across the little room, which is difficult, considering there's barely a square-foot of free space between the bed and Judith's cot, so I sit on my bed and I wait to stop breathing so fast, or at all, for all I care.
Sometime after dark, there's a knock at my door.
Negan doesn't wait for my response before entering. He's carrying Judith.
"Dr. Carson said you and Oliver had a fight..."
Fear hits me across the chest. Did Dr. Carson tell him what Oliver said?
Negan sets Judith down in her cot in the corner of the room, then turns to me, with a weird, unconcerned smirk on his face, like he might think this is all just petty drama. In a patronising tone, he asks, "You wanna talk about it?"
I shrug, and the small part of me that's not terrified feels embarrassed.
With a small groan, Negan sits on the chair next to Judith's cot, opposite me. "I get it," he says. "I know how hard it can be to accept change — to get on the right team. It's difficult for both of you, adjusting to your lives here. But you're both coming along well."
I frown at him.
"What, you disagree?" Negan asks. "Well, trust me. Okay? You do not need to be scared anymore."
And I don't say anything for a minute. Mostly because it's difficult to believe, but also because I catch myself wanting to believe it.
"Enough of this self pity," Negan says suddenly, getting up so he can reach across the room to jostle me by my shoulder. "Come out with me again tomorrow, what do you say we go fishing or something?"
I watch him to check he's not joking.
I shrug.
I nod.
"Alright," Negan says, grinning. "It'll be fun. A real family bonding experience, or whatever the fuck people like to call those sorts of things. It's a shame Oliver can't come along, what with his leg. Maybe next time, eh?"
Again, I nod.
The next day, Negan drives us to a lake a few miles away. We stay all day, sitting on the dock with our fishing rods, guarded by Dwight and Arat and many more Saviors than I'd expected, which makes me realise that this, too, is another attempt to dangle me in the runaway communities' noses. Still, though, Negan does seem to want this to be some kind of 'bonding exercise', because he asks, "Those fellas you wasted in my courtyard all those weeks ago weren't your first, were they?"
I look at him, my eyebrows creasing.
"I had a hunch even before that, though," Negan elaborates. "Shit, wasn't it the first thing I ever said to you? That you looked like a little serial killer? And I mean, this hunch, I'm like... pretty much one-hundred percent sure that I'm right on it, but, I gotta ask you once and for all myself. Who else have you killed? Lay it all out like a soap opera for me..."
He waits, twitching his fishing rod.
I shrug my shoulders uncomfortably.
"Oh! Come on!" Negan begs. "Tell me I haven't been barking up the wrong tree this whole time. I might actually die from embarrassment if I find out your first ever dropped bodies were those you planted on my fucking doorstep! I know it ain't true!"
Something in my face must tell him he's right, because he grins at me.
"Well, then… do fucking tell."
So I do.
"I've caused people to die," I say, "and I've p...p-ut down people who I cared about who had died, or were going to die..."
"Pfft," he says. "That's child's play."
I nod in agreement, frowning to myself.
"Tell me you ain't finished," he says.
"I w...w-asn't." I look out over the water for several seconds, not wanting to look at Negan's face as I tell him, carefully, "I've killed people attacking my family, and my home… I put my mom down. She was the first. She was dying… and…"
"Go on..."
"There was one kid," I say, quieter, "he was part of a group attacking us. Me and Judith and some others were hiding in the w...w-oods, and he came along. He put down his gun. He told us he was trying to run away... I shot him."
Negan watches me.
He nods, slowly.
"There it is," he says, "there's the little serial killer I called dibs on."
I don't look at him, but I can feel my face turning hot. I shut my eye. It's strange how shame makes you ache, like physically ache.
"I look forward to seeing the damage you do in the future, kid," Negan adds. "I sure fucking do."
"No," I say, sternly, and quietly. "I won't. You said you wouldn't make me."
"And I won't." Negan grins at me. "I won't even have to. Because you'll do it yourself anyway. You're a killer. Through and through. At some point or another, you'll see it, too. Trust me…"
I glare out at the lake and try to push the fear away, the fear that I don't have to wait and see because I already know it's true. The fear of that? It's in my skin. It's in my bones.
Negan's fishing line jolts and he reels it in, shouting as he snatches a big mouth off his hook. It's small, too small to make a meal. He doesn't throw it back, though, and instead puts it in a bucket of water between us.
"What about that s...s-tuff you said yesterday," I ask, "about me... rubbing off on you?"
"What about it?" Negan asks.
I shake my head and shrug, realising it's not worth it.
"Look, kid," Negan says, grimacing in concentration out at the lake with his legs spread wide at the knees in his camping chair. "I'm just trying to show you your options, your potential. I'm not gonna sit around and tell you who I think you should grow up to be. I'm just telling you what's right in front of me, right now. The rest is up to you. It is."
He looks at me and shrugs.
"I'm just saying that I'm not gonna judge you if you go the route that seems obvious," he explains, letting out an exasperated laugh. "I mean what are you so afraid of? You and your father? Fuck, I mean... you don't have to act so high and mighty all the time. Sometimes it's alright to just accept you've done bad things. You face it and you accept it and you move on, like a man."
"I've seen what people can turn into," I tell him. "Some people, s...s-ome ways of life, should be feared."
"Oh, I agree," Negan says. "Some things are worse than being killed. Some o' the things that people can do to each other… it chills even me to the bone. If you'd believe that."
I don't, so I narrow my eye at him.
Negan looks at me, too, but his expression is suddenly very sullen. "I'm sorry," he says, "if anything like that has ever happened to you."
I watch him.
I shake my head and say, "Not to me..."
Negan frowns curiously.
Just then my line jerks.
"Yank that bastard!" Negan shouts.
I do, and when the fish stops fighting I reel in as quickly as I can. It struggles, but eventually I bring it in and Negan helps me snatch it off the hook. It's a bass, Negan says. Big enough that it jostles me around. Negan groans proudly as he splashes it in the bucket with the little big mouth, then holds up his palm to me with a cheer. I frown at him, confused.
"You know what a high-five is, right?"
I nod to him.
"Well, don't leave me hanging!"
Awkwardly, I slap his palm with mine.
"Fuck yeah!" Negan shouts. "Big bass. Big ass bass!"
I reset my reel and recast it. I notice I'm smiling so, quickly, I stop.
"You were saying," Negan tells me, not seeming to notice, "something about… oh, I forget…"
I watch him, wondering if he's telling the truth.
And I guess I decide he is, because I find myself saying, "My dad, he did something once, to save me, and it g...g-ot Oliver hurt..."
Negan pulls a doubtful face, taken off guard by this fact, and then his expression goes very serious and thoughtful.
"Oliver was different, after what happened to him," I explain.
"Different how?"
"He used to believe in people," I answer, "but after he found us again, after he and Carol s...s-ave us, from these cannibals, things were never the same. It was good to be back together again, all of us, but... I don't know... Oliver was more shut off... I don't think he ever forgave my dad for wh...wh-at he did, but… I think he tried to."
"You think your dad deserved that? Forgiveness?"
I shrug, because I don't know, so instead I say, "I think about what Dad did a lot…"
"And?"
"And I think it was the worst thing he ever did," I answer, honestly, looking Negan in the face. "Worse than killing people, w...w-orse than causing people to die. He left people behind. It was something he and I always disagreed on."
Negan nods, but doesn't ask me any more about it. I'm glad for it. He even tells me some things about himself, too, because I ask him about them. He tells me about his life before the Turn, how he was a sports coach at a school near here, how his wife, Lucille, was dying of cancer, even after things went south with the world. He tells me I was braver at thirteen than he was as a grown man back then, because he didn’t put his wife down himself, not before she turned, like I did for my mom. We have one thing in common between them, though — neither my mom or Lucille got to be buried.
We catch a few more fish by the time Simon's voice comes in through the walkie-talkie.
"Negan! Negan, come in!"
Negan sighs grumpily. "Sigh, didn't I tell you I was busy today?"
"You did, boss. But you lot are gonna want to get back for this."
"For what?"
"It's happening," Simon says through the walkie-talkie. "The King is on the attack."
Notes:
Thank you, VebralWalker, for getting Carl his father's gun.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 5: I: Queen’s Gambit
Summary:
With severely limited resources, the coalition of runaway communities attack the Sanctuary in an attempt to rescue Carl, Oliver, and Judith.
Notes:
I'll delete this author note in a few weeks, but just to let you know, I had to change some of Negan and Carl's dialogue at the end of the last chapter. Basically after Carl explains Oliver was different after being left behind by Rick, Negan asks how so, and Carl explains among his original dialogue that Oliver used to believe in people, but after his trauma, he was more shut off. (Basically to give Negan a better reason to say a bit of upcoming dialogue in this chapter, which I initially overlooked.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When the sun is rising over streets so barren
Since the evening, colours flash before my eyes
I feel like a child, so young and new in ninety-two, I listen
To what my father said
Keep all your dreams, keep standing tall
If you are strong you cannot fall
There is a voice inside us all
So smile when you can
When you can…
~ Kiddo ~
Carl doesn't visit me all day. I realise he isn't coming by the time the evening rolls around and still there's no sign of him. I feel terrible about our fight last night. I can't even go and apologise to him because when I asked to, Dr. Carson said he was out with Negan again. Maybe it shouldn't be up to me to apologise anyway, though. Not first, at least. Carl was the one being all grabby. He's never been grabby before, especially not without expressed permission. I know he was only acting that way because he'd spent all day with Negan.
Just like today, too.
And I feel lonelier than ever.
Dr. Carson lets me wear my prosthetic. It feels good to use the little hook to turn pages in books or push my glasses up my nose without putting down something I'm holding in my hand first, but the forearm-mould is sore against my healing bullet wound, so I try not to move it much as I spend my time practising to use an Auxiliary crutch Dr. Carson gave me. It's difficult with just one, as usually two crutches would be a typical amount for one person. Still, practice takes my mind off things.
While I'm doing slow and wobbly laps around the infirmary room, a faint explosion goes off somewhere in the distance. Startling, Dr. Carson and I twist around to the window, which faces the back-side of the Sanctuary, where we watch a blurry dust cloud burst several feet into the air outside the factory fences. The glass-pane is too murky to see much else through, even when I rub it with my wrist.
"Holy shit," Dr. Carson gasps. "It's happening..."
"What's happening?" I ask, but Dr. Carson doesn't answer me. We look at the open door behind us and see, in the corridor, Saviors, of both the militia and lower-class residents, rushing past, muttering of an attack. My heart leaps when I hear someone say something about the King. I think I even hear someone mention a tiger.
Another explosion goes off outside the Sanctuary, in a different direction than the first because I don't see another dust cloud through the window.
Dr. Carson and I go to the door. We watch as the corridor begins to empty, everyone disappearing into either their rooms or downstairs to fight outside. For minutes, I listen. I hear Saviors shouting distantly from the Sanctuary grounds, and another explosion, in another direction, but far enough away that I can tell it's somewhere outside the fences, too, like the rest.
Then Simon enters the corridor from the far stairwell.
He points at me, scowling.
"Get back in that infirmary now!"
He reaches me before I can crutch out of the way, and shoves me backwards so hard that I trip and fall against Dr. Carson's shins. I'd hit my cast leg hard on the floor in the fall, and cry out from the pain of it.
"Pick yourself up!" Simon orders, shutting and locking the infirmary door behind himself.
Dr. Carson has to help me to my feet again. Simon kicks my crutch in my direction. Dr. Carson hands it to me. "Simon, what in the world—"
Simon is so angry that he cuts Dr. Carson off by swearing about something under his breath.
"What's going on?" Dr. Carson asks again as a few more explosions rattle their way across the surrounding area outside.
"I'm guarding the boy is what's going on," Simon answers him angrily. 'Cause apparently runnin' around for Goddamn children is all I'm ever good for these days!"
"Where's Judith?" I ask.
"To Hell with that brat! She's just fine where she is. One of you kids is plenty enough hassle for me, thank you." He growls in frustration to himself and then, for no reason at all, he draws his pistol from it's holster, which makes both Dr. Carson and I step back reflexively.
Dr. Carson raises his palms, in a calming motion. "Simon, perhaps you could put that away right now..."
"Jesus H. Christ!" Simon shouts. "I mean, come on? After everything I've done for him, and he goes and pulls me off the front line? That's the thanks I get? The whole reason he left me here in charge in the first place was so I could be in charge while he was gone? And suddenly, right when it matters most, I'm reduced to the fucking babysit? He's lost his Goddamn mind!"
"Simon," Dr. Carson says again, "if you'd just calm down..."
Simon ignores him, and instead wheels around towards me so that I have to push myself backwards against my bed and stand on the toes of my good foot. He points his finger at my chin, close enough he could poke me if he wanted to. "We should have killed every last one of your people at Alexandria when they didn't come up with the information we needed!" he shouts. "But what does Negan do? He goes for a fucking family picnic!"
He turns away, so I come down off my toes.
"Judith…" I say, nervously. "She's only a baby—"
Again, Simon twists around at me, only this time he shakes his pistol in my direction. Dr. Carson bites his knuckle, attempting a third time to calm him by saying Simon's name, but Simon points his gun at him. "Shut your fucking trap! Or I'll shut it for you!"
Sweat forms along my temples. I close my mouth. I even hold my breath, because I know the sort of man Simon is. He's the sort of man who is more like an explosive, ready to go off like the ones outside, only the rest of us'll be blown up too if we're not careful.
Simon seems to try to calm down then.
He goes to look out the window. Dr. Carson joins him, both their backs to me.
I think, again, of Judith.
And I know I need to get to her.
The infirmary key is in Simon's pocket.
The idea pops into my head quickly, and before I give myself any time to think myself out of it, I push myself forward on my good leg, raising my crutch above my head, and then as fast and as hard as I can I swing it down cross the back of Simon's head. His pistol clatters across the floor and his goes down like a sack of rocks. My own momentum throws me off kilter and I fall down alongside him so that we both land in a rough heap on the cold, tile floor. I'd meant to knock him out, but the shock of my hit only stuns him.
"What the hell?!"
He clutches his skull from the pain. Dr. Carson yells my name in shock. Working on sheer instinct, I crawl towards Simon's pistol. Dr. Carson tries to reach it before me. Simon grabs at my feet. I scream at the pain in my leg but somehow kick him off with my other foot. And then Dr. Carson and I snatch the gun at the same time, and desperately, I swing my prosthetic as I roll onto my side and I hit him with a crack across the mouth. He falls away from me, clutching his lips. He pulls out a tooth, looking horrified. Simon tries to lurch at me, but he and Dr. Carson both freeze when they see Simon's pistol in my hand, switching aim between them, which I guess is enough of a threat even if I'm still lying like a dead fish on the floor. Simon must know the safety is off, because he puts his hands up before I remember to check.
"Get back!" I yell at them frantically.
"Easy there..." Simon says, rising to his knees.
I aim up at him.
"Oliver..." Dr. Carson says, stepping forward with his back bent slightly to look down at me and his hands outstretched, his broken tooth clamped between two of his fingers.
"Get the fuck back! Both of you!"
Dr. Carson steps back, his hands up. "Okay, okay..."
Simon gets to his feet, leering down at me. "You're gonna regret this. You and your brain-dead boyfriend. Ooh, after this… I bet Negan'll let me ring the little girl's neck myself."
I aim up at him and pull back the hammer of the pistol, shaking my head in disgust.
Simon laughs. "Put it down, boy. Before you hurt yourself."
"Worry about your own self," I hiss, "considering the dangerous end of this thing is pointed at you!"
He grimaces. "You're running my patience thin. Now, just... give me my gun back."
As I open my mouth to ask again where to find Judith, the infirmary door's handle suddenly shudders. I gasp, keeping my aim on Simon, who smiles and takes the key from his pocket.
"Don't!" I yell, trying to use my prosthetic to pull my crutch over, but it's heavy, and just out of reach.
"Fun's over. Give me the gun," Simon tells me, the key dangling by its loop on the end of his finger.
Dr. Carson gives me a pleading look. "Come on, Oliver. For your own good..."
The door jolts violently this time.
Someone's breaking in.
"My men're getting in either way," Simon warns me, "things'll look a hell of a lot better for you if you just... give me... the gun..."
I think of what's going to happen to Carl or Judith if Negan finds out I did this. God, why did I hit Simon? Why did I pick up the gun? Simon is edging closer, and closer, until I don't even try to stop him from grabbing the pistol out of my hand. He cackles as he aims it down at me. Dr. Carson relaxes, giving me an encouraging nod. He helps me to my feet, but decides not to give me back my crutch. Simon keeps facing me, so he can aim, as he moves sideways towards the door, unlocking it with his spare hand.
"It's alright, men! Everything's under contr—"
He shudders, and suddenly stands very still, staring ahead of himself like he's just seen a ghost. He drops his gun with a clatter. He makes a choking noise, and suddenly blood dribbles out of his mouth and a warm, wet splatter hits my face. I scramble back in horror, landing on my backside. Dr. Carson doesn't manage to catch me because he gasps and covers his mouth. We watch Simon drop to his knees and slump forward onto his face. I stare down at him, out of breath.
I only look up again when I hear my name.
"Oliver..."
And of all the people on the planet it's Carol who's standing in the infirmary doorway. She's dressed in a black trench coat with three or four, small, circular, metal objects strapped to a harness over her shoulder.
"Carol?" I mutter. "What are you… How did you..."
Without waiting, she grabs Simon's pistol, since she doesn't have her own, and aims it at Dr. Carson. He cowers against the wall. Carol sheaths the bloody knife she'd just driven through the back of Simon's neck and then she rushes over to me, pulling me up by my shoulders. I must be bigger than the last time I saw her —even though that was less than a month ago— because she struggles much more than she seems to expect to. I have to do most of the work to stand. Our hug is tight and frantic and over too quickly.
"We have to go," she says breathlessly. "I need to get back to Jesus before they notice we're inside. Where is Judith and Carl? Do you know?"
I'm stunned for a moment. She has to shake me to get me to answer her. "Judith… err… she'll be... with Negan's wives, I think. I guess," I add.
"And Carl?"
"He isn't here. He's out with Negan."
Carol blinks, and her face winces. I guess this means she wasn't expecting this. Quickly, she passes me my crutch. It's a little loose in its fittings but otherwise good enough to use. With her hand gripping my shoulder, we go into the deserted corridor together.
"Which way to Negan's wives?"
"I… I don't know... I haven't left the infirmary once since getting here."
She turns to Dr. Carson, who is still cowering away from us, and aims Simon's pistol at his face. "Where?"
"Upstairs. The top floor is Negan's headquarters."
"We're five or six floors away then..." Carol winces again, and I notice a small flicker of something in her eyes but she's too quick to hide it. She grabs Dr. Carson and forces him into the supply closet, where she locks him in with a chair under the door handle. "Come on, Oliver, let's go..."
"What about Carl?" I ask. "How're we gonna find him if he's not here?"
"One step at a time, sunshine."
I don't know what else to do but go with her. Near the end of the corridor, Carol pins us to the wall when we hear people coming from around the corner. We know they're Saviors, too, because they're talking about coming to help Simon. Carol and I don't have time to dart into another room to hide, so she unclips one of the circular things dangling from her chest, pulls the pin, and then tosses it around the corner. Quickly, she grabs me and pulls me against the wall. The sudden movement hurts my leg and I yelp. The Saviors around the corner falter, asking each other what the noise was, what the circular thing is, and then in the same moment an explosion goes off, only it's much quieter than I'd expected. It didn't feel very strong, either. No fire and smoke like I'm used to at Carol's hand.
She pulls me along after her. I see what happened to the Saviors and almost trip over my crutch from the horror of it. They're not blown up, like I'd expected, but instead they're punctured and battered by tiny bits of steel debris.
Nail bombs.
I take an uneasy glance at Carol, eyeing up how much the bombs are rocking around as she hurries along beside me, and with a gulp, I keep following her along corridors, doing my best to ignore the horrible crunching feeling in my ankle. When we find the stairs, Carol checks over the railing, glancing up and down the square staircase.
"Dammit, where is he?"
"Who?"
"Jesus," Carol answers. "We got separated. He said he'd meet me by now. We're running out of time."
"So, you're with the Hilltop? Are you guys with the Kingdom, too? You've gotta be."
"Hold on, Oliver, let me think..."
"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I could have helped stop all of this. If I'd just stayed at Hilltop, or the Kingdom—"
"No, Oliver. That's not true." She stares at me, her eyes so pale and wet. "It's my fault. I sent you away. I told you I was going to leave..."
"But you didn't."
"It doesn't matter," she says. "I might as well have. I wasn't there when you needed me."
I frown at her. "Daryl… he said… you'd convince the King to fight."
"He told you that?" she asks, and shakes her head. For several seconds she doesn't speak at all, until finally she says, "I didn't do it. Not in time. I was too late. By the time we got to Alexandria, it was over. The fight was lost. You were already gone."
I shake my head, too confused to speak. Suddenly Carol snatches my hook and pulls me up to the next floor. I realise why when I hear more Saviors coming up the staircase and heading into the floor she found me on.
"Are you here with the rest of Hilltop and the Kingdom?" I ask again when they're gone. "Are they storming the Sanctuary, too?"
"They're outside. Oceanside, too. Creating the diversion. It's just me and Jesus inside," she explains in a whisper. "We didn't have enough nail bombs for more of us, and we didn't have enough dynamite to use for anything more than what's going on outside. But we only have a few minutes left."
"We can't leave Judith or Carl."
She swallows. She turns to me. She hugs me. "I know..." And I know what she means by it. I know what that flicker in her eyes before was, too. She thinks we're not going to make it out of this. And I realise she's right.
"What do we do?" I ask desperately.
"We keep going," she tells me, tears welling. "We find Judith in Negan's headquarters..."
"And then what?"
She stares at me. "We keep trying... until the end. Alright?"
I have to steady my breath.
"Until the end," I say, my voice cracking.
As we climb up the stairs, we hear other residents muttering distantly in the floors we pass, and spot a few leaning out of their corridors. They must think Carol is a Savior taking me somewhere, because none of them look too suspicious as they see us heading on up. They mostly just look scared of the explosions outside.
"What happened?" I have to ask Carol, whispering it breathlessly. "What happened to everyone, after Rick was killed?"
Carol shakes her head, recalling it all in her mind. "The King and his soldiers went back to the Kingdom. Got everyone out. I didn't go with them. I stayed at Alexandria to help with the funeral, for Rick and Sasha and everyone else. We planned a rescue for you three, but… without the resources, it was impossible until now."
"What about the others?" I pant, struggling horribly up the stairs. "Who were traded to Jadis..."
"That was another reason why I stayed," she says. Sweat pours down my face. I have to go much slower than Carol would like. She pulls me under her arm to help me. "After the fight was lost, nobody from Alexandria could risk going to the Junkyard to rescue our people, not with how easily Jadis could report them, so I went alone."
"You what?"
"I tried to save them," she tells me. "But I couldn't. Not all of them. I only managed to get Rosita and Tara out. But the rest of them — Michonne, Aaron, Daryl, Scott, Barb, Francine, Anna, Nora..."
She shakes her head.
"There were helicopters. They'd already landed by the time I arrived. I got Tara and Rosita free, but these soldiers... from the helicopters... they saw us. They started shooting at all of us, even Jadis' people. We couldn't stop them from taking the other eight. We had to run."
It's hard to take it all in. It's hard to cope with the exhaustion and the pain of climbing the stairs. I have to take a break or I'll collapse. I take my inhaler to open up my chest a little more. Carol tells some nosey Sanctuary residents to go back to their rooms. When they're gone, she puts a hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to try and stand again, but I struggle, so she gives me another moment.
"Maggie was leading Hilltop's army to Alexandria the same day Negan attacked you, just like us at Kingdom, but they didn't arrive to help in time either. They got a tip off that Negan was coming for them, too. She got everybody out before the Saviors arrived."
"How did you get tipped off?"
She doesn't answer me because we can hear Saviors coming from a few floors down. By the sounds of them, they found Simon and the bodies Carol nail-bombed and are looking for us both. Carol pulls me to my feet and hurries us another floor up to avoid them.
"I don't think Negan knows Maggie's alive," I tell her breathlessly.
"It's a card to play," Carol says, but I can see it in her eyes that she doubts we will be around to see it. "This way, Oliver… one more flight..."
"Carol," I pant.
She glances at me, her silver eyebrows creasing.
"You said, without resources, coming to rescue us was impossible," I say. "What changed?"
She explains as we climb the stairs: "Another group contacted us, a week ago. Maggie, Enid, and Rosita went and met with them. We were running out of options, with the Saviors breathing down our necks. The new group gave us food, supplies..." She gestures to the nail bomb harness around her neck. "But they couldn't give us any guns. We had to make do. We had to try."
It's hard to understand why she even came here. I start to slow down again. When Carol notices and tries to pull me to hurry up, I stop altogether and shake my head.
"You need to leave," I tell her. "You shouldn't have come here for us."
"Oliver," Carol insists. "You can't give up now—"
I shake my head again. "They're coming for us. Our friends are gone. The rest of you are all fugitives. We're never gonna be safe. We're never gonna find each other again."
She grabs me by each side of my face, forcing me to look her in the eyes.
"I... found you!" she says sternly. "That much is true. And nothing has ever stopped us before, remember?"
As she climbs the stairs, I follow, exhaustedly, thinking of us outside of Terminus, how I told her I was with her then, and how she told me we would save our people as long as we stuck together. And I think of us at the slaughter house, how we told each other the same thing then, too. But she's wrong now. She and I together? It hasn't always been enough. It wasn't enough to save Mika and Lizzie. It wasn't enough to stop her from leaving me at the church, or at Alexandria, or at the Kingdom. She left me. Rick left me once, too. And it ruined me. It keeps on ruining me. And I'm so sick of it. I'm so sick of being left behind. I'm so sick of trusting people to take care of me. I'm so sick of believing I might be worth the trouble.
"Oliver..." Carol says as she reaches the top of the flight of stairs. "I think this is it."
I look up at the door in front of the staircase, which, surprisingly, isn't guarded. Carol helps me up. Breathlessly, we go inside. Negan's headquarters are much cleaner than the rest of the factory floors. It's more decorated, too, with big, leafed, house plants and fancy paintings. We listen for Judith's cries, hoping the explosions outside may have stirred her. We hear noises in a room to the left. Carol pushes the door open. She aims Simon's gun. Negan's wives cower and cry out in fear, hiding behind the liquor cabinet. Carol eyes them all up, frowning.
"Where's the baby?!" she yells.
"Please, don't hurt us," cries Belle, who I recognise from Carl's description; short hair and pale white skin.
"Where is Judith?!" Carol barks.
"She's not up here!" shouts Lanelle, who has long, silky, black hair and brown skin.
Then the loudest explosion of them all goes off. It's so loud the Sanctuary's walls shake when I grip them to stop from falling over.
"What the hell was that?" I ask.
"The last of it," Carol answers. "It's the signal. We're out of time."
"Go," I tell her. "I'll be okay. Just leave."
"What? Weren't you listening? I had my chance to do that already. I'm not gonna leave you. Not this time."
And I glare at her, filled with so much rage that I don't know how to speak at all. I just shake my head and panic like a child, and before I can think of anything to do or say, a door slams open somewhere back out through the corridor. It sounded like it came from the stairwell. Carol snatches one of Negan's wives —Tanya, I think, from Carl's description of her freckly, olive skin and wavy black hair— and uses her as a body shield, aiming Simon's gun at her temple.
Then Negan turns into the room, his bat on his shoulder and a myriad of Saviors behind him.
"Drop the gun, lady!" one shouts.
Carol pulls Tanya closer, and aims her gun at Negan and his crowd of Saviors. I grab her arm to stop her. She sees why, too, because standing behind Negan, among the Saviors, is Carl, stepping into view with Judith propped on his hip.
Negan grins. "You wouldn't hurt my baby, now, would you?"
Carol drops to her knees, tossing the gun aside.
Tanya rushes away from her, into Sherry's arms.
"You alright, Tan?" Negan asks.
"I'm fine..."
Negan glares at Carol again. "What in the fuck is all this about then?"
A slow, exhausted sigh leaves her lips.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her eyes on me and me only. "I'm just so sorry..."
Negan marches towards us.
"A fucking tiger!?" he asks her furiously. He shifts his eyes to me, then snatches me by the arm and pushes me aside. "I'll deal with you later..."
Terrified, I look at Carl, who's mouth is open in horror, clinging around Judith's middle. Negan props his bat in his hand and before I can even scream, he sends it through the space between Carol's shoulders. She's flung several feet forward, crying out in agony as she hits the side of the coffee table, spilling several glasses of alcohol and causing them to smash against the cement floor.
Negan raises the bat again, higher this time.
And I don't think of anything. Anything at all in the world except for Carol as I throw myself between her and Negan. I beg. I beg him to spare her, because she's my family. Because…
"She's my mom!"
And Negan just smiles.
"Never stopped me before, kiddo..."
He tries to wrench me aside again but I fight, violently, staggering onto my side against Carol as she lies there in pain. I put my arm around her and I raise my prosthetic in surrender and I beg for Negan to believe me when I say that the Sanctuary is home to me now, when I tell him that I'll do anything to make a life here, to make a future with him and Carl and Judith and the Saviors, like he said he wanted me to, and it must work because Negan watches me, his face lined in anger but something else, too.
He's contemplating something.
He looks at Carl, and at Judith fussing in his arms.
He looks at me again.
"Carl told me something about you today," he says to me, unwinding his grimace. "He said you used to have faith in people, but then something happened to you some time ago, something Rick did to you, that ended that. I didn't believe him. I see the way you look at me for what I did to that man. I see your hatred, and your rage. But I think I'm startin' to get it now. I see it so clearly in your face."
And he looks into my face now, and I don't know what my expression must be telling him, but it makes him nod.
"You hated Rick. I'd even say that you hated him as much as you hate me. He killed a spark in you. He burned your flame to smoke. And now this woman, that boy, and that little girl are all you have left in the world. So I won't kill your mom." He grins down at me. "You remember what we talked about? Leverage?"
He gives out a breathless chuckle.
"Yeah," he says, "that's why I won't kill her..."
I just stare up at him, feeling Carol's broken body shuddering underneath my hand, wishing I could stop existing. Negan crouches, so that he can look at Carol's face. She's breathing shallow and fast, tears streaming down her bright-red face. As she turns her head to look at him, the vein in her temple pulses.
"Your King is dead," Negan tells her, in a low, almost sympathetic voice. "So is his stupid cat. And our Lord and Savior, Jesus... though not before he managed to kill one of my henchmen! Which you will pay for, right alongside Simon's life, which you also took!"
Negan turns away. Carol shuts her eyes, a haggard hiccup rattling in her broken chest. I pick myself off her a little to kneel by her side, trying to tell if she can move at all.
"Dwight!" Negan shouts, his face set like cement. Dwight comes out of the crowd of Saviors. "Get her down to solitary! Find Dr. Carson and make sure he doesn't let her fucking die on me! Someone else, clean all this mess up! And finally, the rest of you, get your asses downstairs, now! We're celebrating!"
The Saviors cheer. Dwight takes Carol away, carrying her in his arms. I want to go with her as they turn off along another floor but Negan brings me with him and everyone else further downstairs through the factory. After several floors of limping against my crutch, I see, to my horror, Jesus, slumped dead against a wall with a bullet hole through his chest. Gavin is lying across from him, his neck broken.
As we pass them both by, Negan shoots each of them through the head one at a time, to prevent their reanimation. I flinch. Carl doesn't look at them or at me, but just keeps all of his face still, except for his eye, which twitches with each gunshot. Judith tucks herself closer to his chest, hiding her face in his shirt.
Bodies are being brought in from outside the fences. I recognise some, like Natania, Oceanside's leader, shot in the head with her face down in the dust, and Ezekiel, being lifted from a pool of his own blood and tied to a free space against a fence in the inner pen, and Shiva, too, being prodded at by some curious Saviors. There are other bodies. Two dozen of them or so. At least half the soldiers from the communities, all shot dead beyond the Sanctuary fences, caught manning the outside diversion bombs, I guess. All dead in an effort to get the three of us out of here.
Were we really worth that much to them?
"String them up, people!" Negan cheers. "But save the tiger! I need a new rug."
The Saviors' cheers erupt even louder than they were before. They get to work in organising the bodies in the walker pen, or otherwise burning them outside the Sanctuary. Even Negan steps in help out and celebrate, passing around spilling cups of alcohol that the old distiller and his son have prepared.
And I stand here, beside Carl and Judith, and together the three of us just stare blankly out across the dusty factory courtyard, totally alone.
How this used to feel so far and free
Now these broken souls are all I see
Fists have fallen to our side
We may cry alone, I feel we know where all of this is headed
But my mama said
Keep all your dreams, keep standing tall
If you are strong you cannot fall
There is a voice inside us all
So smile when you can
When you can
If you cannot, oh!
There is more to you and me
There is more than they can see
I'm on your side
There is more out there
And somebody cares 'bout you
I do
Give me morning
When you're gone to yourself...
Notes:
Song was 'Stand Tall' by Childish Gambino. Used a little inspo for Simon and Oliver's dialogue in the infirmary from issue 139 from the comic which was originally between Alpha and Carl.
RIP Simon: although that's not the end of his arc yet.
I feel like I'm missing things, so do share if there are loop holes I haven't addressed. Some will be on purpose like the Dr. Carson thing, but others I will have just forgotten about or not noticed. Like for instance, I realised recently that Judith was supposed to be at Hilltop during the fight at Alexandria against the Saviors and the Scavengers, so in this AU she should have never really been kidnapped, but oh well, artistic lisence. I forgot it in the og fanfic, too, as I mentioned it in one chapter then contradicted it in the next, oops. This AU needs her for act two and three anyway. Still, how cool would Coalition-Judith be? She'd probably be similar to show-Judith tbh, considering she'd get raised by Maggie, Tara, Rosita, and the rest – with kindness, in contrast to this fic; being raised around the Saviors… (which I look forward to seeing opinions on in later acts when she's a preteen.)
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 6: I: Solitary Confinement
Summary:
Oliver is punished for attempting to escape with Carol. Carl is used to gain information from him. Oliver is grappling with his resentment towards his family.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kid ~
One time, back in Georgia, at Gabriel's church, Oliver told me I was an optimist. I thought it was an insult until he explained that it wasn't, and it's only now that I wish I could have appreciated how easily the feeling of hope used to come to me. Now, hope is like a stranger, or a blocked off door.
I haven't been allowed to see Oliver since the attack, the day before last, when he was taken to solitary confinement. Ever since, he and Carol have been undergoing constant interrogations for information about the remaining survivors, or the Coalition, as Negan keeps calling it.
Still, Negan hasn't found any of them since the attack. Nobody can find out how they got around the patrols, or managed to set up all those explosives outside the Sanctuary to create the diversion. Negan's been tightening things to a squadron of Saviors per square mile, across the north of Virginia, at all hours of the day and night; constant groups moving between posts to keep the Coalition from predicting who might be going where and when.
The Sanctuary feels pretty quiet with so many less Saviors around inside, even if there are still enough to make up an army's worth in case there is another attack here. Oddly enough, despite it all, the Saviors seem in higher spirits than ever. I guess all it really takes is knowing that a King is dead to feel like a war has really been won. Negan's rein seems truly supreme.
It's not easy to hide my unhappiness. Negan notices that I don't smile when I play with Judith anymore, and that I don't try to talk very much to him or anyone, but he seems to prefer me this way. I guess, to him, it means I'm falling in line. And I guess, yeah... that's exactly what I'm doing.
"Oliver's not giving much up," Negan says one morning, after summoning me to his room. I stand by the door uncomfortably, avoiding the sitting area, while he sits in the middle of the room on a stool to allow Dwight to use a barber's blade and foam to shave him — against the grain. Negan examines his work through a small hand-mirror, then uses its reflection to look at me. He smiles. "Only things I already know."
I don't say anything. We've had this conversation before.
"Now, I know, I know," he says, reading my face. "You don't think he would lie — to you, sure. But to me? I'll bet. Which is why I need a favour from you, kid."
So I listen to his request.
Negan and I make our way several floors down, to solitary confinement, which is in a place in the Sanctuary that only assigned guards and higher-ranking Saviors are allowed. It smells like urine and ammonia. This floor used to be some of the admin offices for the factory, I guess. A few of the offices have been turned into prison cells, with window-walls reinforced with bars that look out into the corridor, while the solitary confinement cells are at the far end of the zig-zagging corridors, where the rest of the factory can't hear their screams, I guess. The confinement rooms are separate, refurbished bathrooms. In each, the toilet, sink, and plumbing have been removed, the piping sealed over, leaving just a small, empty, rectangular room painted a dark, matt grey that peels under the black mould growing up from the skirting boards.
"I know you said you wanted me to hang back..." Negan whispers to me as we head to the end of the corridor, "but, thing is, I really want to listen in, so… request denied."
I know I won't change his mind, so I take the key when he hands it to me and watch him go and sit on a chair across the corridor. I go to Oliver's confinement room door, which has a label on it reading 'SCR: four' and unlock it when Negan gives me two thumbs up.
As the door creaks open, light from the corridor behind me shines across Oliver's face, and he flinches, hiding his eyes behind his arms. His back is to the wall, his good knee up to his chest. I crouch next to him, acutely aware of Negan watching me from across the office, so I shuffle closer to cut off some of his view a little.
"Oliver," I whisper softly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light, "it's me..."
He looks at me like a spooked animal, pupils pin pricks, lips chapped, his face a sickly, greyish colour. His cast leg thumps the wall as he moves to grab me into a hug and he whimpers from the pain. The bandage on his arm is ragged, not changed since he's been here, but otherwise he doesn't look beaten or bruised, and there are no other signs of physical torture or punishment, like I'd feared there would be. Still, though, Negan is clearly with-holding his food, like he has to me for my first few days here, because he feels much more fragile under my palms than he should, considering he's more or less the same size as me.
"Jesus, Carl… what are you doing here?"
I hug him tighter, tripping forward a little onto my knees.
"Negan… let me come s...s... let me come talk to you."
I'm careful to use the word 'let', like Negan had told me to. That was all he asked, though, in terms of what he wanted me to say specifically, and said that the rest of what I spoke about with Oliver would be up to me, whatever I wanted. He said to let things come naturally. But I know what he really means. He thinks I can get more information out of him. Something that Negan and his interrogators couldn't. And I only agreed to it because he promised it would get Oliver out of here faster.
Oliver isn't a boy meant for a cage.
If he were a parrot in a zoo, he'd be the type to pull out all his feathers.
"I'm s...s-o sorry," I say, finally pulling away.
"Carl..." he mutters, "they have Carol somewhere, they're hurting her…"
I glance around to the other confinement rooms, wondering which one she is inside of, wondering if she's listening to us.
"When can we get out of here?" Oliver asks.
"I don't know," I answer. "S...s-oon — once Negan knows there's nothing left that you haven't told him."
Oliver watches me. He frowns.
"Is there?" I ask him.
"No," he says, in a high pitched whine, like he's had to say the word a million times before to no avail. I put my hand gently to his chest, so that he knows I'm listening to him, so he knows he doesn't have to be afraid of me. "Carl, I already told them everything I know."
"Carol didn't talk about the Coalition?"
"I don't know anything about a Coalition," he answers frantically.
"Carol didn't say where they g...g-ot the tools to make the nail bombs, or the dynamite?"
He shakes his head again and says, "No..."
I look into his eyes, trying to tell if he's being truthful, but it's like I'm being locked out.
"Everything happened so quickly," he goes on, listing off on his fingers. "Carol found me., we went upstairs to find Jude, and then you guys came and found us. I wanted to ask her, about everything. But we didn't have time to talk at all... about anything."
I sit back, resting my shoulder against the door frame.
"I believe you," I lie.
Oliver doesn't look at me, so I glance to the side a little. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Negan slouched on a couch across the office with his head rested back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling with a disappointed and bored look on his face. Though, I must not have done anything wrong, because he isn't intervening. I sigh and look at Oliver again.
"Why didn't you just go with her?" I ask him, out of my own curiosity. "She and Jesus got in w...w-ithout anybody spotting them. You and her could have made it out... if you hadn't g...g-one looking for Judith."
"Would you have done that?" he asks, and I open my mouth to answer him, already shaking my head, but he cuts me off before I find the words. "I wouldn't have left you both behind..."
And I watch him again, only this time I know it's the truth because his eyes tell me so, clear as day, until he shuts me out again. He glares down at his cast leg.
"You're angry," I say.
And instantly Oliver glares at me and says, "Of course I am..."
I don't say anything, because I know who he's angry at. He's angry at me, and he's angry at Negan, and he's angry at the Saviors. Probably in that order most to least. My chest hurts — that same, shameful ache.
"I wish she hadn't come," Oliver whispers, out of nowhere, so quietly I barely catch it, so quietly that nobody further away than me could even try to hear. "I wish she had just stayed gone this time."
I blink at him, realising he's talking about Carol.
"You don't mean that..." I say.
He wipes his eyes and clenches his teeth, so that the muscles in his jaw ripple violently. "Maybe I don't… I don't know what I think… I just... don't understand why she couldn't do it this time. The one time she should have, and she didn't. And it didn't prove anything. It didn't take it back, not any of the other times I've been left behind. Not one."
I wait a moment, watching the anger in his face.
"I know how it effected you, wh...wh-at my dad did to you," I tell him. "I know he left you to those Claimers to save me, and—"
"I can't believe you told him," Oliver hisses, and I see with my own eye the goosebumps rise across his arms and neck. "It's supposed to be private..."
I stare at him, feeling terrible. "I'm sorry... I didn't m...m-ean — I know I shouldn't have. I apologise. I really do."
Oliver grimaces. "Negan's just looking for ways to make you hate him, you know? Ways to make us hate your dad more than we hate him, and it's working."
I don't say anything, out of fear of what Negan would do if I did. Oliver looks away from me. Quickly, I check what Negan is doing out the corner of my eye again. He's watching us, but still not interfering, so I look at Oliver and say, carefully, "You shouldn't blame Carol..."
He almost laughs at me, like he thinks I'm not aware of the irony in my advice. I don't tell him I am aware of it. He looks away from me, shaking my head.
"We've lost so much," I tell him, "but you said it yourself... Carol's family. And you can't just throw that away? My p...p-arents are both dead, and Michonne… she's gone now. At least Carol is still here. At least she's alive."
Oliver wipes his face again, but doesn't speak to me. I put my elbows on my knees and watch him, thinking about what I told Negan while we were out fishing, about how Oliver used to believe in people, but found it harder to after what my dad did to him. And now he's losing faith in Carol as well, and I start to think that maybe he's losing faith in me, too, and I start to think that maybe it's what I deserve.
"You were right," I tell him. "Negan is changing me. And even if I'm not changing him, even if it's all just mind g...g-ames and tricks, I'm still going to do everything I can to protect you and Judy. Nothing's changing that. I'm sorry."
Oliver shakes his head. "For what?"
"For not turning into the p...p-erson you thought I was."
He looks at me, sniffing. "Carl..."
Suddenly Negan gets up. The sound of him moving off the couch stops Oliver from talking and as Negan steps into Oliver's view, behind me, Oliver doesn't seem as surprised to see him as I thought he would.
"That's plenty enough time for today's chit-chat, I think," Negan announces.
I try to tell from Oliver's eyes if he knew Negan was there all along, but I don't get a chance to because Negan takes the keys from me and waves Oliver goodbye, telling him to sit tight and that this will all be back to normal again soon, and as the door shuts closed between us, Oliver has only three words for me.
"Be careful, man..."
Notes:
Disclaimers: Violence will not be romanticised in this fic. Negan will go ham, obviously, but I do not have any desire to write him in a likeable light through it. I also have no desire to write Oliver or Carl as human-turned-into-monster protagonists in any way, either, because in contrast to Negan, I want them to be easy to like. So their plight in this AU will be strictly survivors guilt and forced/coerced complacency at most, which, I realise, is still quiet terrible, but at least not wilful. I realise that Carl's already gone through the child-turned-murderer-turned-moral-compass character development, which is another reason I feel the need to just leave that arc there, where it belongs.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 7: I: May My Mercy Prevail
Summary:
Oliver's anxiety is out of control after his time in solitary, and he and Carl are beginning to learn how to adapt their relationship to their new circumstances. Carol's punishment is served, and in the meantime, Dwight has a scheme.
Notes:
Added CW: Prescription sedative use.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kiddo ~
In the evening, I'm finally let out of solitary confinement and taken back to the infirmary. I'm given a warm meal —the first food I've had in two days— and I'm able to wash myself, too, but the shaking still doesn't go away, or the pain in my chest, as if my heart might give out in any moment. I wasn't beaten or even hurt during my time in solitary. Not once. But I know that Carol was. Sometimes I could hear it. Sometimes, when it would finally end, and Negan and his Saviors would leave for a while, all I could hear from her solitary room was the sound of her sobbing. We weren't allowed to speak to each other. The only time we tried, she was punished for it.
During the night, I don't sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. Every bump or whisper or footstep makes me jump, and at one point I begin to throw up violently for what seems like no reason at all, so Dr. Carson gives me some pills to help, and at first I think they aren't helping at all, because I'm still sweating and hyperventilating and having to force these horrible, terrifying thoughts out of my head, over and over, until they suddenly do begin to help because I realise I feel like I'm turning into soft putty from the inside out, and it's hard to worry about anything at all anymore, and so I sleep, finally, and I don't wake up once for the rest of the night or for most of the next morning. I don't even dream.
When I do wake up, Dr. Carson hands me a bowl of oatmeal and I ask him if he has any more of the pills he gave me last night. He frowns thoughtfully.
"Are you feeling anxious still?" he asks, and I nod, so he goes to his cupboard of medicine and pops a pill from one of the boxes. He hands it to me and says, "I'll get you water."
"Last night you gave me three."
"Last night you were in the middle of a panic attack. A bad one, at that. Right now, you get one."
I put it in my mouth and wait for him to hand me a glass of water to swallow it with. Dr. Carson begins collecting my inhalers, my prosthetic, and some of the books he's been letting me read into a plastic bag. When I ask why, he explains I'm moving in with Carl. He helps me dress into some clothes, then carries my plastic bag of belongings for me while I use my crutch to walk. It's a slow journey up to Carl's room, which is a few floors below Negan's headquarters where other Sanctuary civilians and Saviors sleep.
When we arrive, I see that Carl's is a room not built for two teenage boys and a baby to sleep in, but a dreary, little, box room barely big enough for one single bed. Wedged in, somehow, is Judith's cot, a small, wooden chair, and a nightstand, that each fills almost all the remaining space so that there's just enough room for one person to stand on the square foot of free space left, where Carl is standing now to greet me.
"Hi," he says.
"Hey, man."
Dr. Carson hovers at the door, going over again the rules about how I need to take care of my healing leg and arm, until finally he leaves and Carl, Judith, and I are alone together. I shuffle across the room and put my plastic bag on the chair. Carl sits on the bed to make room for me to look around.
"It'll b...b-e cramped," he says, "but at least we'll be... together."
I don't say anything. I just sit beside him and lean back against the wall to look around the closet-sized room. There's a tiny window next to the bed, letting in a little daylight. Judith mumbles at us from her cot.
"Oliver?" Carl says.
I look at him, at his eye, which is when I realise he's anxious. I frown, confused.
"You don't have to s...s-tay in here with me," he explains, "n...n-ot if you don't want to."
I blink at him. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"N...n-o," he says, quickly. "Are you? With me?"
I shake my head.
"Oh. I thought… w...w-ell, you're being quiet. Usually I'm the quiet one."
I notice this, too. "I think it's just the medicine."
"Medicine?"
I nod to him, then look out the window. There's not much to see except dust and fog and faint figures moving down in the courtyard, as well as the strung up walkers in the guard pen, if I squint. I think of Ezekiel and Jesus down there, forever hungry, and turn back to Carl again. He is a much more pleasant sight to behold. The only thought I really have is that he looks very familiar and comforting.
I ask him, "Are you okay?"
He nods. "Yeah. Are you?"
"I missed you," I tell him.
And I see the relief in his face, how it softens his expression and loosens his shoulders. I take his hand in mine. And I don't even have to try not to think about how I lied to his face yesterday. I don't even have to comfort myself by reminding myself that I did it to protect him from Negan, and to protect Carol, and to protect myself from all of them. I don't even have to think about how I might have even been doing it to protect the Coalition, for all I knew, and instead I just listen to Carl's voice as he tells me, "I love you."
I hug him, tucking my chin deep against his collar as I say back, "Ti amo, al di la."
He sighs into my hair.
"I don't care about the man you think I'm expecting you to be," I whisper to him. "All I care about is that it is you, and me... protecting Judith… until the end."
And I kiss him.
And this kiss is like our kisses always are.
I don't have to lie about that.
By the afternoon, I regret not pushing Dr. Carson harder for those second and third pills, because it's around that time when I notice the medicine has worn off, because the fear has come back to me at full-force. Just sitting in our room, trying to play with Judith, quietly and calmly, all I can think about is Carol, and the Coalition, and all the horrible lies webbing up between Carl and I.
Carl begins to notice this, too, and takes over reading a picture book to Judith for me that Lanelle gave to us. He struggles, with his stutter, but Judith is so used to him that she's never had an issue patiently letting him read at his own pace.
I almost manage to calm down again.
Almost.
Until Negan comes to find us, stepping into the room without knocking.
"Gonna need you downstairs in half an hour, boys."
"Both of us?" Carl asks.
"Absolutely, both of you," Negan says, pulling on a pair of black, leather gloves. "And don't ask me what for, 'cause it's a surprise. Especially for you, kiddo," he adds to me with a wink.
He leaves, and it's hard for me to be sure that my heart isn't just somehow pumping from inside my throat itself. Carl is quick to grab our shoes. He puts Judith on his hip. Feeling like rigid stone, I follow him with my crutch out into the corridor. We realise that the rest of the Sanctuary, more or less, must've been summoned to the ground floor, too, because a large crowd of them are heading downstairs as well.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"I don't kn...kn-ow," Carl answers, propping Judith higher on his hip. His father's Colt Python catches the light on his other side as he turns to me and says, "but I have a bad feeling..."
We make our way downstairs through the factory. Carl seems to know his way around by now. But in any case, it isn't difficult to follow the crowd. Eventually, we're leaving the stairwell out into the large open factory ground floor. My leg hurts badly, but I'm used to it by now. What I'm having most difficulty is the adrenaline pumping through my skin, and the anxious sweating, and the feeling like I might yack right here across the cement floor.
Finally downstairs, we go through the main area where the Sanctuary's lower-class residents live. It sort of looks like a large, loud market, with tall curtains dividing each residents' sleeping quarters from their working space, all doing odd things to participate like trading home-made soaps, hair care lotions, herbal medicines, shaving cream, tailoring clothes, and so on. Past that though, at the far end of the factory, is where everyone is gathering. The dust from so many people crammed around makes me cough and use my inhaler. It's hot down here, too. I can just make out a furnace chimney at the back, if I rise up on my tiptoes.
Suddenly, Carl grabs my hook and stops me from walking any further.
I look at him. "What? What is it?"
He doesn't answer me. He just hugs Judith close to his chest with the arm he isn't using to hold me back. He's shaking. I can hear the rattle of him in the mechanics of my prosthetic hook. Just then, there's a loud, quick whistle from above. We both turn our heads. Negan is standing up on the catwalk with Dwight, who's jaw is clenched. Eugene is up there, too, looking nervous, as well as Regina and Arat, who both look bored.
"There you are, boys!" Negan calls to us, beaming happily. "Get on up here with me. We'll get you a good view!"
Carl only hesitates for a second before he moves off through the crowd towards them, creating a wake big enough for me to follow with my crutch. My leg pangs painfully as I make my way up the spiral catwalk. Eugene comes over to help me. I'd shake him off if I wouldn't fall and break my neck as a consequence. Awkwardly, Eugene nods to me and goes back to where he'd been standing. I meet Negan with Carl and Judith, by the railing. Negan smiles at us, and trains his eyes down to the factory floor below so that we look as well. When I do, I regret it.
Carol is sitting on a wooden chair beside the furnace.
I grip the catwalk railing, all my breath leaving me. Her face is bruised. She isn't wearing a shirt. Instead her torso is wrapped completely in discoloured bandages, but I can still see how one of her shoulders is bent at an odd angle from where she was hit by Negan's bat.
I turn around and glare at him. Suddenly it's hard to hold back the urge to spit at him. The only thing that stops me is the fact that my mouth is dry like sandpaper.
"Surprise," he purrs, leaning against the railing beside me. "This is Carol's punishment, for murdering Simon, and causing Gavin to die, and most importantly… for putting you at risk. See, there are two things I will never tolerate, kiddo: Harming a child... and rape."
I watch him, trembling and unable to stop the tears from rolling down my face.
"I don't care how much you think you hate me," Negan tells me, in a quiet, rumbling voice. "But I do care that you know... that I will always have that over Rick. I will always protect you better than he ever did. I promise you that."
And without another word to me, he turns to Dwight and hands him a pair of protective gloves. Dwight dips his head a tiny bit, then puts the gloves on and steps off towards the stairs. As he goes down, Gregory pushes past him and bumbles his way up the stairs, mumbling Negan's name and waving a handful of small, wrinkled, pieces of paper.
"Ah," Negan says, "Greg... was wondering where you'd run off to."
"I need to speak with you urgently, sir!"
"Can't it wait? You're kinda ruining the surprise."
"I think you'll want to hear this," Gregory insists, pushing the pieces of paper into Negan's hands. Begrudgingly, Negan reads them. His face pulls together from a grin into a harsh grimace, then he snatches Gregory by the collar and pulls him close to him.
"Where did you get this shit?" he hisses quietly, and I can't hear Gregory's answer because he whispers it into Negan's ear.
Dwight, who had paused to watch them, now goes on down the stairs and out along the floor through the crowd. He glances back once as he reaches the furnace, then turns to stand in front of Carol. She watches him, slumped there on the chair, looking exhausted. I'm leaning right over the catwalk to see. Carl has his fist closed into the back of my shirt, maybe to comfort me, or to stop me from toppling over the railing altogether.
Dwight goes to the furnace.
With a pair of blacksmith's tongs, he picks up an iron from the flames.
Glowing red.
And he carries it over to Carol.
"Hold it!" Negan shouts.
Dwight stops short of Carol's face, close enough that I can see the sweat on her skin reflecting the glowing red metal.
"Seems we have a change of plan!" Negan bellows, holding up the wrinkled notes Gregory had handed him. "It seems that the late-Simon was in the early stages of planning a coup with the Coalition... against me."
Murmurs ripple across the factory floor, their hundred, dusty faces frowning around at each other in confusion and shock.
"That's right, folks," Negan tells everyone, his voice booming, "Simon was behind the attacks! I have the evidence right here. See, I didn't think to search ol' Sigh's room. I trusted him. And I've been a little busy. But good little Gregory the snake here —and trust me, I mean that as a compliment— went rooting around just in time for me to save this sorry woman's face..."
The crowd grumbles in disappointment.
"Now, now!" Negan shouts at them. "I am a reasonable leader. I have mercy. And I give punishment where punishment is due. I'm not gonna melt this woman's face off after she helped me, even if it wasn't her intention to do so in the first place. Fair is fair. And she deserves a reward for her services to me, for ending a threat, so I didn't have to."
He goes down the stairs. The crowd parts for him to get through to the furnace, where he motions Dwight to set the iron aside. Negan stands before Carol, spreading his legs a few inches and bending forward to look into her eyes.
"Do not mistake my mercy for weakness," he tells her, clearly and loudly enough for the factory to hear. "You are still a criminal. You rampaged my Sanctuary, you tried to kidnap my children, and so for now and always you are going to be punished for those crimes. And so, as compromise between this small paradox, I grant to you… a choice."
He stands tall again.
"Kneel to me," he tells her, "and you will be my prisoner for the rest of your life, with your own cell, and perhaps a nice cleaning job to keep you busy."
His face grows dark and hard.
"And if you choose not to kneel," he says, "then you will rot in solitary confinement for the remainder of your days. No sunlight. No food. No water. Only darkness. And cold. And silence."
He watches her.
He smiles.
"I'm giving you an opportunity, Carol. Choose wisely."
She stands up weakly when he motions her to.
She stares at him, tears falling down her face.
She looks at me, far away up on the catwalk.
And she kneels.
Dr. Carson doesn't argue with me when I ask for a few more pills that evening. Still, the medicine only helps for so long. At bedtime, Judith falls asleep the moment she's tucked in, and Carl tries his best to stay up with me for a while, comforting me after today, but passes out from exhaustion some time after midnight. I can't lie still, so I sit up with my feet over the side of the bed while Carl lies asleep behind me with his back pressed against the wall for space.
Wind bangs against the little window beside me, signalling a rainstorm that's picking up outside. I try not to think about Carol, and how worried I am and how scared I feel, and I wish Dr. Carson was around so I could ask for more medicine, but I know that even if I go to the infirmary this time of night he'll be asleep in his own room somewhere else.
I have to wipe my face. I don't know why I can't stop crying. It's not normal crying either. I'm not breathing fast anymore, or sobbing, or scrunching up my face. It's like there's a hidden, crying person trapped under my skin, while on the outside I'm just wiping away the tears.
Eventually, I decide it doesn't matter if Dr. Carson isn't in the infirmary during the night. The medicine I need will be there, at least. Dr. Carson will understand, if I explain I needed it when I next see him. Carefully, I stand, but the bed is so narrow that the shift of weight wakes Carl up. He asks where I'm going.
"Nowhere. Go back to sleep."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," I say, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder for him. He turns around to face the wall. I start to shiver, so I find a sweater in the small pile of clothes that one of the housekeepers left on the chair. I put it on, then busy myself putting the rest of the clothes in a neat pile under our bed. It's hard to tell if Carl is really asleep yet, so I limp over to the door. He doesn't turn to look at me, so I assume he's passed out again.
As I twist the doorknob, I half expect it to be locked, or for a Savior to be keeping guard outside, but the door opens and the corridor is empty when I lean out of it. It occurs to me that I don't actually know which way the infirmary is. Not well, at least.
I curse to myself under my breath, giving up on finding my medicine.
Keeping my cast leg straight and unbumped, I slide my back down the door frame and sit on the cold, lino floor, pulling my oversized sweater over my knee to keep myself warm. In one ear, I listen to Carl and Judith's sleep noises from our room, and in my other, I listen to the slow draft noises whistling along the corridor from the windy weather outside.
I don't know how long I sit here thinking about Carol and Negan and Rick, but at some point I'm so engrossed by intrusive thoughts about them, and memories about the Claimers, and Paula, Molly, and 'Chelle in the slaughter house those few months ago, that I jump violently when when I hear footsteps echoing along the corridor towards me.
Dwight turns the corner, stopping suddenly when he spots me. My heart kicks around under my ribcage. I expect him to shout at me and tell me to get to bed, but he just comes over, calmly. Some fabric is folded in his hand. He stops a few feet away from me, where there's a small bench against the wall. He sits on it, gesturing his head for me to join him. I get up, checking up and down the corridor, and then, leaving my crutch, I limp over to sit beside him.
He hands me the folded fabric.
I open it and hold it up to look.
Two tattered angel wings hover in the dimness before me, so pale they almost glow.
Daryl's waist coat.
"Took it from Simon's things," Dwight says quietly, careful to check along the corridor for eves-droppers, "after what happened. I couldn't find the katana, though. Someone else must'a taken it. I'm sorry."
"You're… giving it to me?"
Dwight picks at the skin on his thumbnail, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. "Figured you could… maybe give it back to him… one day..."
I watch him, searching for what he's trying to say.
If he's trying to tell me anything at all.
And Dwight looks at me and says, "I know you know more than you're saying..."
The panic eats me. I glare at him. During my interrogations, I got pretty good at glaring and waiting to see what evil thing would be done to me. Another skipped meal, maybe, or another beating for Carol. Perhaps he'll take our mattress, or try to blackmail me, or use me for information like Negan tried to make Carl do to me, because I knew about that, just like I know how twisted the rest of this place is. So twisted that you can't help but turn a little twisted with it, too.
And then Dwight tells me, "You were right, before. I am still on your side."
I have to spend a moment taking what he's saying in. I look at Daryl's waistcoat, hugging it gently to my chest, and then I look at Dwight again and I say, "You framed Simon. The notes Negan read out, they were—"
"From the Coalition," he whispers, "to me."
"But you were going to burn Carol's face."
"I cut it a little close," he admits. "Gregory ended up needing a few more nudges in the right direction than I though, to find the evidence I planted in Simon's room. But he got there in the end, at least. And, I mean, it wasn't all a total lie. Simon was planning a coup."
"He was?"
Dwight shrugs. "It was fragile. I'm sure you saw how unpredictable he was."
I nod, wincing a little. "So, it was you who tipped Hilltop and Kingdom off? You're the reason they escaped, and got Oceanside away in time, too?"
He shrugs. "Managed to walkie-talkie Maggie and Ezekiel, something encrypted. They did the hard part of doing somethin' about it, gettin' their people gone in time..."
I watch him.
And I ask, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why any of it? Why frame Simon now? It's all over. There's nothing left to fight for."
Dwight shakes his head, like the answer is obvious.
In my silence, he says, "To save Carol."
I don't want to thank him, so I don't, and he doesn't ask me to.
"Only, kinda sucks that Negan rewarded Gregory by appointing him as Alexandria's new leader," he tells me, quietly. "It was working well for the Coalition having Eric and Gabriel be in charge over there. Things'll be harder for them now to get around him."
"If you've been helping the Coalition, why did the rescue mission for us go so badly?"
Dwight rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "After how the battle at Alexandria went, I lost a lot of your people's trust. They didn't tell me about the attack on the Sanctuary. I wish they had. I could have helped. I could have told them Carl and Judith were at the lake with Negan."
I grimace.
"Look, I get it, alright?" Dwight whispers. "Why would they trust me, after what happened with the Scavengers... but I'm trying my best here. I'm keeping Negan off their trail, aren't I? Off Gabriel and Eric's at Alexandria, too? And I've been working my ass off trying to find the rest of your people this whole time, the ones who were traded."
I glare at the floor, shrugging. "What good will it do?"
Dwight sighs. "We're trying to get you, Carl, Judith, Carol... out of here. We're trying to get you all somewhere safe, somewhere you can be together. The end goal is to get all of us far away from this place."
I have to wipe my face, unable to stop the crying, still.
"But it's going to take time," he tells me. "Things are too fragile to risk telling anybody about this yet. I'm only telling you because I've seen how good you are at keeping secrets. Better than anyone knows — even Negan. Even Carl. The Coalition, your friends, will need someone like you. Are you with them? Are you with us?"
I stare at him, suspicion creasing my eyebrows up. "How do I know you're not just another one of Negan's tricks?"
Dwight sits back, sighing and shaking his head.
Finally he answers me.
"Because I'm like you, Oliver," he admits, picking at his fingers in his lap. "I'm stuck here, for one thing… someone I love."
"Who?"
"My wife — Sherry."
"Negan's..."
Dwight nods, a grimace curling his lip.
"I'm trapped," he tells me. "Just like you. And one day I want all of us to get out of here, together, somewhere safe. Right now, it's all about making sure that safe place exists, for long enough for us to finally get there."
And I look into his face and I think of all the things that have happened to me since I got here, less than a whole month ago. I think about how Carl told Negan I was losing hope in people, and I think about how it's true, even though I wish he hadn't told him, even though I wish it weren't true at all.
"Take a leap of faith, Oliver," Dwight says.
I breathe deep.
And I say, "Okay."
Notes:
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 8: I: Over My Wrath
Summary:
Carl meets an old friend at the Office outpost. A scouting mission at a local gas station goes terribly wrong.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Kid ~
I remember him, my dad, smiling at me across the dining room while I cleaned some of Oceanside's guns. Michonne, Judith, and Oliver were upstairs. Dad's axe was laying next to me on the table. He took it in his fist, and as turned away from me, the stainless-steel head scraped against the varnished wood-top.
"Would you have done it?" I asked him. "Cut off m...m-y arm?"
D ad slid t he handle t hrough the gap between his jeans and his belt, then drew his Colt Python and opened its cylinder to check its bullets were loaded . He snapped the cylinder shut.
"I don't know," he answered.
"Could you do it now? If you had to?"
Dad's forehead creased up, the same way it always did when he was distressed. He watched me rise from my chair to face him.
"'Cause it could happen again," I warned him, gently, for his sake. "Something like—"
"Stop..." Michonne said, as she stepped of the staircase into the living space. Oliver was behind her, carrying Judith on his hip. I tried to tell them that we were being naive, acting so confident, that something like what happened after the line-up or worse could happen again when the Saviors arrived to Alexandria's gates, but Michonne spoke over me. "No. Not again. And I don't want you talking about it. I don't want you to think about it. We weren't ready for them then, but we are now. And there's nothing left but beating them — but winning this. Making them regret they ever crossed us... just before they die."
She watched me, sternly, and shook her head.
"Don't fantasise about failing, Carl... put everything into winning, and we'll make it real."
I looked into her eyes. I saw how much she believed her own words, or wanted to, so I nodded to her.
And I said, "Okay."
And Dad said it, too, "Okay," casting a glance to Oliver, who avoided his eye contact, but still pursed his lips and nodded politely in agreement. Michonne gave me a satisfied smirk and pushed her fingers through my hair, pulling me into her arms. She kissed my cheek. She felt so warm.
"Okay," she said, regarding my dad with a smile. "So let's go get our army..."
Despite the King's death a few days ago, someone else in the Coalition seems to have taken over his lead, or maybe he wasn't the one leading in the first place. I imagine it's someone like Maggie or Cyndie, or maybe even Rosita or Tara. Though not as bold as they were in their first attack on the Sanctuary, the Coalition has instead moved on to putting its efforts into disrupting trade routes. Any moving supplies between the Sanctuary, Eugene's bullet farm, and Alexandria is at risk. No violent attacks so far — the Coalition doesn't even try to steal anything. They instead seem much more interested in using the resources they still have to slow as much Savior production down as they can; digging out the roads, cutting down trees across roads, causing fires in hunting grounds, sending walker clusters towards outposts to cause trouble. Honestly, it feels like all they're trying to do is cause Negan to grow more and more frustrated every day by how easily they're slipping past his patrols.
And it's working.
Negan's itching to catch every last one of them.
Why he doesn't use me, Oliver, or Judith to do that, I suspect, is because he understands what we are to the Coalition now, what Oliver tried to tell me all along: We're a lost cause. Granted, it wasn't true when Oliver told it to me, given that Carol tried to rescue us, but by now, without her as an asset to the Coalition, and with my father dead, and Michonne gone, it's safe to say that the Coalition need to focus more on its own survival from here on out.
Despite the disrupted distributions, Negan is still pushing production as hard as ever. Today he's decided to bring me with him for a 'temporary' collection run to one of the outposts. This one is an office, I hear. It's the closest outpost to the Sanctuary, only seven or eight miles away in a building on the outskirts of an abandoned, rural town. The sign outside reads, in broken letters: 'Sheph-rd O-fice Pl-za'. The building is shaped like a big 'L', old and overgrown with vines, with lots of rusty cars parked outside to use as a line of defence blockades, and a large courtyard that Negan and two other trucks we're with park up in.
"Quaint, isn't it?" Regina asks me, leaning forward in her seat to talk behind my head, chewing on some peppermint gum that smells stale. "We got a couple-hundred or so folks living at each outpost. This one's more like the Sanctuary, though. Residential, with a families."
"Except that the people here have a special job to do for me," Negan chimes in, "see, this place primarily controls all my delivery distributions between the settlements, as well as, of course, documenting any new groups cropping up around my turf. Think of it like the Sanctuary's admin centre, whereas the Sanctuary is the fortress, where the families of my hard-working Saviors get to live and be protected. Everything's got it's place, see? Kinda cool, huh?"
I shrug.
Grinning, Negan parks up outside the office. Saviors come out to greet us. One of them, I recognise as I get out of the truck. Morales grimaces when he sees me, too, either from the sight of my socket scar or me here in general, I couldn't say, but soon enough he recovers from his surprise and nods to me. I nod back, blinking several times.
Negan turns his head between us both.
He points. "What's that look? Now, I know that look. That look says... you two fucking know each other..."
"We did, at the start," Morales says. "Escaped Atlanta together when shit hit the fan, more or less. Carl, his mom, and a cop. Then his dad came along and found them, a month in. We were with a whole group by then, though... before me and mine split up for a different direction."
"Whoa, fuck!" Negan laughs. "What a coincidence."
I don't say anything.
"Long time no see, kid," Morales tells me.
"Why didn't you come forward to say anything?" Negan asks him.
Morales shrugs. "Just thought it was a coincidence for a while. Rick's a common name. Although, I admit, I got a little suspicious when I heard his kid's name was Carl, then, by the time I heard about you taking capture of some red-neck called Daryl, I figured you knew more about these folks than I did anymore. I mean, last I saw, Carl was half the size he is now, and Carol... she was an abused housewife — a mom, scared out of her mind. Not some soldier capable of rampaging a whole factory by herself..." He shrugs again. "Didn't see a point in bringing any of my time with them up when you hadn't asked. I had nothing to offer you."
Negan pulls an accepting face. "Fair enough. Ah, yes, speaking of things to offer me..." he adds, watching some Saviors organising crates of supplies by the main door.
Morales nods to him. "Yes, señor. This way..."
A few minutes later, inside the building, I sit in an office while Negan, Morales, and some other Saviors in charge here talk over how the crop development is going in the new allotment outside of the outpost, while the rest of the Saviors we came here with begin collecting the Shephard Office's supplies. Morales expresses his worry that they're just turning into another community to leech off, but Negan makes a big speech about respect and resourcefulness, and explains how information is just as valuable to him as food and supplies these days, so the more information he finds out about the Coalition from them, the less supplies Negan will need from this place, and soon Morales is agreeing with him, and soon he's telling him about some suspicious activity his people reported south of here at a gas station a few days ago.
"They'll be long gone by now," he says, "they never stick around any place for long. Still, we were gonna send a few guys out at some point to check it out. See if we can't find any signs of where they came from, or where they're hiding."
Negan thanks him. Morales thanks him, too, and then for a while they share a glass of home-made lemonade and stories recounting mine and Morales' history together.
"Lori," Negan says, "that was your momma's name? And… I'm sorry… I have to ask, but were she and Shane… you know..."
Morales laughs.
I don't.
"No offence, kid," Negan tells me, "but a whole month, and this guy, Rick's best friend, is around acting like a father to you, right? That's what you said, Morales?"
Morales opens his arms, in a confirming motion.
Negan scoffs. "They were definitely fuckin'."
Morales seems too polite to say his opinion aloud, but it's obvious he had his suspicions at the time.
"Hold on a second," Negan says, examining my face, "do not fucking tell me that this dark and mysterious Shane Walsh was Judith's real Goddamn father?! Jesus. That is… messy."
This is a conversation I don't want anything to do with at all. I didn't want it with my father, and I sure as hell never want it with Negan or Morales, either, so I don't say anything at all. Negan pats my leg, and apparently taking pity on me, lets the subject go.
"Ah, look, don't worry about that shit," he tells me. "It doesn't really matter who Judith's sperm donor was anyway, does it? Seein' as I'm the only Daddy she's gonna have or need from this point on."
Morales nods in agreement, then scoffs and shakes his head. "What a small world," he says. "A small, weird world."
Negan grins at him. He points a finger. "How would you like a new job, Morales? I'm in need of a new henchmen. I've replaced Simon with Laura, but I haven't yet found the right someone to take over for Gavin."
Morales looks a little stunned. "What? Me? I mean... it would be an honour."
"Good," Negan says. "I'll give you a few days to get your affairs in order here then." He turns to me, grinning. "But for now, you and I should be getting going."
After a firm handshake with Morales, Negan takes me downstairs where Saviors are finishing up filling the trucks with crates, and finally, we leave. As we drive away from Shephard Office Plaza, Negan tells me to pick up his walkie-talkie and tune it to a channel so that the two other trucks following us can listen in. I do this, then hold the walkie-talkie up to his chin for him.
"What do you folks say we go and check out Morales' little tip off right now?" he asks through it. "See if we see anything?"
"I'm in if you are, boss," Arat says, in the truck behind us.
"Us, too, Negan," says Laura, the new henchman replacing Simon, who is driving the third truck. She has a barcode tattoo on her neck which is how I know she was among those who Oliver used to deal with on old runs at the Kingdom, the same as Gavin and Simon.
Once I put the walkie-talkie back, Negan casts me a wink. Returning his eyes to the road, he points to the glove box in front of me. "Why don't you have a look in there for me?" he asks. "I got you a little something, as a gift."
I unclip the latch and reach in, pulling out a heavy, card box of Magnum bullets. I look at him. Negan bites his knuckle, his other hand steering the wheel, and that arrogant, beaming grin on his face.
"I meant what I said at Alexandria the other day," he tells me, gesturing a finger at me. "You're a man now. So, you deserve to be able to strap yourself like one."
Frowning, I rub my thumb over the shiny bullet rims.
Carefully, I load my Colt Python's cylinder slots one at a time.
With a small glance at him, I say, "Thank you."
Negan grabs my shoulder and shakes me. "You're welcome, kid. Proud of you."
"Ah," Negan says a few miles later, "let's see here..."
There are some abandoned cars turned over along the highway ahead. We get out and take the trail down the bank, like Morales had described, careful as the frosty mud crunches under our boots, and come out onto another, craggy road with the old, abandoned gas station just across. The ruins of a long-since-neglected camp site remain outside the building, with old cars parked around randomly and a few ancient bodies sitting inside, gathering dust.
"Someone put them down a long time ago," Arat says.
Some Saviors check the gas pumps.
"Drained," Regina says.
"So that's what the Coalition was doing here," Negan says. "Which means they're still mobile..."
"They can try to be," Laura says, "we've got every road spotted for miles. We'll catch them before they get past the nearest state line."
"Think that's what they're trying to do?" Arat says. "Run away?"
"It's what I'd do," Regina says.
Negan contemplates all of this, his lip curling. He points around us with his bat. "Get to checking the area, ladies," he says, sounding determined. "It's obvious they're long gone by now, but like Morales said, there could be clues. Arat, your group go around on the left. Laura, your guys on the right. Carl, Regina, and I'll go on inside. Meet y'all round back."
He glances at me.
He smirks.
"Look at us," he says, pulling me under his arm, "sleuthin' together like old-time detectives."
I roll my shoulders, knocking him off me, gently, and play it off as though I'm just eager to go inside already, so he, Regina, and I head to the gas station together. The glass doors are broken and unlocked from the inside. Usually all the Coalition leaves behind are a few forgotten supplies — matches if they've spread a fire, a broken axe stuck in a tree trunk, wire cutters, or a music stereo if they've been manipulating clusters.
At some point, I find two soup cans and a note:
'To help.
Looked like you needed it…'
It's in Tara's handwriting, I realise instantly. Negan takes the food and note from me to examine them. I don't tell him I know who wrote it because he doesn't ask. Instead, I leave him to it and go on through the store to look for anything else that might be left around. Maybe a kid's toy for Judith, or a candy bar I can stash for Oliver; maybe it'll make him feel a little better.
In the back, there's a small hallway with an open door leading into the storage room, another door, boarded, that leads outside, and finally a third door, closed, with a label reading: 'Office'. I open it and step inside, looking around. I'm bored, really, with not much on my mind but wanting to go back to the Sanctuary.
Something moves from behind the desk.
I jump back against the wall beside the door and reach for my gun, assuming it might be a trapped animal, or an old walker. But it's Enid. Enid Cholle. Mine and Oliver's best friend. The first girl I ever went roller-skating with. The first girl I ever kissed. She stands up suddenly from where she'd been hiding. Her hair is tangled and there's dirt on her face, and in her hands she grips her mother's knife and a roughly-made bow. She makes a small noise of shock at the sight of me.
And she smiles.
And I smile back.
She's going to say my name, maybe even rush over and hug me, but I put my finger up to my mouth to tell her to be quiet, and I'm going to tell her to hide back under the desk, too, while I create a distraction so that she can escape out the front, or just shut the door behind me, say I saw nothing at all, and hope Negan and the others believe me—
But she looks to her side, through the door—
The door I'd left open—
Her eyes widen—
And a deafening crack splits the world apart—
Enid's head reels backwards and she hits the wall with a smack. She slides down against the floor, just crumpling up there like a sack of clothes, bleeding and twitching until all of a sudden she's just very still, and she looks very small.
"Got you!" Regina shouts.
I cover my face on instinct. I don't know why.
"Is that a girl?" Negan growls, standing just outside the office. "You killed a fucking kid!"
"I… I… I'm sorry, Negan. She had a gun aimed at me."
"They don't have guns, Regina! You dumb, fucking liar. Fuck! Carl! Where are you?!"
And then there is a furious shout —a shout I think I recognise— and running footsteps coming from the storage room and Negan swears and there is more shooting and something makes a fizz and a pop and suddenly a large cloud of smoke bursts in the hallway, sending grey dust billowing into the room. Bullets come through the walls so I duck to the floor.
"WHAT THE FUCK!? STOP SHOOTING! THEY DON'T HAVE GUNS!"
The shooting stops but more smoke bombs go off inside the gas station, leading away through the front door. Negan and Regina chase after them, and then I can hear the rest of the Saviors outside running around the building after them, too.
"THEY'RE RUNNING INTO THE WOODS!" Negan roars. "DON'T LET THEM FUCKING ESCAPE!"
With the noise fading from the gas station, I crawl over to Enid's body. I touch her leg and shake it. The bullet went in through her forehead and sent Enid's brain out through the back of her skull, smattering the whole wall. There's so much blood it spills across the carpet, reaching my hands. I push myself away and get up, trembling all over. As I stumble out into the corridor, the smoke is so thick that I cough and am totally blinded by it, and have to feel the walls to find my way outside. There is more shouting in the distance, and the occasional gunshot that echoes across the countryside.
I run the other way.
It's hard to see through the tears. It's hard to keep from tripping. It's hard to stop the sobs that shake my whole body. I have to keep running, deep through the woods, until at some point a stranger's voice stops me in my tracks.
"Hi!"
I spin around with my father's gun aimed.
"Whoa, whoa!" He looks to be in his twenties, with wide, scared eyes. "I'm okay — I mean… I'm not..."
I try to ask who he is, what he's doing here, but my stutter clogs the words in my mouth.
"Please, please," he cries, his hands raised above his head and his shaggy, black hair dripping sweat down onto his face. "I was looking for some people. Some people I met a few days ago. I thought maybe they would bring me food, or, I don't know… I thought you were them… I thought your trucks… but then the gunshots… I got scared, so I ran this way."
I shake my head, not to communicate anything but to get the image of Enid, dead dead dead, out of my mind.
"Okay," the stranger says, "okay… so, I'll just say something my mom used to say then… and hope for the best here. Maybe it'll help you as much as it helps me. You look like you need it, too... Whatever you have of good, spend on the traveller. My mom said that. I've… been through things… my mom… she also said that… may my mercy prevail over my wrath..."
My hand is shaking so badly that it's impossible to keep my gun steady. The stranger takes another step closer, but I jump back quickly. He looks desperate, and I think of all the terrible things desperate people have done to me and to the people I love. I can feel my teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.
"That's not all from my mom, though," he says. "That one, that's from the Quran..." He takes a haggard breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I haven't eaten in…"
Another step closer, and I'm so horrified and afraid and not able to say the words I want to say or even think, and all I want is for him to just step back, to just give me some fucking space, so I pull back the hammer on my revolver.
"Listen!" he gasps out, trembling behind his hands. "I'm gone. It's cool! I'm sorry. I just wanted some… even some f—"
Without warning, the Colt Python goes off in my hand.
The shock and pain of the recoil is so powerful that it makes me yelp and drop the gun. I clutch my throbbing wrist with my other hand, hissing and wincing. I look over at the stranger, who lands in a bloody heap against the undergrowth. His eyes catch mine, only for a moment. He shudders, and then he dies.
I stare at him, my mouth open and gasping, and despite the sweat pouring down my temples and soaking my clothes, suddenly I am cold all over. I hug my head. I drop to my knees. And I think of that day in the woods during the Governor's attack on the prison, how I was barely thirteen and I killed that boy when he was already running from the fight...
And I hear my mom's voice before I had to put her down, too, telling me how she thought I was going to beat this world, how strong and brave and good she thought I would become, and how she told me how much she loved me. I promised her I would always do what was right. She told me how easy it would be to do the wrong thing, how easy it would be to let the world spoil me.
I'm not sure how long I kneel next to the stranger's body for. Long enough to startle when he begins to stir as a walker. The dead are much stronger fresh than I'm used to by now, so I put him down quickly with my knife, before his corpse can get its bearings. I feel stiff when I finally get up again. My knees crack. I holster my dad's gun. I try to find my way back towards the gas station, but for a while I just have to head off through the woods in a random direction, searching for a land mark I recognise.
I find a street, but no gas station.
A twig snaps behind me from the woods and I dart behind an abandoned trailer, my heart beating hard in my chest. I hear footsteps running, coming closer, and then Tara and Rosita rush from the trees. They stop where I was before, on the edge of the street, both of them breathless. Tara is clutching a fresh wound on her hip. Rosita crouches and looks down at the dirt, moving some sticks aside with her fingertips.
"You sure he would go this way?" Tara asks.
"It's the way his tracks are headed," Rosita answers. "I think…"
"We need Daryl…."
"Yeah, we need a lot of things right now."
They call out my name in hushed shouts a few times, but I stay rooted to my hiding place, shutting my eye and forcing my breathing to slow down.
"Maybe these aren't his tracks," Rosita says. "Maybe it wasn't him that—"
"We saw him," Tara says, miserably. "At the station..."
"I know, I know..." Rosita puts her hands on the back of her head, squinting up and down the street. I duck out of her view. "I just don't get it. Why would he just kill that survivor for no reason? That's not who Carl is..."
There is a pause before Tara answers her.
"Maybe we don't know who Carl is anymore at all..."
I hear her gasp in pain. I peek past the trailer to see Rosita rip her shirt hem off and use it to tie around Tara's waistband for her, soaking up the blood. Someone must've shot her in the chaos after Enid — I clutch my skull again, shaking away the image of her slamming against the wall.
"Where to from here?" Tara asks. "I can't see any more footprints on the road."
"We can't stick around here too long," Rosita tells her. "Those trucks are still looking for us. God, que jodido lío… and Enid… mierda…" She wipes her eyes. Tara touches her shoulder, gently, and sniffs. Rosita looks at her, her lip shaking. "Maggie's going to be so devastated..."
Tara hugs her.
It's hard to keep my own tears silent.
Finally Rosita says, "Let's keep looking, just a little longer..."
And as they head along the next street together, I lean back against the trailer and try to catching my breath. I look at my hands —my shaking, bloody hands— and I realise that for all this time I was kidding myself.
My mom was wrong about the world.
The choice between right and wrong isn't up to me.
Mercy does not prevail over wrath.
It never really has.
Wrath wins. Always.
And the path my life has taken is spoiled already.
My failing fantasy came true.
Because I know something now.
Something I've come to learn since my father was murdered...
It's not possible to survive in a spoiled world.
Not without turning spoiled yourself.
Notes:
I wanted Siddiq to join the Coalition so much, but I think making it so that it's in any way possible for him to survive, and even for baby Coco to be born, would be a bad way to parallel the symbolism of Carl's canonic death, so RIP Siddiq. RIP Enid (yeah, writing her death here cut deep for me...) Sorry, Coco.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 9: I: In Our Bedroom After the War
Summary:
Secrets are solidifying between the boys, Oliver and Carol finally confront each other, Negan's plans go awry, and Carl is missing.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wake up, say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you
If there's no one there, then there's no one there, but at least the war is over
It's us, yes we're back again, here to see you through, 'til the day's end
And if the night comes, and the night will come, well at least the war is over
Lift your head and look out the window
Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go
Listen, the birds sing
Listen, the bells ring
All the living are dead, and the dead are all living
The war is over
And we are beginning...
~ Kiddo ~
I haven't gotten out of bed all morning.
Sherry took Judith upstairs to the other wives at some point, which I regret agreeing to. At the time it was a relief, to have a break from looking after her, but by now I just feel so lonely again — nothing to do except lie in bed, feeling miserable and tired and in pain. I don't know if the aching in my healing leg bone is worse or if it's the harsh, stinging anxiety in my chest.
When I finally can't stand it anymore, I get up and grab my crutch.
A few Saviors double take at me as I hobble carefully along the corridor, but none try to stop me. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go anywhere on my own. It's not something I've ever really tried to do here yet. But I figure, searching for the infirmary isn't against any rules, surely.
I pass a housekeeper on my way, sweeping the floor.
"Hey," I say to her, wobbling on my good leg. "Can you tell me which way the infirmary is?"
She points to the stairwell. "Two floors down. Six or seven doors along. On the left."
I nod. "Okay — err, thanks..."
It takes a lot of effort to get down the stairs. I hit my foot a few times, which sends nasty, shooting pains all the way up my leg. When I finally make it to the right floor, I take a break for a moment on the stairs, wincing at the horrible, crunching feeling whenever I put even the tiniest bit of weight into my broken leg, like nothing but an old sponge is holding the bone pieces in line.
Finally, I go through the door into a corridor I recognise, which gives me enough energy to keep going, and soon I'm approaching the infirmary door. I can hear Dr. Carson speaking inside. A Savior is standing outside on guard, strangely. I hesitate, but the Savior doesn't tell me to go away so I go around him and turn into the room.
Carol is sitting up in the hospital bed, facing away, in the middle of being sponge bathed. The shock of seeing her here startles me. I haven't been allowed to see her once since her face was almost ironed.
Panicking, I back up out of the room.
"Hey," Dr. Carson calls out to me, "come back..."
Awkwardly, I step back into the infirmary, averting my eyes.
"My bad… I can come back later..."
At my voice, Carol lifts her head tries to glance round at me, but the pain of moving must be too much because she hisses through her teeth and tightens her face, then turns away again.
"Come on in, Oliver," Dr. Carson tells me, seeming to disregard whether or not Carol is comfortable with that. I guess, to him, she's just another prisoner — her dignity doesn't matter. "I've been meaning to see you for another check up," he adds.
"I... just came for some more medicine."
"For your leg?" Dr. Carson asks, and I start to shake my head, but shrug instead, realising I'd like something for that, too. "Not surprised," he says. "Walking all the way down here? I would have come to you, eventually, you know?"
I shrug again. I look at Carol while Dr. Carson tends to the wounds on her back. She has a long baseball-bat-shaped series of sore-looking cuts and bruises across her shoulder-blades. I see again how her left one was broken by the swing — it's swollen in an odd shape and shining all shades of red and black and blue.
Out of respect for how exposed she is, I'm careful to keep her back facing as I touch her arm. Carol shuts her eyes, bending her functioning, right arm at the elbow so that she can take my hand in hers. Her skin is so hot, like she has a fever.
My eyes must give away my fear because Dr. Carson says, "She's fighting an infection."
"I'm fine," Carol croaks.
"You will be," Dr. Carson tells her. He smiles at me. "Want to help me with her?"
I look at her. "Is that okay?"
"Sure it is," Dr. Carson answers.
"I... didn't ask you..."
He purses his lips, but seems to empathise, because he glances at Carol for her input. She inhales, then nods to me. Dr. Carson hands me the sponge from the bowl of soapy water he'd been using to wash her with.
"You can finish bathing her, while I go and get her some clean clothes."
As he goes, I try to be as careful as possible as I rub the soapy sponge across Carol's freckled body in small circles. She can't lift her right arm, what with her shattered shoulder, so I have to lift it for her, just a little, to wash under it. It hurts her badly, so I try not to take too long and to be as gentle as possible. I wash her other armpit, and her neck, back, and her face, and then I help her to stand. I turn away from her while she does what she can to wash the rest of herself with her good arm. She thanks me when she's done, hands me back the sponge, and as I help her sit back on the bed, she apologises to me.
"It's fine," I tell her. "You don't need to be embarrassed. You've done the same for me before."
"Not about that," she says softly.
I rinse the sponge in the warm water, then set the bowl aside. I look at her face, and I think about what Carl told me that day I was let out of solitary, that she's family, and how that's worth too much now to just throw away.
"Don't be sorry," I tell her, deciding to say it right now in this second. "None of this is your fault."
"None of it's yours either."
"I know."
She manages a small, pained smile.
"Negan gave you your own cell?" I ask her. She nods. I sigh, relieved, at least, that she isn't still being kept in the black hole of solitary. "Are they feeding you?"
"Enough," she answers, even though the shadows along her cheeks and ribcage tell me another story. "What about you? Where are you staying? They keeping you three fed?"
"They are. We're up in a room together. It's okay."
"Good," she tells me, reaching out and gently squeezing my hand.
I wish I could give her something to hope for, tell her that things won't be this way forever, that one day Dwight, Aaron, Gabriel, and I are going to set her free, and we're all going to find our family again, only it feels like an empty promise. I promised I wouldn't discuss it with anybody, anyhow. Not ever. Not just for my own safety but for the safety of her, too, and Carl and Judith, so I just stand here, feeling useless.
"Don't worry about me," she says, reading my face, "all that matters now is that you, Carl, and Judith are safe." She checks the guard isn't listening at the door, and brings her voice down to a whisper. "If anything," she adds, "at least this means I can be here to look out for you three."
"You'll do that from a prison cell?" I ask doubtfully.
She cocks an eyebrow. "What? Think that'll stop me?"
It's been so long since I smiled that my lips crack.
Carol smiles, too, watching me with her kind, wet eyes.
"Negan probably should'a killed me when he had the chance, huh?" she whispers, and we're not just smiling now but laughing, like there could be nothing at all wrong in the world at all, like all the pain and suffering we feel doesn't exist, just for a moment, because the fight isn't over, the hope isn't gone. Rick and Sasha and the King and Jesus and everyone else didn't die for nothing.
The Saviour keeping guard outside leans into the room, frowning.
"Quit gaggling, ladies. You're giving me earache."
We settle quickly, but still smile at each other when the guard leans back out of the room again. I have to wipe a few tears from my eyes. Carol raises her good arm and strokes my cheek with her hand.
"Stay strong, sunshine," she tells me.
And the world feels a little lighter.
After Dr. Carson brings clean clothes, he and I help Carol dress. He then gives me some pain killers for my leg, and he's going to give me more medicine for my anxiety, too, when I ask for it, but Carol asks him what kind of medicine I'm talking about, and when Dr. Carson reads some obscure word from the box, Carol gets a very worried look on her face and asks him not to give any more to me.
Dr. Carson explains he's only giving it to me occasionally, when I need them, and only for the time being given the amount of stress I'm under, but Carol argues that the stress is never going to get better no matter what I do.
"But the medicine helps," I say, trying not to sound like I'm arguing.
"I know you have panic attacks, honey. I do. I've seen them, and I can only imagine how much worse you've felt since you were brought here," she tells me, gently. "But, trust me, if you keep taking these drugs, you'll only develop a dependency on them."
"They're medicine..."
"They aren't just medicine, Oliver. Not in the way you think they are. They're sedatives. And the more you take, the more you'll think you need, until you won't be able to function without them at all."
"You sound like you've had some experience with them," Dr. Carson says.
Carol shrugs. "In the old days, they weren't called 'mother's little helpers' for nothing."
I confuse myself wondering why sedation is so easy to mistake for peacefulness. I put my palm over my throat and try not to burst into tears.
"Okay," I say, begrudgingly, "I won't take them."
With an accepting nod, Dr. Carson closes the box and puts them back in his cupboard. Carol thanks him, and me, which I accept a little less begrudgingly. Soon, the guard outside takes Carol away. I'm not allowed go with her, or even say a proper goodbye, so I just watch them leave the infirmary.
"Ah," Dr. Carson says. "Your check up, of course."
He tells me to sit on the infirmary bed, so I do. The cast on my leg won't come off for another several months. As for the bandage on my arm, when he removes it, he decides not to replace it, and leaves it bare, since the bullet hole has healed well and doesn't hurt so much anymore, so long as I don't keep my prosthetic on for too long. The raised scar is a shiny, dark-red colour, brighter than my amputation scar, even, and is a weird mix of both numb and tingly to the touch. Dr. Carson gets me to rub a cream in to help.
Just as I'm about to get up and go, I hear a familiar, baby wail from along the corridor outside. I get up, adrenaline pumping, and then Arat bursts into the infirmary with Judith propped and squirming on her hip. "There you are!" she hisses at me over the screams, her face creased up. "I've been looking all over for you!"
Arat grabs my crutch and pushes it into my hand.
"What's going on?" I ask her, wincing at the noise Judith is making.
"Our convoy was attacked. Your boyfriend ran away. Negan sent me to get you and the baby."
I swear my chest could fall out of my entire body at this answer. I have to hold my breath. Arat pulls me off the bed to get me to start walking. My thoughts are racing too fast to keep track of on our way down all the stairs. Some of Negan's meeting rooms are on the same floor as solitary confinement. It's horrible being back here. The scarring memories of endless darkness and silence make me flinch, even if I was only here barely two days. I try to spot Carol's cell, in one of the offices, but it must be further long than the break room Arat takes me to. She pushes me to sit on the couch and then thrusts Judith into my arms. Despite how loudly she's crying, I can still hear Negan shouting even louder from the meeting room next door.
There is a loud bang as, I guess, he slams his bat against the table — something Carl mentioned he's prone to doing.
"Laura, get a group out to the Junkyard now! Find out why two of the ten assholes I trusted Jadis to make disappear are still on the GODDAMN FUCKING LOOSE! Speaking of Tara and Rosita, they both need to be fucking retrieved! Dwight, get yourself and a team on that! I'll find my son! Someone —anyone— FULL UP MY FUCKING TRUCK! NOW!"
A Savior suddenly rushes out of the room, pushing past Arat as they go.
Negan must spot her from inside. "You brought my baby girl, I hear."
"And Oliver, too, sir," Arat says.
"Thanks God."
"Sorry it took so long."
"Oh, that doesn't matter. Bear with me, folks." Negan comes out of the meeting room to greet us. He's sweating and breathing heavily and puts his hand on the back of my head and ruffles my hair, which I just about manage to tolerate. He takes Judith from me, too, cooing to her, and she quiets down almost instantly in his arms. "Oh, my baby girl. That's it. There's a girl. My beautiful little princess..."
He kisses her cheek and Judith tucks her head under his chin. Negan shuts his eyes, calming down, too, it seems, and turns to Arat.
"Thank you," he tells her, sighing. "Keep them here, would ya? We don't know if this is another attempt to kidnap them."
He puts Judith back in my arms. She reaches for him.
"Oh, no, you stay with your big brother now, alright? Good girl." He gives me an encouraging nod. "Look after her for me, would ya? And don't you worry about Carl. I'll fix this. I'll find him. He'll be back here safe. Rest fucking assured, alright?"
I nod, knowing better than to ask too many questions. Negan seems in a particularly unpredictable mood right now. This is demonstrated almost instantly as he turns on his heel and marches back inside the meeting room, smacking the door hard against the wall as he shoves it open.
"Come on, the rest of you, with me! Except you, Regina..." Through the open door I see a women standing in the corner of the meeting room, her eyes on the floor, and her face pale with terror. "I'll deal with you when I'm back. Until then... Arat, put her in solitary."
Arat takes Regina by the elbow, roughly, and escorts her out of the meeting room and down the corridor. Negan leaves the room a moment later, and leads a small crowd of Saviors in the opposite direction, past the break room, and towards the exit. Though, before they reach the end of the corridor, the doors open towards them all —I see it happen over their heads but can't see who is there— and everyone in the corridor stops abruptly, their boots squeaking on the floor.
"Carl..." Negan says.
Instantly, I stand up, hobbling dangerously with Judith clinging to my ribcage. I peer out through the break room door. My breath shakes.
Carl walks into the corridor.
He sees the way we're all staring at him in shock, and frowns, like he's confused at what all the fuss is about. And then Negan grabs him. For a second I think he's going to hit him, or worse, but he just hugs Carl close to his chest and strokes the short hair on the back of his head. The hug goes on for an uncomfortably long time. When Negan finally let's him go, Carl steps back from him, then around him, carefully, and then he hurries over to me and Judith.
We hug.
I see over Carl's shoulder, Negan watching him, his eyebrows arched in this amazed way. I look away from him, at Carl, who is fussing over a pouting Judith. I check Carl's face to tell if he's okay and it scares me to see that his eye is red and raw, like he's been crying. I don't know if I've seen him cry at all since we got here.
"What happened?" I ask him, but he doesn't get a chance to answer.
"You came back," Negan says, coming over slowly. "All on your own."
Carl glances at him, his eyebrows knitting together. He struggles with the words for a moment, then asks, "Wh...wh-at else could I have done?"
Negan beams at him. He grips both mine and Carl's shoulders and says, "Exactly..." before pulling us both in for a hug this time. It hurts my leg and arm badly, but just like Carl, I know not to resist.
As a reward for his loyalty, as well as to replace Regina, who has been demoted for some reason, Carl is appointed to Negan's newest henchman; in training. Carl had thanked him at the time, but he didn't really seem all that happy about it. Like usual, Negan didn't seem to be discouraged by this. I guess that's part of his strategy, keeping his most manipulated Saviors closest to him.
Negan sends us to our room while he leaves to manage the search for Rosita and Tara himself, something Dwight glances at me with a worried look on his face over. Carl and I have to go to our room, and we stress ourselves to exhaustion for the rest of the day, and soon all there is to do left is focus on taking care of Judith. Carl has barely spoken at all since getting back. I don't think it's because of his stutter, either. Words usually find him much easier when it's just us alone together anyway, so I worry.
He's not right.
Something happened to him out there.
Something went wrong.
I want to keep asking, but it's like an unspoken agreement between us now: Some things we just don't talk about anymore. Some things we just keep secret from each other.
After several hours, Negan comes back, fuming about not finding Tara or Rosita, and fuming even harder about how little Jadis and the rest of her people could tell him to explain how they both escaped in the first place — Carol must've kept her face hidden during her rescue mission, because nobody suspect she was involved, and I didn't tell anybody.
Negan visits Carl, Judith, and I in our room. While Carl and I sit on the bed, Negan sits opposite us in the chair against the wall with Judith in his lap. She seems to be doing that thing again, where she calms him down just from being near him.
"Did you see anything?" he asks Carl. "Anything at all at the gas station? Or after?"
Carl shakes his head. "I g...g-ot lost. You were all gone, chasing the others."
"I know, yeah, things went to total shit when Regina went and shot that girl, huh?" At Negan's words, I look at Carl, something in my chest sinking. "You knew her?" Negan asks him.
"Didn't see it happen," Carl answers without looking at me. He clenches his teeth. "I didn't s...s-ee anything at all... after the smoke."
"You didn't see those ladies try and jump me?"
"Didn't even kn...kn-ow Tara and Rosita were there until I got back here," Carl says. He pauses a second, then says, "I tried to head after you all, but you were all so f...f-ar away, I couldn't place the gunshots, and when they stopped, I was so far out that I couldn't even find the trucks anymore... s...s-o I just came back here."
Negan thinks all this through. "Thank you, son."
He sets Judith back down in her cot, then gets up and shuffles across the thin gap in the room.
"Really need to get you three a bigger room one of these days." He gives us a smile. It's not his normal smile either. It's something more earnest and gentle. "Night, boys. Night, baby girl..."
Judith babbles affectionately up to him, then Carl and I watch Negan leave, shutting the door behind himself, and finally, we're alone again.
Carl begins shaking, so I take his hand — he stops instantly.
"I really didn't see them," he says, a little too quickly.
"Okay."
He looks me in my eyes. He swallows. And I hope on everything in the universe that he can't tell when I'm lying as well as I can tell when he is. I think of what Negan said, how Regina killed someone, a girl, and the fear cuts deep into me like a knife.
We both jump when someone knocks on the door.
"Supper..."
And a few minutes later I'm feeding Judith her food. She's too stressed to feel hungry, after everything she's had to see today, and keeps refusing the spoon, but I keep coaxing her to take small bites in exchange for funny faces, which makes her laugh. I'm a hypocrite though. I haven't touched my food at all. Carl either.
"I'm sorry," Carl tells me at some point, watching me imitate a fish for his sister's amusement. "I haven't been around very m..m-uch."
I glance at him, shrugging. "You've been busy. You've been protecting us."
He pushes his knuckle into my bent kneecap, I guess, to tell me he's grateful, and then he says it in words, too: "I just… wanted to thank you, for taking care of Judith for me. You've been more of a brother to her lately than I have. S...s-o, thank you."
"We're all each other has, man," I say. "You and me. We have to keep Judith safe. That's all that matters anymore."
Gently, he puts his hand through my hair and pulls me close to him, pressing our foreheads together. I smile at that. At some point we pull away from each other, and at some other point we begin our food, and just like before, in the infirmary with Carol, things start to feel a little lighter.
A little easier.
And this new life beings to feel a little more normal.
We won, or we think we did
When you went away, you were just a kid
And if you lost it all, and you lost it
Well, we'll still be there when the war is over
Lift your head and look out the window
Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go
Listen, the birds sing
Listen, the bells ring
All the living are dead, and the dead are all living
The war is over
And we are beginning...
Here it comes, here comes the first day
It starts up in our bedroom after the war
After the war…
Notes:
The title is the song: 'In Our Bedroom After the War' by Stars. Zombiejewce on Tumblr recommended it to me years ago, they even drew me some amazing art. If on the slim chance you are reading this now, thank you again!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 10: II: The New World Order
Summary:
Many years have passed and the boys have grown into men. Carl and Morales are on their way home from a long work trip away, but while stopping off to assist a settlement along the way, Carl finds that a new threat has arrived in the local hunting grounds.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT TWO: THE SUBSERVIENT
SEVEN YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS LATER
SPRING 2020
~ Grimes ~
For the last eight weeks, Morales and I have been away from the Sanctuary overseeing the annual quality control of all four Savior outposts. We spent two weeks at the Satellite Station, which we call 'SS' for short, inspecting its manufacture of electrical appliances, car parts, and radio parts, then we stayed two more weeks over at the Porter Bullet Farm outpost, where Eugene's been in control of ammo manufacture for almost eight years now, and then for two more weeks after that, Morales and I stayed at the Shephard Office Plaza outpost, observing their supply distribution efficiency, and then finally for these last two weeks, we spent our time at the Chemical Plant, our most essential outpost now, after the nearby oil rigs were repaired and put to use some years ago to counter all of the gasoline from before the Turn running out of shelf-life.
It's a relief to be finally on our way home now, in time to celebrate my twenty-third birthday today. The birthday aspect has never really been the important part to me, though. I definitely haven't ever told Negan when it is — he's never asked. I'm only really looking forward to it like I do every year because it means I will see Oliver and Judith again.
These outpost inspections are always the worst two months out of the year for me. The only thing that gets me through them is knowing my family are waiting for me at the end of it.
"Hate spending time at that place, too," Morales tells me as I drive us away from the Chemical Plant, catching me glaring at the permanent smog-cloud hovering above the outpost in my wing mirror. "The smell gives me a headache," he adds, "and everything's always covered in a thick layer of kerosene. No matter how many times you wash, it sticks to you like alquitrán..."
I shrug uncomfortably, because it's true. I can feel the oil all over me, in the lines on my neck, in the creases of my socket scar, under my fingernails...
"Fresh gas is a valuable thing nowadays, I know," Morales admits. "I know I should be more grateful we got them rigs up and working in the first place. I mean, could you imagine having to walk all the way back home from here? Let alone to and from each of these outposts."
I tip my chin upward, agreeing.
"We'd be having to fuck around with bicycles." He laughs, elbowing me. "Or horses! Could you imagine my ass on a horse? Could you imagine Negan's?"
Morales laughs at his own joke. I cringe at the image. I'd seem rude for not answering out loud if he didn't know any better, but after so long, Morales is used to talking for both of us. It's why I bring him with me instead of someone like Arat, or Laura, or Dwight. The silence between me and them is always uncomfortable, especially Arat, who has always resented me. They don't understand that with my stutter, and people taking me less seriously because of it, I prefer to just keep my mouth shut for the most part. In a line of work like ours, it pays for people to take us seriously. In a way, my silence helps with that.
We drive all morning until, with just an hour before we're set to arrive home, we cut through the Vineyard Settlement — since going around will only add twenty minutes to the journey.
Jadis and her Junkyard People have inhabited the place these last seven years, after their old, primary, supply source cut contact with them for whatever went down during Tara and Rosita's escape. The Junkyard People all surrendered themselves pretty quickly to Negan after that, and agreed to come and live here to cultivate the land for him.
They have apple orchards and crop fields, but none of it is anything as beautiful compared to their main source of produce — the vineyard, which stretches in neat rows across several pastures, all colourful and thriving with ex-Scavengers dotted amongst the rows of grape vines, tending to the blooming, tiny, white, spring flowers.
Jadis said she found the right seeds at the Smithsonian Museum in DC to make it all possible. Recruiting her helped the Sanctuary a lot in the early days, especially after the losses of Hilltop and Kingdom. It meant that Negan could take the load off of the Shephard Offices, and let them go back to their admin roles in organising the supply distributions again.
There are other communities similar to the Vineyard Settlement, all cropping up and kneeling to Negan's will one gruesome way or another over the years, like the survivors that found Oceanside after it was left abandoned for years, who all surrendered themselves to become our main fishing port after Negan mangled the hands of their original leader for trying to fight back. We call that place New Oceanside now.
Another settlement is the Oakborough Farmstead, who surrendered after Negan claimed their leader's daughter, Sarah, as a seventh wife, and who all make beef and leather for us from their cows, lamb and wool from their sheep, honey and wax from their beehives, and tobacco, oats, wheat, and cotton from their crop fields.
And of course Alexandria's still around, after all this time, who mainly provides a wide range of seasonal fruit and vegetables, along with the occasional scavenged goods they manage to get their hands on during supply runs across Virginia.
There are some other, smaller settlements here and there who give us what they can when we come to collect, but many of them usually end up filtering out into either the Vineyard Settlement, New Oceanside, the Oakborough Farmstead, or Alexandria over time. Or they just leave Savior territory altogether, but less and less people decide to do that these days, considering that there seems to be no more places left alive out there anymore.
As we drive by the run-down ranch house, Jadis comes outside wearing a dirty, white tunic and a cloth tied around her forehead. It's difficult not to think about Rosita and Tara when I see the ex-Scavengers. They were never captured. Same goes for the Coalition, too. They're all assumed to have either disbanded or died off by now. Nobody's even seen or heard from them for years, other than vague, unreliable rumours here and there, but nothing close to the extent of what went down that day in the gas station — but I don't like to think about that.
Jadis seems bothered about something. More bothered than usual, that is, so I stop my truck. When she doesn't come over like I'd expected, I wave her to. She comes to my window reluctantly.
"Collection's not for a fortnight," she says.
"We're not here for that," Morales says, more to me than her. "We're just passing through, aren't we, Grimes?"
Ignoring him, I look at Jadis instead, clearing my throat and choosing the right words so they come out smoothly. "Everything okay?"
She frowns at me, but I wait, and at my silence her resolve cracks. She sighs and scratches her head awkwardly, wiping sweat off her brow.
"Two of mine are missing," she admits.
Morales, who'd been slouching in his seat, sits up. "What? For how Goddamn long?"
Jadis purses her lips. "Two days."
"And you didn't report it?" Morales asks her.
"Am now," she says bitterly, folding her arms and kicking the dirt. "Another was with them. Brion. He came back last night. I didn't send someone to report, because…"
"Because what?" Morales insists. "Spit it out."
She clenches her teeth together. "He was saying strange things..."
Morales scoffs.
I watch Jadis, waiting for her to finish.
She says, "I didn't want you people to see him like that. Brion... he's old."
I understand what she means. Negan has an unfortunate habit of casting out the old and useless, especially at the settlements. He doesn't believe in dead weight. People are a resource to him, yes, but only for as long as they can provide those resources.
"It's okay," I tell her, glancing at Morales.
He gives an allowing hand wave. "Alright. What set Brion off then?"
Jadis hesitates, but considering she doesn't have much choice, she answers, "He and the other two were caught in a herd of walkers while hunting. Had to run. Brion lost track of the other two… but…"
"But what?" Morales hisses.
"He said... the herd... was hunting him…"
Morales scoffs again, loudly. I ignore him, and Jadis looks me in my eye, shaking her head, like she knows it sounds crazy. She steps closer to put her hands on my truck door, thumbing at the wound-down window. Her eyebrows arch upward.
And she says, "He said... the dead... were whispering..."
I watch her. There's real fear in her eyes. I look at Morales, who pulls a face.
Jadis sighs, like she thinks she's lost us. "He hid until they passed," she says, annoyed. "The others haven't been seen since. We've looked… but no sign."
I look around us at the vineyard to spot a few anxious faces watching us through the blossoms.
I nod.
"Wait," Morales says, "you're not seriously considering going to check it out? Now?!"
I ignore him again, and ask Jadis, "This happened in your hunting g…g..." Shit. "Your hunting area, right?"
"Yes. Not sure where exactly, though."
"Come on, man," Morales complains at me. "I just want to go home."
Without responding to him, I start up my engine and Jadis steps backwards out of the way. She nods. I turn the truck around, dirt scraping under my wheels as I drive back the way we came, and in the rear-view mirror I see her waving away the dust cloud in my truck's wake.
"What a waste of fucking time," Morales grumbles. "I mean, these people can barely even put a sentence together properly."
I glance at him.
He sighs. "Not like that, hombre. At least you don't do it on purpose. These people do it because they think it makes them sound edgy."
I flash my lights to Tamiel on watch at the gate, and she opens it for us, frowning in confusion as she watches us drive back out the way we came in. I unclip my walkie-talkie from my hip and give it to Morales.
"Got you," he says, and clicks the button to talk. "Morales and Grimes reporting. Over."
"Copy that. What's going on?"
"Vineyard Settlement's got something going on in their hunting grounds," Morales answers. I tap his arm and shake my head — he doesn't need to tell them the whole story, not about the old man, or the whispering walkers. Morales seems to agree, after a small scoff my way, and says into the walkie-talkie, "Sounds like nothing, just some local nonsense. You know how the Junkyard People are. We're gonna check it out. Won't take long."
"Copy that. Keep us updated. Over."
"Over and out."
Morales shakes his head at me as I drive.
"You're too soft on these people, you know," he tells me, "they'll only take advantage of you for it."
I shrug, because as far as I'm concerned, checking out some local hunting grounds to put someone's mind at ease isn't exactly charity work. It's part of our job description as Saviors, protecting these people, so we might as well do it properly.
We arrive to the forest in a matter of minutes. Without much to go on, I drive along the main road as carefully as I can, which is difficult because the whole place is overgrown after so many years. Roots and bushes are splitting up through the grass infested concrete, and in some places, whole trees are growing up through the cracks.
Soon I have to park to avoid damaging the truck. We sit in silence for a minute, listening through the open windows. Finally, I get out of the truck, making a gesture with my hands for us to start searching for tracks.
"I got a better idea," Morales says, still sitting in the truck. He reaches across my seat and presses the horn. I lurch myself through the window and shove him off it. The beep still echoes across the undergrowth. As the noise fades away, Morales rolls his eyes. "What? This will be much quicker."
I glare at him. "Could be dangerous..."
"Nah, it happened two days ago. The walkers'll be gone by now," Morales says, only now getting out of the truck. "And anyway, Jadis said it herself — the guy's old and crazy. Dead-weight. I mean, come on, Grimes. Whispering walkers? Pah... please."
I turn away from him and watch the forest, suspecting Morales is right. The breeze whistles noisily through the tall trees, easily mistakable for whispering if you're panicking badly enough. The old man was probably too terrified to think straight. The Junkyard People are pretty skittish at the best of times as it is.
I turn back to the truck, ready to go home. Morales is leaning against his door, his face pressed against the roof. I tut and go to him, assuming he's bored and being dramatic to express it to me, but at my tug on his sleeve, his knees buckle and he slumps like a rag-doll to the ground. My mouth falls open as I see his throat, sliced wide open, leaving a thick trail of blood on the truck that drips down and off the footrest, pooling in the dirt.
Something makes a noise behind me—
I wheel around—
And I'm met by a walker—
A walker, standing still, and pointing a rusty sawn-off shotgun at my chest. I'm so shocked that I don't react at all, just stand here, trying to make sense of what I'm looking at. I realise quickly that she can't really be dead, that her eyes are alive, and then, just like Jadis described, she whispers to me.
"Hand the gun over..."
The rest of her face is hidden behind the face of a walker — wearing it like a mask — wearing it like clothes — in patches of different, rotten, skin-shades stitched together and hung around her body.
She shakes her gun, and again, more harshly, whispers, "Give it… now."
Carefully, I unclip my holster strap so I can remove my Colt Python from my hip. I crouch and place it on the ground. As I stand again, more walker-wearing people emerge from the forest around us. One is a tower of a man, with only a half skin-mask on his face to accommodate for his thick, greying beard, while the rest of his body is covered by whole stretches of walker chests and torsos and backs to cover the sheer size of him.
She calls him, "Beta..."
He comes forward at her summons, his eyes on her feet as he picks my gun up off the ground and hands it to her. She gives him her shotgun in exchange, then unlocks the cylinder of my gun and tips it so that the bullets slide out a small way into her pale, grubby palm. She gives a small breath, then hastily tips the bullets back into the cylinder.
She pulls back the hammer and aims it at the centre of my chest.
I don't flinch.
I don't want to die today, but if I have to, it won't be while I grovel.
She flares her eyes and grits her teeth.
She gestures to Morales' body.
"Gamma..."
At this, another, smaller woman steps out of the small crowd at once. She goes to Morales and searches his corpse. In his pockets, Gamma finds an old photo of Morales' dead family, a pack of wrinkled cigarettes that she tips upside down to empty, a flask of whisky, which she spits out, and a pocket knife, all of which she eventually tosses aside disinterestedly. Finally, Gamma removes Morales' gun from his holster, as well as his walkie-talkie, then comes over and hands everything to Beta. He pushes the shotgun into her arms roughly. He tries to work the walkie-talkie, but his fingers are so thick and callused that he keeps pressing the wrong buttons.
The main woman takes it from him, flipping through channels herself. Luckily, the Saviors are quiet across the radio-waves this morning, and the only noise coming through is the music channel from the SS outpost. It's playing some old music from before the Turn, a piano piece that Oliver likes, Für Elise. This whispering woman seems to enjoy it, too, because she props the walkie-talkie on her hip.
For a few minutes, she orders some of her people to search my truck. They take my walkie talkie, too, and my food, but find nothing else of use among my CDs or the few books and trinkets that I keep in my glove box. The leader looks satisfied, nonetheless, and turns to me.
"Come," she says, in a wispy, Southern accent. "I've got somethin' to show you..."
Beta comes forward again, something in his hands like a sack, only made of skin. He pulls me forward with the strength of a bear and shoves the leathery sack on over my head, blocking out the sun entirely.
Notes:
Disclaimer: Will elaborate more on Carl's involvement as Negan's henchman in later chapters, as well as his participation within the 'Career Days'. As mentioned before, he is not going down the route of turning into a monster or war criminal. But as for now, his expressed moral compass is meant to be vague, and will become clearer as the story progresses.
I know Mary isn't Gamma yet at this point in the show but oh well she is here.
Also the Chemical Plant's oil rig was deliberately brushed over because I don't know how gasoline refinery works and I don't want to it's too complicated and I don't caaaaare!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 11: II: Me and My Husband
Summary:
Oliver is eagerly preparing for Carl's return, but his planned-out morning takes several turns for the hap-hazardous.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I steal a few breaths from the world for a minute
And then I'll be nothing forever
And all of my memories
And all of the things I have seen will be gone
With my eyes, with my body, with me...
~ de Luca ~
Today is a big day.
I'd even say it's the biggest day of the year.
It's Carl's birthday.
But before it starts, I have a few things to get done.
The sun isn't up yet, so, quietly, I put on my prosthetic, get dressed, and tie up my hair — which is difficult but not impossible with one hand if I use a self-taught trick that at least keeps the hair out of my face. My watch is already on my wrist, my Bersa Thunder in its holster on my hip, and my hunting knife beside it, but I have to search for my glasses and my inhaler, which I eventually find behind the bedside table where they must've fallen during the night.
I check Judith is still asleep on the floor, curled up warm in all her blankets. She's so big and strong now, at nine years old, even if she's still small enough that I can lift her effortlessly off the ground if she hangs off my bicep. I kneel next to her and brush her mass of tangled, brunette hair out of her eyes with my fingers, then kiss her gently on the forehead, before leaving her to go on sleeping in the familiar, little room, while the setting moon shines dimly through the small, murky window above mine and Carl's single bed.
Negan never moved us to somewhere bigger, like he said he would. In all honesty, I think he just forgot. Carl and I never reminded him; we learned quickly not to point out Negan's discrepancies, especially not ones as insignificant as where we wish to sleep. I mean, there isn't a huge amount of space for all five- or six-hundred people that live here anyway. Some only have the cold, open space on the factory's ground floor to sleep on.
With nobody around, I let out a little of my pent up excitement and descend four steps at a time for a few flights of stairs. Perhaps a little too over fervente, though, because my ankle twangs somewhere on the last few steps, so I go a little steadier after that, with only a mild grinding sensation in my ankle to remind me of my own stupidity. My leg is fully healed but sometimes in unconscious moments like those, I still over do it.
After checking out a truck key from the inventory, I go and collect an empty wheelbarrow, a small spade, and a small pair of hedge cutters from the outdoor supply shed. With it all, I head across the courtyard to the parking lot, adjusting my prosthetic against the wheelbarrow handle so it doesn't slip.
Arat spots me from the side porch, smoking a cigarette — or trying to, but her lighter won't light. I put down my wheelbarrow and throw her my own lighter from my pocket. She catches it, lights up, and then tosses me the lighter back.
"Can I have one?" I ask, walking over to her.
Rolling her eyes, she hands me a cigarette, which I thank her for as I stow it behind my ear. She examines my tools with narrowed eyes and asks, "You doing another sweep?"
"Not today. Got some snares set up."
I pull the keys out of my pocket and press the unlock button. When one truck flashes in response, Arat sits forward and her mouth falls open. "You're taking one of the big trucks?" she asks as I take the wheelbarrow over to it.
"Negan cleared it."
"Course he did," she says, blowing a thick cloud of smoke my way. She watches me lift the tools and wheelbarrow into the open truck back and cover them with a plastic tarp, my prosthetic banging around loudly. "Watch the paint job!"
"It's fine. Sheesh."
Arat tuts, flicking ash off her cigarette. It's no secret she doesn't like me, and it's even less of a secret that she doesn't like Carl. We've never been sure why exactly but I have a feeling it's because, like many others, she thinks that he and I don't deserve to be as high up on Negan's pecking order as we are. Especially me, seeing as I'm not one of Negan's henchmen, like Carl is, but that, I guess, is why he gets his own truck.
Regardless, my roles are more Sanctuary centred: Guard duty on the fences, perimeter checks, sweeps around the area, and most importantly, taking care of Judith. I get to use one of the big trucks today because there is privilege in being Negan's son, and even if I'd rather not be seen as that, even if I'd rather not live here at all, I still know when to utilise my perks.
With a crease between her eyebrows, Arat nods upward to me as I drive across the courtyard and round to the gate, where I get out and open it myself. The gate to the walker pen is stiff, so I kick it and shove to get it open. The walkers chained to their posts shriek in my direction. I try not to look at Ezekiel, or Jesus, but like always I don't manage it, and their sunken, grey eyes glare at me, their mouths agape and starving.
Quickly, I get back in my truck, drive into the pen, get out again to shut the gate behind me, and then I drive with a small skid of my wheels towards the second set of gates, which are opened for me by the guards on watch.
The Sanctuary's hunting grounds are a few miles away near the local lake. I arrive sometime as the sun is rising, parking off the beaten track, where I then go on foot the rest of the way through the woods towards my snares with my wheelbarrow and tools, occasionally stopping to harvest some wild carrots and garlic bulbs I find along the way. I sometimes wish I could hunt properly, with a rifle, for bigger game like deer or wolves or even bears, but considering I can't use a hunting rifle on account of not having a second hand, I have to settle for the small things, like foraging for herbs and checking snares.
I set ten yesterday.
Only three of them have caught anything; a fox, a jack-rabbit, and a fat groundhog, each which I carefully ring the necks of, before loading their bodies into the wheelbarrow. One snare has even caught a young coyote, but unfortunately it must've been too loud after being ensnared because it's already being gobbled up by a walker by the time I arrive.
Before it even realises I'm here, I draw my Thunder and shoot the walker through the back of the head.
Sighing, I look at my wheelbarrow, filled with more herbs I've picked than critters I've caught. I look up to the sky. Several dozen birds of prey hover overhead, almost forming flocks with the amount of them, watching hungrily among the pale blue and orange dawn clouds. The empty snares are their fault, of course, always snatching up anything smaller than a muskrat. Even the snakes are few and far between these days. But it won't last. Eventually the hawks and the eagles and the buzzards will hunt so much that they'll start to run out of prey, and die off from starvation, and the hares and squirrels and snakes will grow in numbers again, and such is the way of life on the food chain.
The Saviors are the exception, though.
They —we, I mean— always seem to come out on top, no matter what.
And on that note, I leave the wheelbarrow where it is, and head off without it to find the right fallen tree a few minutes away, where I crouch down and use the little spade I brought to dig up the right spot. I uncover a sealed, tin box, and make a small wish before I crack it open with my knife.
Inside is a letter.
I grab it.
I read:
'Rosita,
I t's good you' re all s eeming to be doing well where you are. It's good you were able to get everyone away from here . Keep being careful, coming back here like this . Negan wi ll never stop searching for you all, a nd you'll never be safe here as long as he's alive. I know that's why you left in the first place. There wasn't much reason to keep sticking around here any longer, not after everything that went down, everything you lost. Y ou all deserve to make a life for yourselves wherever it is you are. I hope one day things can come together how we hope. I'll keep working here, finding out what I can about your missing friends. I've heard some more rumours about helicopter sightings over the last few months, here and there. Nothing consistent, except the symbol on the side... three white circles... like usual. Still, hopefully, with some luck, we can find them agai n someday.
Keep up with any updates or news, when you ca n...
D wi ght. '
I swear out loud. Fourteen months, and Dwight's letter is still uncollected. Still no new replies. Worry tugs at my throat. I push the feeling away quickly, folding the letter and replacing it, before shutting and sealing the tin box again.
I bury it, I stand up, and I make my way back to the wheelbarrow.
It's impossible to know why the Coalition hasn't been in contact with us for so long. I know that four or five years ago they moved to the community Carol told me about, Georgie's, somewhere they couldn't tell us, but Rosita or Tara or Maggie still would make it back here every six months or so to collect Dwight, Gabriel, Eric, or my letters, and leave their own. It's not like them to just stop writing like this.
CRACK...
The sound of a gunshot somewhere back the way I came startles me.
I drop the wheelbarrow, listening around, my skin prickling.
And someone bellows, "RUN!"
I draw my Thunder and sprint in the direction of the screaming. Another gunshot goes off. I keep running, leaping over a tree stump and shoving my way through a thorn bush, where I skid to a stop in the mud not too far from the hidden mail box.
My heart drops when I see who is holding the gun.
"JUDITH, STOP!"
She jumps back from the man she's aiming a Glock at, twisting on the spot to face me. As I march towards her, her bottom lip stretches, like she's only just realising she's in trouble. I pull her behind me with my prosthetic arm so I'm between her and the guy she's cornered, quick to aim my gun at him. He's wearing a tattered blazer, short and stout, who looks to be in his early thirties with dark, floppy hair, and pale, sunburnt, sweaty skin.
"Who are you?!" I yell at him.
"My name's Luke!"
"What were you doing to her?!"
"Nothing, man! It wasn't like that!"
Just then something moves out the corner of my eye and I swing my arm to aim at a tall woman with long, dark, tangled hair and blood dribbling down her face. She's got a bow and arrow aimed at me.
"Let him go!" she shouts breathlessly.
Three others are with her. One woman with dark-brown curly hair and a large rock in her hands, another woman with tattoos and long, blonde, wavy hair, holding two throwing knives and several more strapped to her thighs, and a third, shorter, muscly person with short dreadlocks, carrying a long bloody stick.
"We were just passing through, man," Luke says to me from the ground, a hand out in a surrendering way, "I swear. We just shook a swarm an hour ago. We were catching our breath when this little girl jumped us!"
"Put your bow down, and those knives!" I bark at the others, aiming back at Luke.
"You put your guns down first."
I grit my teeth nervously. "Or what? You're going to kill a child?"
They glare at us, but don't put down their weapons.
Luke tries to diffuse the situation again: "Look, I think this has all just been a big misunderstanding, okay? We're not trying to hurt the kid, or anyone. She just scared us."
"Scared us?" the muscly person asks, out of breath. "Dude, she shot at us. Multiple times!"
I grimace, but keep my gun up. "She shouldn't have done that," I explain to them, to which Judith huffs angrily behind me. "I'm sorry for that, really. I was just checking my snares when I heard the gunshots. I came as quickly as I could."
They watch us. We watch them.
The tattooed woman puts away her knives. The bow woman, too, quivers her arrow, wincing in pain. She clutches her head, where there's a nasty-looking gash above her eyebrow. Her friends help check her injury, discussing things amongst themselves. The curly haired woman wraps a white cloth around her forehead.
"Put your gun away," I tell Judith, quietly.
"What?" she complains.
"Fallo ora!"
With an angry huff, she puts the Glock under her dress in the back of her jeans. She tries to step around me but I push her to stay tucked behind me. Luke thanks me when I lower my own gun.
"That head injury looks bad," I say to the bow woman.
"No kidding," she says, looking like she might throw up.
I purse my lips.
Before I can stop her, Judith asks, "You got names?"
The woman with the tattoos looks over at her. She notices Judith's gun is put away, then notices mine isn't, and sighs. "I'm Magna. This is Yumiko..." The bow woman nods. "Luke." The blazer-wearing guy smiles nervously, getting to his feet now, at my allowance, and joining his friends again. "Connie." The curly haired woman smiles to us. "And Kelly." The muscly person waves. "What's yours?"
"Judith," Judith says. "Judith Grimes. And this is—"
"Jude," I hiss firmly, pushing her back again as she tries to step in front of me, "zitto, per favore."
"You zitto..."
"You two alone?" Magna asks over our bickering.
"N—"
I cut Judith off. "Yes."
Kelly grimaces. "You're lying. It's obvious. You're clean, and shaved, and you have guns. With ammo."
"Kelly, just let it go..." Yumiko tries.
"No," Magna chimes in. "They shouldn't have to do that. We all shouldn't. This guy could at least tell us we're not welcome and be done with it, like a decent person would. We're not looking for handouts."
"Yes, we kinda are," Luke says. "Miko needs medicine."
I can't tell them that it's for their own good, the reason I don't tell them where my group is, or what my group does, not in front of Judith, not with the right words for Magna's group to understand the danger they're in just by being here, so I tell them, "Please, just leave..."
Luke stutters, taken aback. Magna's lip curls in disgust. Connie frowns, like she's confused. Kelly looks at me like I've just spat at their feet. Yumiko just watches me, hanging her head, totally anguished.
"Please, man," Luke pipes up. "We're desperate. We don't have anywhere to go. You said you were checking snares, right? Well, I'm a good cook. We won't be asking for anything without expecting to give something back. We'll help out wherever—"
"It's not that..."
Judith tugs my sleeve. "Oliver, just..."
"Non adesso!" I bark at her, and she rolls her eyes.
"Oliver," Luke says in a realising tone. "You're name's Oliver? See, we're getting to know each other now. You can trust us. Come on, man. My friend… Yumiko. She won't make it if we stay out here for much longer..."
I watch their eyes, all of them, glaring at me like they think I'm so heartless that I wouldn't even offer them a bed to rest in. Slowly, I take a deep breath and say to them, "We're part of a larger group, called the Saviors... who... oversee a series of smaller settlements this part of Virginia."
At this, I realise Connie is deaf because Kelly signs what I'd said to her.
Connie frowns at them, then me. It's hard to look any of them in the eye.
"'Saviors'?" Luke asks, almost chuckling.
"I didn't pick the name..." I shrug, wanting to move on. "What about you guys? Where are you from?"
"East Coast, mainly," Luke answers. "There was Coleport, but that place was a fossilised city of shit, and then there was Jones Springs, but that place was just as bad, even before it got overrun. Ever since we've just been surviving on the road mostly. And there were others, of course, who we lost along the way..."
I know that feeling well. Before I found the prison, me and Patrick had a similar story. I watch then, as tears well in Luke's eyes. Kelly and Magna rub him on the back to comfort him.
"Just this morning," Luke goes on, hiccuping, "we lost our friend, Bernie... to that swarm… I'm sorry." He breaks up in tears then. Kelly and Magna wipe their eyes. Yumiko has to sit down when her head injury makes her too ill. She retches violently, but must not have any food in her because nothing comes up.
"You say you're part of other groups and settlements?" Magna asks me, desperation in her voice that she hides quickly. She clears her throat. "Can they help her?"
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?!" she demands. "None of you will help her, not even a little?"
I sigh, guilt churning my gut. "There's a settlement not too far from here," I admit finally. "Alexandria. They'll take you in. They'll give you medicine. The leader there is kind of a handle, but if you tell him I sent you, he won't kick up a fuss. You'll like the rest of them there, though… they're good people."
Kelly, again, translates my words for Connie into sign language. Connie watches me suspiciously, then begins to sign to them all for several seconds. Whatever she tells them worries them, because Magna turns back to me with a frown on her face.
"Con wants to know what you meant earlier, by… your group 'oversee' the other settlements?"
I hesitate.
"He means that the settlements provide food and supplies for us Saviors," Judith says, "and in exchange, Negan keeps them protected."
"Who is... Negan?"
"We're all Negan," Judith says.
"Judith!" I growl, losing my temper as I, once again, push her behind me.
"I thought you said you were called the Saviors," Yumiko says sceptically.
"It's... complicated," I admit, choosing my words carefully in front of Judith. "It's... well... not something most people take too well to at first, but, well… I guess most of them find that it's safer this way than surviving alone out here."
"Yeah, you could say something similar about life on the plantations," Kelly says, "but that still didn't mean any of my ancestors deserved to be slaves."
Connie shakes her head at me, too, and I can see in her eyes that she and the rest of them are picturing me wearing a pointy, white hat and a flaming cross in my hand. I don't blame them. It's pretty on the nose, except for the racial aspect, which, morbidly, is something that Negan prides himself on.
I sigh. "Look, I tried to explain..."
I stop, glancing at Judith again.
"You shouldn't have to go to this settlement if you don't want to. You don't have to. I'm just saying, it's an option for you guys, if you need the help..." I watch Yumiko, who is turning an odd shade of green now. The others look at her worriedly, too. "If you do decide to leave," I add, "decide sooner rather than later. It'll be better for you to avoid any of the other Saviors from finding you, if you can. They're usually more volatile than us."
They all make doubtful glances towards Judith, who has taken another step around me. I take her shoulder and pull her, once again, behind me, giving them a pointed 'perhaps don't count her' look.
"I'll leave it up to you guys to decide," I tell them all. "Meanwhile, the two of us are gonna get back to things."
As Judith and I walk away, Magna and her group go on discussing what to do in sign. I don't try to understand any of it, except when Luke says aloud, "We don't have anywhere else to go..." and then just as we are about to disappear into the woods, Magna calls out my name.
"Oliver, wait..."
Judith and I turn to her. I still have my gun in my hand, but rested at my thigh. Magna stops a little ways away, catching her breath, the others following a few feet behind her.
"Where is it?" Magna asks. "This settlement? What did you call it again?"
I watch her, raising my eyebrows, hoping the reluctance is clear in my face, and hoping Judith can't see it.
"Please?" Magna asks.
I shake my head.
And I tell her, "Alexandria. It's a six hour walk south-east from here, towards DC. Keep going straight along the highway until you see the start of a big, burned cul-de-sac as you go along the overpass. You can't miss it. Follow the main road through the ruins for a few miles, and you'll find the village inside. The walls are guarded. Someone will speak with you."
Magna watches me, then nods. It's a relief that she doesn't thank me.
"Listen," I say, "they'll help you. And they'll let you stay. But if you decide you don't like how things work around here… you should just leave… but like I said... do it sooner rather than later."
She hesitates, staring at me, before she nods again and then returns to her friends.
Judith and I go back for the wheelbarrow. She can tell I'm still fuming at her, because she hasn't unfolded her arms yet.
"If you're going to give me a lecture, you should just get it over with," she tells me at some point. "I don't want to have to wait until we get back to the truck."
"Fine," I say.
We stop and turn to each other.
And I burst at her.
"What the hell were you doing out here?!" I ask her, throwing my arms up in exasperation. "How the hell are you even here?! And what the hell were you doing with a gun?! Where did you even get it?!"
"It was in the glove compartment. And I got here by hiding under the tarp on your truck-back."
I grimace, completely horrified. "My gun? You took my gun?" I didn't think to lock the truck because I took the keys with me, and I didn't think to look under the tarp because as far as I was aware, it has never been customary for small children to hide in truck-backs for no reason at all. "Jesus, Jude! You could have hurt yourself. You could have hurt..." I stop, not wanting to finish my sentence.
Judith sighs, then smiles up at me mischievously.
"It's your fault, you know," she says playfully, "you woke me up this morning."
"Sure fooled me."
"Well, I had to come with you. I wanted to know what you were up to."
"You always know what I'm up to."
"Not today. You never leave this early. You didn't even tell me you were going."
"I didn't tell you because I was gonna be back before you woke up."
She's quiet for a minute as we get walking again, though not quite sulking anymore but something else. She looks anxious. We find the wheelbarrow. I have to shoo off a few crows attracted to the scent of freshly dead animals, but otherwise the meat will still be good, so long as we get it back to the Sanctuary soon.
"You can't just leave the Sanctuary without telling us, Jude," I say, beginning on that lecture she'd predicted as we head for the truck. "You can't just shoot first and think later either. You have to be smart. You have to protect yourself. But... you also have to know when to do the right thing."
"What's 'the right thing'?"
I don't know how to answer. The question is too broad. Judith is too young.
"I was only trying to protect you," she tells me in my silence. "You were busy with the snares. When I heard them talking nearby, I was scared they would sneak up on you before you could stop them. I just wanted to scare them off... I shot over their heads."
It comforts me, somewhat, to know this. At least she wasn't trying to kill anyone. She never even has. I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible, if I can.
A bad thought pops into my head after that, as I remember how close I'd found Judith to the hidden mail box.
"Jude," I say, "you didn't… see me doing anything in the woods, did you?"
She shrugs. "I just saw you checking the snares. I lost track of you when I heard those survivors nearby. Why? What were you doing?"
"Nothing," I lie. "Nothing. I was just curious. There's the truck. I'll get these in the back and we'll go home. One condition, though, okay?"
"What?"
"You sit shotgun with me."
"Aw, but it was fun in the open back."
"Too bad, Little Ass Kicker. Get in."
We get back to the Sanctuary in the afternoon, later than I mean to. It won't give me much time to prepare for Carl's return — I'd wanted to get us some drinks from the distillery to celebrate, and wrap the birthday present that Judith and I made, but I settle on at least getting myself and Judith washed and dressed into clean clothes, as well as getting a start on tidying our room.
I'm finished by the time Carl should be back. Judith even finishes reading her thirty pages of Tom Sawyer like I asked of her, which she hates for all it's complicated 'old-timey' words and phrases, and is always telling me none of it matters anyway, which I know she only says because of Negan; he doesn't care about her education at all, and has always been much more interested in teaching her 'problems relevant to right now' as he likes to put it. Still, though, Judith is kind enough to humour me whenever I read out and explain what things mean to her, and I've managed to prevent her from being illiterate, at least, even if she likes to make a big fuss against it.
In any case, with all that done, we go downstairs to wait for her brother in the courtyard, sitting with our legs in the railings on the porch steps. The dust blows up tall across the sanctuary today, blocking out most of the sunlight. The Spring rains are late this year, and can't come soon enough. It's only when it rains here that it's possible to see the blue sky or stars at night.
I remember my cigarette, somehow still behind my ear despite all the running earlier, but choose not to smoke it yet with Judith around.
"He's late," Judith says after an hour, as her watch —which used to be mine, which used to be Lizzie's— ticks over to two PM. She frowns out at the snarling walkers in the pen. "The relay message on the radio from the Chemical Plant said he and Morales already left this morning."
"Maybe they stopped to scavenge somewhere," I tell her. "They do that, sometimes."
She looks at her lap, her face stony, like her brother's is so often. "He promised to be back today," she says, and not in a whiny way either like most little girls her age, but in a way like she knows she shouldn't complain, like she just wants to remind me of the fact.
"I'm sure he will. Don't worry."
"I'm going inside," she says. "Can I go see Carol?"
I nod. For five or six years, Carl and I were forbidden to bring Judith on all and any visits to see Carol in her cell. It was only in the last year or so, after Judith took it upon herself to ask Negan's permission herself, that she and Carol could finally get the chance to see each other again. For Judith it wasn't totally like that, though. She barely remembers Carol at all from before, being so young. Just vague memories that Carl and I try to get her to keep hold of, the same way we do for the rest of the people we all knew. But really, I think Judith was just curious as to why Carl and I liked Carol so much, and felt the need to find out the answer herself. It's been good for Carol, I think. Good for Judith, too, considering Carol is just as adamant about her education as I am.
On that thought, I add, "Take your Math textbook."
Judith groans. "Fine... for five minutes."
"Thirty."
"Thirty? But I already read Tom Sawyer today."
I consider this, then say, "Twenty minutes, then."
"Ten."
"Twenty."
"Fifteen."
"Twenty minutes, or no drawing for a week."
She glares at me, but shakes my hand. "You're a bad negotiator."
Smirking obnoxiously, I watch her head inside. With her gone, I light my cigarette and smoke for a while, sticking around to wait until I, too, eventually decide to go inside, tossing my finished cigarette in a trash can as I go.
With the extra time, I get some more things done like I'd planned to. I take my haul from earlier to the market floor and trade at the distillery, where a friend, Quan, works with his adopted father and mentor, Papa Bear. Their speciality is flavoured moonshine, which, as per mine and Quan's previous agreement, they trade a jar of to me in exchange for all the herbs I harvested from the woods this morning. I do a self-indulgent smell-test on the shine — it smells sweet and spicy and glorious.
"Hey, how much for one of those?" I ask, pointing to the cooler under their booth table where several beer bottles are floating in some water, clinking together like wind chimes.
Papa Bear thinks about it, eyeing up the three critters hanging off my shoulders from strings. "Well, one is worth at least that boulder of a groundhog, but considering your a friend, and I'm having a good day so far, I'll trade you for the rabbit."
"Good enough for me," I say, handing it over happily.
While Quan gets to skinning it, Papa Bear fishes me out a beer bottle.
"Grimes is home today, right?" Quan asks, sitting in his chair and throwing rabbit organs into a bucket.
I nod to him. "Soon, yeah. He's only an hour late so far."
Quan pulls a face like he's not surprised. Carl is known around here for being a serial workaholic, after all. Negan says jump and Carl asks how high. "Well," Quan says, "when he does finally get back, enjoy the shine. Y'all deserve it."
I snicker. "Sure, man. Thanks. See you."
"Later."
Quan's not the only friend I've made around here over the last few years. There's Alden, a few years older than me, who works as a grounds-keeper and sometimes sings at weddings and funerals, and then I guess there's Brandon, a supplies collector and deliverer, who I don't much like, if I'm honest, because he enjoys making rude jibes about me and Carl being together. I only really put up with him because, along with Quan and Alden, he's around my age and career rank. And anyway, I don't put up with the bullshit when Brandon starts up on it, and neither does Alden or Quan, so Brandon's normally tolerable enough to hang out with.
Carl doesn't know Alden, Quan, or Brandon well. They tend to find him intimidating, us being a lower career rank than him and all, as well as how quiet and broody he tends to be, so as a result, Carl has never really sought out a social life at all beyond me and his sister, and, I guess, Negan.
I have the option to take the fox and groundhog to the kitchen, but the cook has more than enough meat in there already, considering they exclusively cook for just Negan and his inner circle —Carl, Judith, me, the seven wives, and the four henchmen included— while the rest of the Sanctuary folk feed themselves, so I go and find a few people in the market to trade them to instead. One old woman trades me a pair of fur gloves for the groundhog, and another gentleman trades a little jasmine candle to me for the rabbit.
After that, I take the moonshine to my room and stow it away in the gap between the corner wall and the mattress so that Judith doesn't get curious about it, then I take the bottle of beer down to Carol's cell.
Over the years I've managed to bring her a bed to sleep on, along with a bookshelf, a little stool, a few storage baskets that she keeps under her bed for her own clothes and belongings, and a little hanging plant to go by the barred window that she takes care of.
She doesn't deserve to be here, though.
There's no getting around that fact.
But there is getting used to it.
For now, at least...
I hide the bottle in my jacket pocket and greet the guard, DJ, who's sitting with his back to the office on a chair. I can see Carol and Judith inside, through the barred glass walls. Carol smiles at me over Judith's head, both of them knelt on the floor and bent over Judith's Math textbook. DJ is among the more easy-going Saviors here, so he gives me a quick once-over with his eyes, nods, then twists in his chair and unlocks the metal reinforced door for me.
"Go ahead."
Thanking him, I go inside the cell. The door is locked behind me.
"Hey, sunshine."
"Hey..." Quickly, I check DJ is facing away through the glass and show her the beer bottle, bringing my voice to a whisper as I sit on the stool beside them both. "Brought you this. It's that flavour you liked from last year. They only just got the right blends again from this season of the Vineyard's fruits."
While Judith works out an equation, Carol uncorks the beer bottle with a small conk-ing noise that DJ doesn't manage to hear. She drinks. She hums. I smile. She hands it to me and I try a small sip, but no more, since it's for her after all. It is good. Bubbly and sour and hoppy.
"Ooh, can I?" Judith asks, chewing her pencil.
"No," I say, tugging her pencil out of her mouth. "It's not for kids."
Judith gives me an offended glare, then turns back to her textbook and paper. Carol and I chat for a while as Carol enjoys her drink, occasionally having to hide the bottle so that DJ doesn't notice it. When she's done with it, I put the empty bottle back in my jacket.
Quietly, as not to disturb Judith from concentrating, Carol tells me that while she was cleaning Negan's headquarters yesterday, she saw one of the wives, Sarah, crying again; the newest one from the Oakborough Farmstead, but neither of us really need to ask each other why. Negan's wives, although the most protected here at the Sanctuary, after Judith, are still the most unfortunate. Negan is against rape, yes, but he isn't against coercion, which is the reason all his wives are here. If they chose to divorce him they'd be sent to work at the settlements, or have their remaining family members or friends banished from all Savior territory, or strung up as walkers in the guard pen. Sarah has more than most to lose, considering she still has her father and all the rest living at the farmstead to think about.
To change the subject, I tell Carol what Judith did in the woods, which Judith chimes in on to say what she said to me, that she did it to protect me. Carol tells me that I should tell Carl, which Judith hates the idea of because her main goal in life is to appease her brother — and Negan.
"I don't know," I say hesitantly. "Carl's had enough on his plate these last two months."
"She's his sister," Carol says, and gives me a look that tells me she understands why I'm worried, and I know why, too, because we were both there at the grove. We both know what can happen to a kid who grows up in a world like this.
I nod. "I'll tell him."
Carol puts her hand on my knee and squeezes gently.
"Stuck," Judith says, pointing at an equation in her textbook.
"Read it out?" I ask.
"Air-plane A and air-plane B are one-thousand miles apart. If air-plane "A" is flying east at five-hundred miles per hour, and air-plane B is flying west at six-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour, how long will each air-plane fly before they reach where the other air-plane had started?" Judith's eyebrows furrow together.
"What bit confuses you?" Carol asks. "We can work through it together."
"If one plane is going one way and the other is going the other way, won't they both just crash into each other?"
"They'll fly around each other," I answer flatly. "Stop stalling and concentrate."
Judith puts her head in her hands, frowning down at the page. "I've never even seen an air-plane. These Math problems are pointless. None of it can help me in the real world. Isn't that what you said Math is for?"
"Okay, fine," Carol says. "Instead of the word air-plane, think… cluster."
"Walkers can't fly five-hundred miles an hour."
"Then make it 'shambling' at one mile per hour. Come on, here. See? Cluster A and Cluster B are… say... five miles apart." Carol scribbles on the textbook. "Cluster A travels one mile an hour. Cluster B travels one-point-five miles an our. How long until they get to where the other cluster came from?"
"They wouldn't," Judith says. "They would merge and go some different way, together."
Thwarted, Carol sits back and sighs. She glances at me. It's difficult not to smile. I have to cover my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling a mix of proud and frustrated. I let Judith skip the question.
"Those strangers we found this morning, who we sent to Alexandria," Judith says to me after a few minutes working. "We should have given them a Career Day."
I feel myself turn rigid.
"Don't say that," I tell her, a little more frantically than I mean to. I have to compose myself for a moment until finally I explain, "There would've been no reason for... that. They were lost. They didn't have anything to give us, or Negan."
"As far as we know," Judith says. "And anyway, how will we know they'll fall in line? You even said they could run if they wanted to."
"I didn't mean…" I sigh anxiously. "I just meant… there was nothing I could do to stop them. I wasn't going to let strangers come back in the truck. Not with you there. My priority was getting you back home, safe."
"Maybe we should have taken them to Alexandria ourselves," Judith says. "Made sure they got there. People are a resource, after all."
I hate how much I can hear Negan in her sometimes. I hate how violence and suffering is so normal to her. I've tried to teach her that just because we live here, and just because Negan gives us a home and food and protection, it doesn't mean that she can feel like any of it really belongs to her. Not without conditions. But she doesn't see it for what it is and she has no reason to. Negan treats her differently to how he treats me and Carl. He's sweet to her, and lets her get away with anything; even coming to meet Carol after years of not allowing it. He couldn't say no even though he probably wanted to. He's never even raised his voice at her, and I'm sure she doesn't even really understand what 'Career Day' actually means, beyond the fact that after one happens, Negan has control of a new obedient group. And of course it's always a risk in explaining any of it to her. She's so young that a lot of it is things we're just trying to protect her from, and on top of that, there's always the worry that she'll mention something to Negan that he takes a bad taste to, which has happened before, ending up with either Carl, Carol, or me being punished for it.
"They needed help," I explain carefully. "They didn't need to be threatened. I'm sure they'll join Alexandria, either way. You heard them. They had nowhere else to go. They'll fall in line like the rest."
"Sometimes people aren't worth helping," Judith says.
"Is that what Negan tells you?" Carol asks.
Judith nods. "He says that it's wiser to only help the people who're gonna be useful to you."
"But sometimes it's the right thing to choose to help someone because they need it," Carol says, "instead of only when they can be useful to you. Sometimes the world isn't about being useful. Sometimes it's just about being kind."
"Is that what you do?" Judith asks her.
"Not always, but I try to..."
"Is that why you're in here?"
"No. I'm in here because I tried to fix something I did that was unkind."
"Then maybe it doesn't matter what you do," Judith says. "Maybe, whether you're kind or not, good and bad things will still happen. I can do all the Math problems I want, but bad things will still happen. The numbers don't care."
She gets up.
She hands me the Math book.
"I'm not doing homework anymore," she tells me, "not today..."
And there's nothing I can do or say to stop her as she gives Carol a hug, says goodbye, knocks on the cell door, and leaves after DJ unlocks it for her. I just sit here on the stool, crestfallen. Carol comes up from the floor to sit on her bed beside me, offering me an encouraging smile.
"She'll come to understand," she says, "one day."
I try to believe it for a moment, try to imagine it, but it's like trying to picture a made-up colour.
"I should go, too," I admit, "Carl's probably home by now. And you're right. He needs to hear about earlier."
"Okay. Take care of yourself, and them."
"You, too, Carol."
Carl isn't back when I check with the guards in the courtyard, and it only sets a small grip of dread in my gut. I go and find Judith playing on the stairwell with her friend, Gracie; a little girl who moved here from the Shephard Offices with her father a few years ago. Judith asks me right away if Carl is back yet, and the grip of dread twinges again as I tell her, "No. Not yet."
Leaving her and Gracie to play, I head up more flights towards our room's floor with the intention to return Judith's Math textbook, but on my way up I find Dwight coming down.
"Hey," I say to him, "you got a minute?"
He nods. I motion him to follow me. Luckily there's nobody in the corridor on my floor, so I quickly head to my room and Dwight, following, shuts the door behind himself.
"What's going on?" he asks me.
"I went to the mail box today," I tell him, tossing the textbook under the bed.
"Anyone reply to my letter?"
I shake my head to him. "No. It's still there... I think something's gone wrong. I think they could be in trouble."
"Oliver… you gotta understand, they're making a life for themselves at Georgie's."
I scoff at him, as if he's joking, but the hurt in my voice is obvious. "What, so you think they're just going to cut us off? Like we're some lost cause not worth coming back for? You think they're just going to leave us here and never help us get out of this place?"
Dwight's eyebrows arch. "Morgan did, didn't he?"
I don't speak, because it's true. Morgan and Carol seem to have swapped personalities in that regard. He went through all the trouble to convince her to stick around for me, all those years ago, and then, when she finally decided to, he up and left for good. He had a reason to — I didn't know it until later, but Benjamin, my friend from the Kingdom, was killed right before Carl, Judith, and I were kidnapped. Some Savior who I'd met on supply collections with the King did it, Jared, who was always a nasty piece of work. Benjamin and Morgan were close, and after Benjamin's death, Morgan span out, I guess. 'Somewhere west' is all he wrote in his final letter to the mail box just three months after Carol's capture, around the time Jared's corpse was found in a ditch near the Sanctuary; Morgan's last parting gift before he was never seen again. Nobody suspected foul play, considering Jared's habit of going off alone at night to get high, but to Carol and I, there was still something too fitting about being found eaten alive by feral pigs.
Dwight sighs. "People are moving on, man. Maybe... we should try to do that, too. Or something like it. There's not much we can do anyway until we hear a reply, except try not to worry, and try to get on with things."
I know how childish I'll sound if I tell him how much I don't want to do any of that, how much I don't want to believe that any of them are moving on, how they wouldn't do that to us, and that I don't know how to live like this without the hope that things are going to get better, because the hope... it's all that's kept me going all these years… so I don't say anything at all. I guess some small part of me thought he would have something comforting to tell me, something hopeful. But Dwight's never been like that to me, not since that night he pulled me aside and told me there was still something to believe in. Only now it's like he doesn't even believe that anymore.
"Yeah, err… okay," I say, even though the grief is eating me. "Sorry for wasting your time."
He shakes his head to tell me he's not bothered, and awkwardly asks, "You gonna be alright?"
"Yeah. Sure. Are you?"
He nods, watching me. "I'll see you around, okay?"
"See you."
He checks out of the door along the corridor, waits for some distant footsteps to fade, and then leaves me here alone. I sit on my bed, a stray spring digging my thigh, and for a while I fall into a pit of dark thought, imagining spending the rest of my life here, never escaping, never setting Carol free, never letting Judith know real safety and kindness, never reuniting with the Coalition at Georgie's, wherever that is… never finding the rest of my family and friends again.
Judith comes into the room so silently that I startle when she shuts the door behind herself.
I try to wipe my face. I try to stop crying.
It doesn't do well to let a child see an adult's tears.
"What's wrong?" she asks me, worriedly.
"Nothing." I force a smile. "I'm okay, bella bambina. I'm okay."
"You're upset," she says. "Because Carl isn't back yet?"
"No," I say, like it's a silly notion, even though that grip of dread twinges a third time, stronger. "No, of course not. I told you, we don't have to worry about him. He's fine. I'm fine. I swear. I just had something in my eye. Dust, you know this place. Gotta keep the window shut today, huh."
Still, she sits on my lap and hugs me. I put my head on her shoulder, and behind her back I let my face twist up just for a moment, just until I can push the fear away, the dread... the loneliness. Finally, I let her pull away. She casts me a small smile, but her eyes are afraid.
I try to give her a confident smile back, to show I'm fine, that she can trust me.
"Want to go get lunch?" I ask, sniffing and wiping my nose.
"Yeah."
All through the day, that grip of dread grows and grows, until it's too difficult to ignore anymore. Judith is sitting on the floor of our room, drawing, like her brother used to. I tell her I'll be back soon, then leave her to go upstairs to Negan's chambers. This is something I tend to avoid at all costs, considering how much I hate the man.
A guard outside Negan's floor lets me in when I tell him why I'm here. Sherry, hanging out in the living area with Sarah, Lanelle, Frankie, Belle, Amber, and Tanya, tells me Negan's in the TV room.
I go and knock on the door.
"Come in!"
With a small inhale, to give myself the strength, I enter. The lights are off so a large projector can shine across the room against the far wall. It's playing an old fashioned movie. In the middle of the room, Negan is sitting in a leather armchair on his own, a glass of whisky in one hand and a bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap.
"Negan..."
"Ah. My boy," he says, turning to me, much greyer these days. "How you doin'? What brings you to my humble abode this fine evening?"
"It's Carl, sir."
Negan pauses the film with his remote, so that the pale light casts sharp shadows across his grin. "Go on."
"He and Morales were meant to be back today, at one o'clock," I tell him. "I was wondering if you'd heard from them across the radio relays at all? Or from either of them themselves?"
"I haven't," Negan answers, twisting sideways slightly to unclip his walkie-talkie from his hip. He checks the time on the lit-up screen, then picks popcorn kernels out of his teeth with the antenna, a frown forming. "How very odd for Carl."
It's true. While Carl's away, he'll usually send more radio messages to Negan than he does to me. I don't carry a radio, to be fair. I'm not at the right career rank to, considering I don't do militia work, so every year during Carl's time away on the inspections, all I get are his bi-weekly letters from each outpost he visits, and the occasional mention from Negan or Dwight if it occurs to them.
"Come on, kiddo..." Negan drinks the rest of his whisky in one gulp, gets up, and sets the popcorn bowl aside. "Let's go see what we can make of this from my people, shall we?"
I follow him out of the TV room and into the hallway for better light, where Negan presses the PTT button on his walkie-talkie.
"Good evening, Saviors. Can anyone give me an update as to where our dear Grimes and Morales might be located right now? Is seems they're running late coming home."
Saviors investigate back and forth for a while, relaying Negan's message all across the northern parts of Virginia, further than the walkie-talkie in his own hands can reach, until someone comes back through the radio waves with an answer.
"Folk at SS haven't heard from either of them since they radioed in something they were up to for the Vineyard Settlement. That was around noon."
"They would have passed through to get home," I say, more to myself than Negan. "The settlement's only about thirty miles away, just out of range of our walkie-talkies."
Negan hums curiously, then says to his walkie what we're both wondering: "The Vineyard? What are they doing hanging around there so long?"
The question is relayed back to the Satellite Station, then brought back with an answer.
"Nobody's sure, exactly. Apparently Morales radioed in saying he and Grimes were gonna check something out in their hunting grounds. Said it wouldn't take long. The folks who were receiving the message didn't get an update. They figured Grimes and Morales were finished and at home by now."
"And nobody at the SS decided to follow up with them to make sure?"
"Well... no, sir… I guess they didn't think to… sorry..."
Negan sighs angrily. He's worried. Worried enough that he doesn't think to punish whoever's job it should have been at the Satellite Station to follow up with Carl and Morales, which is a rare occurrence. Not much distracts Negan from his affinity of humiliating his subordinates. Not much except Carl.
"I'm gonna go find him," I say. "Judith's in my room. Take care of her for me."
"Hol' on there, Romeo," Negan says, following me down the hallway, "how about you stick around here and babysit while I go and get your Mr. Juliet?"
"It's Carl. He's my husband. I have to go."
"Well," Negan says, "I happen to agree. So we'll both go. Come on. My wives'll watch Judith."
He sends Sherry to go and get her while the both of us rush downstairs. Negan radios in an urgent summons for Arat, Laura, and Dwight while I go outside to park up Negan's truck in the main courtyard, ready for everyone. Another truck is pulling into the Sanctuary, driving through the walker pen, so I pull aside to give it enough room.
There is a large, dry, blood stain on the side of it.
Then I see who is driving, and I almost crash.
My breaks screech loudly.
I hit the horn.
"Carl! Mio, Dio... Carl!"
He sees me, too, his face, covered in blood, breaking open into an exhausted smile. Relief turns me as light as a feather. I practically fly out of the truck's door without even switching off the engine. Carl gets out, too. We collide like two battering rams. He puts his hands under my ears and pulls me in roughly for his kisses. They'd be painful if I wasn't so overwhelmed with the sight of him. Unshaven and tall and stoic, with his hair un-buzzed since leaving two months ago, grown just long enough now for a small fringe to stick in short, sweaty strands to his bloody forehead.
His father's gun is gone from his holster.
"Jesus, man, are you okay?" I ask desperately, searching his scalp for where the wound is. He flinches and hisses in pain when I find it — a deep cut just behind where his hairline stops, the blood from it, dry now, trailing down his face in thick, oozy streaks. "What did this? You're bleeding. Where's Morales?"
He doesn't get a chance to answer me before the factory doors clunk open behind us. Carl takes my hand. As we turn to look at the Sanctuary, Negan and the others come outside to see us.
"Welcome home, son," he says jovially, setting his bat on his boot and leaning forward over the porch banister. "You had us all worried there for a minute. So, do tell... what the fuck happened to you?"
And Carl just says, "Trouble..."
And I'm the idiot with the painted face
In the corner, taking up space
But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved
Me and my husband
We are doing better
It's always been just him and me
Together
So I bet all I have on that
Furrowed brow
And at least in this lifetime
We're sticking together
Me and my husband
We're sticking together
Me and my husband
We are doing better...
Notes:
Song was "Me and My Husband" by Mitski – thank you, Dampish :)
Yes, Carl and Oliver are husbands. And double yes, feels super wrong to write them as a part of this group of apocalyptic colonists.
I also decided to portray Kelly as a short, ripped, non-binary person because why not? The show gender-bent the character from the comic first, both versions who I love, so I thought I'd portray my own version of Kelly in my stories, who goes by they/them/their pronouns, and who can absolutely throw a walker further than they can trust it. This Kelly is also Connie's cousin in this AU, instead of sibling or partner like in the show and comic, because I wanted to change their dynamic up a bit. Also, I know that Oliver would probably assume Kelly was either male or female when initially meeting them, but it's my fanfic, so I'm going to write a non-binary person being unquestionably validated in their gender despite the low likeliness of that really happening in the circumstance. Can you tell I'm projecting?
Hope you enjoyed this one. Feel free to tell me your thoughts!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 12: II: Growling in the Mineshaft
Summary:
Carl doesn't have time for his family yet, and must instead help Negan eliminate a dangerous weapon before it is used against the Saviors. Oliver is left feeling like a third wheel.
Notes:
Changed some Negan backstory in chapter 4 near the end after watching the season 10 finale.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Oliver gives me a wet cloth to wipe the blood off my face. I can feel more blood clogging my hair and eyebrows, dry now, though, so I decide not to waste time going to the infirmary like Oliver asks me to. Instead I tell him I'll speak to him soon, and I go upstairs with Negan, Arat, Dwight, and Laura to the meeting room, so that I can explain to them what happened.
It's difficult to get the words out, so I take my time to tell them how Morales and I were ambushed by a group who call themselves the Whisperers. I explain Morales killed, and how I was taken to a cliff overlooking an old, dried-up ravine, which, at its foot, was a huge horde expanding larger and further than any I've ever seen in my life. I explain that while up there, their leader, Alpha, told me how she can control them, the horde, and even herd them herself. She told me she was only letting me live so I could send a message to Negan:
'The Whisperers own the land on the north side of the Vineyard Settlement, where the new crop expansion was built during winter. The Saviors are now trespassing. Abandon the whole settlement by sunrise, or Alpha will release her horde on the Sanctuary.'
"Then I was knocked out. I w...w-oke up a few hours later, sitting in my truck."
Negan thinks this all through.
"They must know who we are and where the Sanctuary is from interrogating the Vineyard settlers," Dwight says. "The two that are missing, and probably already dead, considering they chose not to kill Grimes so they could use him to send us the message."
"Killing my people," Negan growls under his breath. He shakes his head angrily, then looks at me. "You manage to bring back Morales' body?"
I shake my head. "They… added him to their horde. They call them... G...G-uardians."
Negan grimaces. "Morales didn't deserve that. Finding a new replacement for him's gonna be difficult. He set the bar high... Fucking hell. I did not need this today."
"Are we sure these Whisperers aren't just the Coalition?" Arat asks. "Maybe this is just what they've turned into after all this time?"
I shake my head. "I'm sure."
"But you said they were wearing masks," Laura says. "You didn't see their faces."
"It w...w-asn't them," I tell her, looking in her and Arat's eyes. I turn to Negan. "Trust me."
"I do. Oh, I do..." Negan says, and at that, claps his hands together and leans over the long splintered table. He smiles at us all. "Onto business. How's about we get to brewing a little plan, get a start on the first stages of breaking the spirit of our new found frenemies?"
All of us can agree that the Whisperers don't have any real fire power. Alpha's shotgun looked so rusty, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a dud; there just as a means to threaten me. She was quick enough to take my Colt Python when she found out it had bullets. Negan suspects that she might've been assuming that just because the folks at the settlements don't carry guns, the same could probably be said for most of the rest of us, too, considering bullets are rare these days outside of Eugene's bullet production. Negan thinks that Alpha seeing us roll up with a full truck and guns must've surprised her, and spurred her into taking further action against the rest of us.
They have the advantage, however.
The horde.
I'm pretty sure I know where it is, though: a ravine near where Hilltop used to be. Judging by the size of it, and how much the dead filled it, we estimate that the horde is roughly somewhere between eight and ten-thousand corpses strong.
"We have to deal with it," I say, carefully, "before we deal with the Whisperers."
"But we'll lose the chance for another Career Day," Negan argues, folding his arms over his bat like a stubborn child. "I'm not letting them have the chance to run like cowards before I can teach them a lesson. I was thinking we could do a little line up, pick one for Lucille... like the good old days."
I feel my eye twitch.
"P...p-eople are a resource," I remind him.
"Grimes is right," Dwight says. "Think how many settlements we lose if she sends her horde through any of them. She could lead it through half of Virginia in a matter of weeks if we don't clear out the Vineyard Settlement soon. Not even the Sanctuary would stay standing under that many dead. We'd lose more of us than we'd gain from taking control of her people."
Negan grinds his teeth. He knows we're right.
"Fine," he says. "We deal with the horde."
Negan gathers as many Saviors on the ground floor as are available. Oliver tries to speak to me again, looking worried and frustrated, but Negan is settling the crowd down so I say I'm sorry, that it'll have to wait, and I leave Oliver on the ground floor while I go up onto the catwalk with the other henchmen.
Negan, up here, too, overlooks the ground floor. I stand behind him, among Dwight, Arat, and Laura. It's strange for Morales not to be standing up here with us.
Negan gives the usual speech, stressing the fact that this is going to be the biggest number of dead any of us will have ever seen, let alone dealt with. But he tells us all that he knows we can take them out. He goes over the plan, riling everyone up enough that the factory is practically arguing over who gets to go. Only around two thirds can come, while the other third will stay and protect the place in case the Whisperers decide to show up at any point while we're gone. Still, there'll be more than enough of us, I'm sure. Enough that all eighty trucks are full and ready to set out within the hour, bringing all the weapons and ammo we can carry. Negan even brings his bazooka.
Six trucks go to protect the Vineyard Settlement, since they will be the first target if we manage to destroy Alpha's horde. The remaining seventy-four trucks' worth of us go to find the ravine.
Negan, Arat, Dwight, and I ride in Negan's truck. We arrive as the sun is setting along the horizon. Almost four hundred Saviors file out of their trucks and we all head towards the cliff, keeping our guns cocked and our eyes open.
It's suspiciously quiet.
It becomes clear why when we arrive to the cliff edge.
The ravine is completely empty.
"It's not here," Negan says disappointedly. "You got the wrong place."
"No," I say, because this is the right place. I'm standing at the spot Alpha told me her message, standing where she knocked me out with the butt of my own gun. "It w...w..."
I shake my head, forcing the right syllables to come.
"It was here!"
Negan slaps his thighs, making a gesture outward to show me that I'm clearly wrong.
"No, wait, he's right. Look there," Laura says, squinting down at the ravine. "The ground is all trampled. See?"
Negan does see, and so do the rest of them peering over the cliff.
"They moved them, that quickly?" Negan asks. "What kind o' freaks are these people?"
"I don't know," Arat says, "but these Whisperers definitely have the Junkyard People beat on the most fucked up cult around."
The irony flying over her head makes my eyebrows rise.
"Come on," Negan says, "get a tracker after them."
The darkness closes in quickly as we follow the trail of trampled dirt for a half mile, until the moon and our flash-lights are our only ways of seeing. Finally we get to where the horde was moved to: An old, abandoned, mining shaft. Their tracks disappear inside the blackness of the shaft entrance, the structure so old and overgrown it looks more like the mouth of an ancient, resting creature, ready to eat us. It's clear someone was guarding the entrance recently because there is a campfire here, although put out, still hot and smoking.
"They weren't expecting us then," says Arat.
"That's good. Keep your eyes open," Negan says, "they're probably still close by… watching us."
Some of us crowd at the entrance of the mine, shining our torches inside, but the beams don't reach beyond a certain point, our light lost in the darkness.
We listen, and after several seconds, we hear the faint, distant roar.
Thousands of the dead, growling far below.
"Sounds deep," says someone.
"Maybe the Whisperers are hiding down there, too," says someone else.
"Can't see any torch light from inside. Ain't like they can see in the dark."
"Should fuckin' hope not..."
Departing from their conversation, I go back through the crowd to find Negan and tell him the horde is inside the mineshaft, deep down, further than we can see with our lights from outside. He gets this strange smirk on his face then, like he's suddenly enjoying this much more now than a few minutes ago, like it's some new mystery level in a board-game.
"We're not going in there... right?" Dwight asks him.
Negan tuts. "Do you take me for a fucking idiot?"
"Course not."
"Then you have your answer."
Negan peers around at his Saviors, frowning in thought. We discuss what to do quickly. The horde is their only upper hand, and we know we can't leave destroying it to any other night, or we'll risk the Whisperers only moving the horde again, somewhere secret, or even towards the Sanctuary.
As we're all bickering over strategies, Negan suddenly tells us he's got something. We all shut up to hear it. He grins at me, drawing a long, croaky laugh in through his throat.
"Get me my bazooka..."
At once, I set off through the huge crowd of guarding Saviors while they all begin to spread back from the mineshaft, getting ready. Another Savior helps me carry the large heavy military crate, and I get back to Negan in a matter of minutes. He puts on the noise blocking headphones, then positions himself four- or five-hundred feet away from the shaft entrance, kneeling behind a muddy dune with the RPG propped on his shoulder. Laura and I load the rocket up, then we both get ourselves clear. Laura has to shout at a few idiots who are stupid enough to try and stand too close behind the bazooka, where they aren't aware the recoil-counter blast is about to come from.
All set, Negan squints down the thick green barrel.
The rest of us watch in anticipation.
Negan doesn't seem to remember to count down, and only shouts, "Fire in the hole!" and the rest of us barely cover our ears in time. There's a sharp bang and hiss as the rocket careens out of the bazooka, straight in through the mineshaft entrance. The earth around the shaft erupts like a bursting bubble. The explosion looks like it collapses in on itself, like a black hole, gulping the entrance to nothing. The ground shakes for several seconds, rumbling loudly like a hungry stomach, the noise of it spreading wide and far and deep, and it occurs to me how easily the earth could just open up right under our very feet, how we could all be about to plummet to gruesome, rocky deaths, or worse, into the very mouths of the horde.
I send a desperate prayer to God, asking to live, asking to see my sister and my husband again, and thankfully God seems to listen because the ground stops shaking, and the rumbling noises fade away to nothing.
We stand there in braced positions, listening. Some Saviors even climb on top of the pile of mineshaft ruins that now block the entrance, putting their ears to the dusty stones and broken blocks of wood.
The night is completely silent.
And Negan breaks out into a fit of laughter.
"Holy shit! Did ya'll see that?! I was fucking awesome!"
His cheering sets everyone else off, and they all start howling and punching the air and hugging each other. I breathe my own small sigh of relief, but otherwise just stand here waiting for everyone to calm down again.
Eventually, Negan is brought a megaphone so that he can get everyone to settle. He does this by whistling loudly through the receiver. Whistling those two tones. The Saviors whistle it back to him in tandem. I just put my mouth in the right position but breathe through my nose, until their whistling finally tapers off and the night falls back into silence.
"NOW... I SPEAK... TO ALPHA!" Negan roars, loud enough some nearby birds flee up into the night-sky, their wings whistling. "I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! SO LISTEN THE FUCK UP! YOU KILL MY MEN? MY FARMERS? YOU GIVE ME AN ULTIMATUM? WELL, I'M AFRAID THAT SHIT DOES NOT SLIDE BY ME!
I WILL ONLY TELL YOU THIS ONCE!
YOU UNDERESTIMATED ME!
I... AM... NEGAN!"
And at this, all of us, even I, chant, "I am Negan!" at the top of our lungs in conditioned unison.
"I OWN THIS LAND!" Negan roars, louder than life. "THIS MINESHAFT! THE VINEYARD! EVERY FUCKING BLADE OF GRASS ACROSS VIRGINIA! NO EXCEPTIONS! YOUR HORDE, EVERY LAST CRUSHED CADAVER, IS MINE NOW!
YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE... ARE MINE NOW!
AS LONG AS YOU HUNT, AND KILL, AND BREATHE ON MY TURF, I OWN YOU!
SO BY ALL MEANS, GET... FUCKING... GONE!
TRY TO RUN WHILE YOU GOD DAMN CAN!"
We get back to the Sanctuary before midnight.
Oliver and Judith are among the rest of the Saviors waiting for us in the courtyard, but the celebrating crowd is too thick for me to reach them and Negan is tugging me by the shoulder to follow him inside, so I only manage a quick wave to my family before the crowd blends them, too, into the meld of Savior silhouettes.
I go upstairs with the others. As we enter Negan's headquarters, all the lights are off and it's clear his wives are asleep in their rooms, but Negan switches on all the corridor lights anyway and heads into his living area. He goes to his liquor cabinet and pours us all a glass of whisky each. Dwight and I sit on the couch, drinking our drinks, as Negan, Laura, and Arat start singing an old folk song together.
"In yonder town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwell'n
Made every youth cry well away
An' her name was Bar-bry Ellen
All in the merry month of May
When green-buds werea-swell'n
Sweet William came from western state
An' courted Bar-bry Ellen
All was in the month of June
When all things were a-bloomin'
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For the love of Bar-bry Ellen..."
They only stop because Negan notices someone's talking on his walkie-talkie.
"Negan. Come in, Negan."
"Hello, hello, hello! What's the scoop?"
"Some shit went down at the Vineyard Settlement just now. Just got a report from the boys you sent to guard the place."
"What?" Negan asks, setting down his drink. "Did the Whisperers attack them?"
"Sort of. One of ours spotted something moving a little while ago from patrol. When he shot at it, it ran away. Said it looked like a walker, but didn't act like one. Some boys went out to track it, found a camp ground a few miles away. Said it looked empty, no belongings left behind, no shelters, no prepared meals, no supplies. Just some walkers stumbling around. They only knew it was recently occupied at all because of the ditch full o' fresh shit and piss across the way."
Negan grimaces. "Okay… so… are you going to tell me something relevant yet?"
"Get this. The dead, wandering around the campsite? Four of them were alive, man... only dressed like the dead. Our boys killed three before they realised what was going on. Sounded like it scared the shit out of them."
Negan bites his knuckle, rising on his toes from a sudden burst of excitement, then he winces, like his next question is going to be important: "And what of the other one? The one they didn't kill? Tell me something good, man. Tell me something I can work with..."
"Already one step ahead of you, Boss. Got a pair of boys driving her right to you, as we speak."
Negan almost hops on the spot.
"Hot-diggitty-dog!" he shouts, at us and into the receiver. "Whoo! We are back in business!"
Arat grins. Laura whistles. Dwight and I finish our drinks in one. Following Negan's lead, we go down to the meeting room and spend time preparing for the captured whisperer's arrival. We need to figure out how we're going to negotiate with the rest of the Whisperers somehow, too, to tell them we've got a prisoner, and to establish what we want from them.
Seeing as the horde was being kept at about the half way mark between the Sanctuary and the Vineyard Settlement, it'll take Alpha and her Whisperers at least until tomorrow morning to walk from the mineshaft all the way back to their camp ground near the Vineyard Settlement.
"If only we could get them to turn around and come here instead," Negan says, "cut out the middle man and let them know we've got one of theirs before they take all that time to figure it out themselves."
We think for a few minutes.
Finally, an idea comes to me and I sit forward in my chair.
"Morales..."
They all frown at me.
I can't get the words out but I'm certain what I'm thinking is right: Alpha took our walkie-talkies, one off Morales himself after she killed him. I think she'll still have them. She was listening to the music from the Satellite Station on the walk to the ravine, quietly, so that Morales' walker kept following us.
"Talkie," I say, motioning to Negan's. With a smirk on his face, he hands it to me. Bringing the walkie-talkie to my face, I clear my throat, taking a second, and then I press the PTT button. "G...G-rimes here. Anyone hosting on the m...m-usic channel? Over."
My question is relayed across Virginia to the Satellite Station, until someone comes back to a radio in range and answers me.
"Yup. Rex's on. Giving his forever incorrect weather predictions again, apparently."
"S...s-top him... tell him to s...s-peak to s… to a lady called Alpha instead. Tell him to tell her to s...s-witch to this channel. She should be in range f...f-or you over there and here. G...g-et—"
"Repeat that? You're breaking up. Over."
Before I can, Arat snatches the walkie-talkie out of my hands, giving me a nasty look before saying, "Get Rex to stop the God damn music. Now! Tell him to tell a bitch called Alpha to switch to this fucking channel, okay? Negan wants to talk to her. Tell Rex, if she doesn't want to talk, to tell her this, word for word: We killed her pets, at the mineshaft, and at her camp ground, and the three of the four who were there alive are dead now, and that we've got the fourth... a girl."
"Uh… no idea what you're talking about, but okay. I'll relay that message to him now. Word for word."
Arat looks at me to check if there's anything else I want to relay, but I nod to let her know she got the picture. "Good," Arat tells the walkie-talkie. "Once your done, spread word to the rest of the Saviors that this channel is compromised, and we're switching to channel Firesleep from now on. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am. Copy that. Over and out."
As the relay disappears from our range across Virginia, the five of us sit around the splintered table, in utter silence, waiting for a reply. It could take minutes. It could take hours. It might not work at all. As it passes the fifteen minute mark, and we know that the girl coming from the Whisperer camp is set to arrive soon, I'm about to lay in the towel and suggest we get ready for her — Laura's already falling asleep in her seat, Arat is gritting her teeth, Dwight is staring, bored out of his mind, ahead of himself, and Negan is rocking his leg side to side, chewing his thumb.
But then Negan's walkie-talkie crackles.
And Alpha's voice comes through.
"Negan..."
He jumps forward in his seat, cradling the walkie-talkie in his hands. "Greetings, Alpha. Nice to officially meet you. I trust you liked my fireworks show at the mineshaft earlier?"
"Sure did," she says, her sarcasm not quite enough to cover the grate of rage in her voice, "and what an overzealous firework it was."
"Could not agree more..."
There is silence for a minute, then another...
And Negan just waits.
Waits for her to put what she's here for right in his palm.
Placing it there like a gift for him to use against her.
"The girl..."
Negan grins. "Ah, yes. Your daughter?"
It seems like a throw in the dark, but when Alpha doesn't answer him, it's enough to confirm his guess is correct. Negan's grin grows — the world is working in his favour, like always.
"If you want her back," he tells Alpha, "come to my Sanctuary. I know you know where we are. You have until sunrise. If you're late, I take her life."
The girl, barely fifteen years old, is blindfolded and gagged upon arrival, looking ratty and scared in the brief moment I see her for. She's quickly taken up to solitary for questioning. Negan leaves me out of it, though, on account of me still being covered in blood.
"G'on and get yourself cleaned up and turned in for the rest of the night," he says. "Don't worry about the girl. I'll deal with her. Oh, and don't hesitate to send Judy on up to my wives at any point, you know, if you want some alone time with your man. I won't mind. I mean, after so long apart? I bet you're both starvin' for one another, huh? I cannot even tell you what state I'd put my wives in if I couldn't see them for so long."
He grins at me, waiting for my laugh of agreement. I don't offer it. I just yawn.
"Alright, alright," he tells me, shaking my shoulder. "Go get some sleep, before our new friends arrive. You did some good work today, kid."
I nod politely. "Night, Negan. G...g-ood luck... talking to the girl."
"Oh, I won't need it," he says. "My charm'll do all the work."
I go to the infirmary. After I clean my face, Dr. Carson fixes me up with a few stitches, before wrapping my head in bandage and gauze and giving me some aspirin in case of a concussion. When I finally make it back to my room, it's a few hours past midnight, with just three or four hours until sunrise left.
And Judith is still awake.
She springs up from the floor where she'd been drawing pictures, squealing my name, and throws herself up into my chest. I stagger back from the momentum of her, having to catch myself by grabbing the door frame. Judith buries her face against my shirt, telling me in fast words how much she missed me. I hug her to me tightly, the sweetness of her filling me up like warm air. When the feeling passes, though, I give Oliver an accusing look behind her back.
He sighs guiltily. "I couldn't get her to go to bed, man. She wanted to wait up for you."
I sigh, accepting this. I let Judith go so that I can sit on the bed. I reach for Oliver's hand, but he gets up and begins moving around the little room to gather his things.
"You goin' somewhere?" I ask him.
"Gotta start watch duty," he says, pulling on his prosthetic arm.
"But I just got back."
"No, you didn't. You've been busy with Negan for hours. I had the whole day planned for us."
I frown at him. "I was almost killed…"
"I know. I'm just—"
"I watched Morales get murdered. And I just got done spending hours working my ass off to keep you and everyone safe from a f...f-ucking horde."
"I know. And I'm grateful. I'm just—"
"I'm not asking you to be grateful," I cut him off, again, and cringe at myself, confused at how this has become an argument. Calmer, I explain, "I just… wish you'd understand... I didn't want to get caught up working all day."
Oliver watches me, taking in my dirty clothes and my wrapped up head.
His lips purse. "You alright?"
I rub the bandage. The stitched cut aches. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay," he answers, and glances at Judith, who's climbed up onto the bed to sit with me. "Weird day," he adds. "So, it went okay at the ravine?"
"Yeah. The horde was moved into a mineshaft. Negan caved it in with his RPG."
Oliver huffs, pulling on his shoes. "Shit. Well done."
I smile, but the smile goes away when I consider telling him about the girl who was captured, or how Alpha is coming in the morning to begin the process of indoctrinating her and her people for service. I always hate talking about Career Days with Oliver. Especially when I'm one of the Saviors involved in enforcing them. So, to avoid that subject, I ask him, "Weird day?"
Oliver's eyes move to Judith again, looking troubled. He comes and sits beside us on the bed. "Something happened..."
I frown curiously.
Oliver explains what Judith did this morning, how she snuck into his truck and shot at some survivors while he was checking the snares in our hunting grounds. When I ask what the problem is, Oliver looks at Judith again, then back to me, telling me with his eyes that he doesn't want to talk about this in front of her.
"Come on," I say, because I already know what's bothering him. "She didn't kill anyone. She was smart not to trust them. It's how she'll survive."
Judith looks at me, her eyes sparkling. "You really think so? You think I was smart?"
I nod to her, but before I can say anything, Oliver speaks over me.
"She's troppo giovane to understand these things," he says to me, irritated.
"Am not too young," Judith says —again, before I can speak— climbing off me to begin jumping on the bed behind us. It makes Oliver and I jostle. "I understand things just fine. Like Italian. Adesso capisco la lingua meglio di Carl ora," she adds, but I don't catch the meaning.
"Jude," Oliver tells her, leaning behind me so he can take her by her arm and tug her to sit down on his lap. He brushes her hair behind her ears for her, one side at a time. "It's not about if you're smart or not. Not always. Plenty of smart people die every day for things they can't control. Sometimes it's better just to choose the right thing from the wrong thing, like Carol said."
"You're right," I tell him, and grab Judith off of him to tickle her. She squeals happily as I playfully growl the words, "But sometimes it's just about staying alive, too, huh?! Sometimes all we can do is just s...s-survive somehow! Right?"
"Yes!" she giggles hysterically, screaming and wriggling and attempting to pry my fingers away from her ribs. "Just survive somehow! Just survive somehow! Ah! Carl! Stop it! I'm gonna pee!"
I laugh at her, pulling her upright to tickle her harder. I stop when I see that Oliver is completely furious. He gets up from the bed, glaring at me.
"She's just a little girl!" he shouts, ending all Judith's giggles, too. She sits up. We watch him open our nightstand with a snap to grab a little box wrapped in brown paper from inside. He drops it in my hand, then snatches his hoodie, opens the door to leave, and stands in it for a second to tell me, "Happy birthday, man..."
And he doesn't look back at all as he shuts the door behind himself.
Notes:
Marriage issues, am I right?
The folk song is 'Barbara Allen' that originated in Ohio a long ass time ago. The cover I used is from the 1930s-ish.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 13: II: Bounty
Summary:
The Whisperers are on their way. Oliver vents to his friend about his anxiety regarding Carl and Judith's moral outlook on life. A protective Negan receives upsetting news, and acts impulsively.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
Downstairs on the main floor, I meet Alden at his bedchambers and we go out through the main entrance together, across the courtyard, through the guard dog pen, and to the main gate where we take over for the two Saviors standing on guard. Alden and I chat for a while absently while we keep watch, about Alden's new girlfriend, a sweet girl, Ivy, who works in Negan's private kitchens, and then we talk about other things, but after a while he must be able to tell I'm bothered because he asks me what's wrong.
"Nothing," I say.
He gives me a look like he knows I'm lying.
I shrug. "Just… lost my temper at Carl and Judith."
"What happened?"
I stand there with a pair of binoculars in my hand, thinking of what a loaded question that is. What has happened? The Coalition is forgetting about us, and Judith could have killed those survivors today. She's becoming more and more like everything we've tried to raise her not to be, because as she grows older, she's learning not just from me and Carl but from the world she's living in, too, and I can't stop that.
I feel like everything her father died for is starting to mean less and less each day that we're trapped here, like what Rick fought so hard to protect and to teach is just... fading. And Carl, only encouraging it? What he said earlier to her: disregarding the choice of good or bad, how it's only about surviving anymore? He's never said something like that to her before. I don't know when that changed in him. I know it's only been eight weeks since I last saw him, but it feels like every year, it's only with this gap between seeing him when I truly notice just how much life as a Savior has been changing him. Because just like Judith, Carl is more and more like Negan every day, too.
Alden elbows me gently. "I'm losing you. We are on watch, remember?"
"Sorry," I say, focussing on the stretch of dusty road ahead for a minute. There are dark, moody clouds looming in the distant night-sky, approaching slowly, and threatening rain.
"You three doing okay, at least?" Alden asks, squinting at me. "You can tell me. I'll listen."
"It's dumb stuff. Probably only take longer to explain than it's worth."
"We've got all night, right?"
I inhale, shrugging. "I guess I'm just disappointed. I don't see Carl in two months, and the first thing he does when he finally gets a moment to speak to me is point out what I'm doing wrong, and makes me feel like I'm being ungrateful when I mention it. And then he goes and tells Judith the exact opposite of what I already told her. So now she thinks I'm being the unfair one, too."
Alden blows out through his mouth, eyebrows raised. "Parenting problems. I... really don't have any advice for that."
"Told you it wasn't worth explaining."
Alden smiles. "Eh, least you tried. Filled some time."
I smile at him, shaking my head. I look out past the gate, along the fences each way. The growling walkers are so loud behind us in the pen that if this were still the early days of living here, I'd be afraid to spend so much time here surrounded by them for this long, but after so many years, they feel as normal as standing in a crowd of chanting Saviors, so long as I don't look at the ones I used to know...
"Sucks your other half isn't treating you the way you want, though," Alden says to me after a minute. "You don't deserve that."
I shrug. "He does alright by me — us. I just… wish he was a little gentler, sometimes. I don't know if that's the right word, even. I just mean... he can be so dark. I hate seeing how it rubs off on his sister."
Alden nods to me. "I get that. I mean, I know I don't know him like you at all, and he's probably a lot different around you than he is around me, but I've picked up on how he's not exactly the most… kind-hearted person alive. Or welcoming. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, actually."
Hearing this cracks my heart this little bit.
"He used to," I find myself saying, quietly. "He used to be welcoming... He used to be the kindest person I ever knew..."
"That why you stayed with him all these years? 'Cause of who he used to be?"
I don't know how to answer him. In different ways, it's neither true or false. Carl and I —even when we've had our problems, even when we broke up for a while before we even got here, and even the few times I thought we would break up since getting here— we've always come back to the two of us being there for each other, no matter what. It's all I've known. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I just know that a life where that isn't the case has never made much sense to me.
If I think about the things Carl and I have done, I realise Carl was right earlier: Sometimes making the wrong or right choice isn't an option, like when Carl has to watch Negan take someone's hands, or iron someone's face, or when I have to watch Judith sit on Negan's lap and call him Daddy. If we said or did something against it, we'd risk each others' safety, maybe even each others' lives. Sometimes it really is just about surviving somehow. And, I guess I only realise now, it's not fair for me to get so wrapped up thinking about how upset I am at him before we've even had a chance to really talk things out yet.
So finally, I tell Alden, "I stay because he's never given up on me."
Alden gives me an accepting nod. "These days, suppose that's really all you can ask for, huh..."
Soon, three more Saviors come through the guard pen to meet us. They tell us Negan is putting more guards on watch, ready for what's coming at sunrise.
"What's coming at sunrise?" Alden asks.
The five of us stand guard for hours awaiting the Whisperers' arrival. It begins to rain around the time the sun starts rising, with the dark clouds along the horizon through the trees only just beginning to glow grey against the blackness. I pull my hood up and hunch my shoulders against the worst of the downfall, glad, at least, that it isn't too cold out.
Negan brings the Whisperer girl out of the factory, holding a large black umbrella above their heads. Unexpectedly, her hands aren't bound like I had assumed they would be, considering she's our hostage and all. Her pale face is coated in layers of dirt and her head is completely shaved. She looks small and timid and malnourished, her eyes darting around wildly. It's clear that she's wearing clothes from the Sanctuary, too, because her t-shirt, shorts, and shoes are much cleaner than the rest of her — I heard that otherwise the Whisperers only wear the skin of the dead, patched together to cover themselves, but the rumour is difficult to believe.
As she is led by Negan over to us at the gate, I double take when I see her scars, hundreds of them, littering her arms and legs in straight, abrupt lines like kindling on a forest floor.
Negan, surprisingly, looks absolutely furious.
I glance at Carl, who has followed him out, too, in his rain coat, along with Dwight, Arat, and Laura. Carl looks uneasy. With my eyes, I try to ask him what's wrong, because I thought things were going the way Negan wanted, but Carl just shakes his head this little bit to tell me to drop it.
Negan trains his eyes along the skyline, turning paler by the second.
His lip curls down. "These fuckers better show up on time..."
His anger seems unusual in circumstances like these. From what I've heard, he goes into the Career Day processes calmly and jovially, and then his wrath comes after the pleasantries, if you can call them that. Maybe the girl told him something about these people that he didn't account for. Maybe something is about to go wrong that Negan can't prevent. It can't be that bad, or he'd have told the rest of us the situation already.
The rain pours down.
The sun rises slowly.
And a cluster of walkers emerge in the distance.
Negan's nose wrinkles. He squints through a pair of binoculars. I raise my pair, too, using my wrist to wipe rain off my glasses' lenses. It's hard to tell what I'm looking at. For a second I'm not convinced it isn't just any old cluster, but as I watch them, I see that the rumours were true. They do wear walker skin, the seams clashing in different shades of grey between patches. I see, behind the open mouths and eye holes, their real mouths and eyes, blinking and breathing. They look like something right out of a horror book.
"Told you she'd come for you," Negan tells the girl.
She's breathing very fast, all of a sudden.
"I didn't think she..." she murmurs. "It's not the way..."
Negan watches her. He sighs, like he might be capable of something close to sympathy, and then he turns to the factory, raises his hand, and spins a finger, signalling the other guards at the entrance to spread the word of the Whisperers' arrival. Distant orders are shouted across the factory inside, echoing up each floor, until a few moments later windows along the middle few floors across the colossal front-facing wall open with a series of snaps. In each, a Savior points his or her snipe-gun out at the approaching Whisperers.
Carl and I squint as a few flood lights come on across the courtyard overhead as better light while the dull, dusk sun continues to rise.
"Step on back now, people," Negan tells us. "Let Ms. Lydia and I have a nice little chat with Momma..."
We all move back a few meters, close enough to the walkers in the pen that they struggle a little more desperately against their chains. I catch sight of Ezekiel, barely more than a rickety skeleton by now, and have to look away quickly.
Through the fence, I count about forty Whisperers slowly approaching the factory, although it's difficult to distinguish them from each other through the rain, much the same with real walkers.
As they get close, one of them comes forward through the crowd, pulling people aside as she goes. Her face is uncovered, but she holds what must be her mask in her fist, its thin blonde streaks of hair billowing wetly in the wind.
In her other hand, I see Carl's Colt Python.
She stops across from the gate.
Mud squelches between her toes.
"Negan," she calls.
"Alpha," he greets back, leaning his hips into his bat-handle. "You got another name, by the way? Yours is... a little misleading."
Alpha's eyes narrow, rainwater running down her hairless face and making pale tracks through the dirt.
"We only want one thing from you," she says. "My daughter."
"Well," Negan purrs, "you certainly came to the right place..."
He places the handle of his umbrella into Lydia's hands so that she can hold it over herself. Then he steps away from her, and despite the rain, begins to pace along the gate under the downfall. He swings his bat up onto his shoulder, rain water splashing and the sunrise light twinkling in its barbs.
"However," he says, loudly and clearly, "some things are going to have to happen first. And you, Alphie —you like that name? I like it— anyway, you, Alphie, are going to have to do those things for me. Know why?"
He stops and faces her. His back is to me but I know he is grinning.
"See... we're even now," he tells her. "You dropped three of my people, and I dropped three of yours. Except, now I have your daughter, and now, you do not have your horde..." And with a little giggle he adds, "I have the upper fucking hand!"
"You were going to let us leave," Alpha says. "I heard you say it. Are you going back on your words?"
"I said you could try," Negan growls. "And you failed... and quite frankly, I have learned some things about you and your people in the last few hours that have pissed me the fuck off. More than you realise. But you will, soon. I promise you that. And so, like I said... before you get to the asking-me-for-anything part, I'm gonna need you to first face the things-that-are-gonna-happen-first part..."
I notice some of the Whisperers shuffling uncomfortably, glancing around to each other to whisper things. Alpha twitches her head, and instantly, they all stand to attention again.
"I show you my face because we mean you no harm," Alpha tells Negan, her face tight against the rainfall. "I just want my daughter."
"You're still not gettin' it, are ya? Today is Career Day! You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That's your job now..."
"You misunderstand us," Alpha tells him, in a shrill, mocking whisper, "we don't have... shit… we don't have anything... We're animals. Animals live out here. We sleep on the ground, and huddle together for warmth. We live off what the land gives us. We hunt what the Guardians kill for us. So if it's our things you want, if that's what you need from me before you give me back my daughter... well, you'll just have to find someone else to become your slave."
Negan opens his hands and shrugs this little bit, in an allowing way.
"We'll deal with the ins and outs later," he says, "but for now, that is not the thing I need from you. What I need from you, right now... is for you… Alph... to put a knife through the throat... of every bastard among you... who you have allowed... to rape... your daughter."
Alpha's eyes flare at him, then shift towards Lydia, who shuffles her feet anxiously. I can't see the rest of her behind the huge umbrella, but I can see that she begins to tremble.
"That word went away when the world ended," Alpha says to Negan. "Animals can't rape. Rape doesn't exist in nature. It's just a word you use to make yourself feel like less of an animal."
My heart is pumping fast and hard, and I swear I hear, in the smallest voice, Lydia say, "Momma..."
"Don't you call me that!" Alpha screams at her. "You call me Alpha! Like the rest!"
Lydia startles so badly that she almost drops the umbrella.
"The word doesn't matter," Negan growls, his leather jacket shining under the rain and floodlights. "It is against the rules. I will not live —or allow anyone else to live— in a place where it isn't. Someone in charge, who lets something like that fly… it crosses a line... So. Make. It. Up. To. Me."
"I will not kill my people for you," Alpha answers. "Not for her. Our needs outweigh our wants. This negotiation is over."
"No!" Lydia cries, letting the umbrella fall to the side as she stumbles towards the gate, shaking it with her fists. "Alpha! I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Don't leave me! Please, Momma!"
Alpha glowers at her. Her mouth twitches. "You're no daughter of mine anymore..." And she turns without saying anything else at all, leading the other Whisperers away from the Sanctuary while Lydia crumples to the mud, gripping the gate in a sobbing heap.
Negan stands there in the rain, watching them all go.
And then—
"Fuck it," he says.
He walks over to Dwight and snatches his machine gun out of his hands. With one small nod to the rest of us, he turns on his heel, marches towards the gate, and takes aim.
Anybody quick enough to take his lead take aim, too. Carl, a few others, and I instead dive for cover behind the guard walkers and blockades. Negan doesn't give Alpha and her group that option, though. Alpha barely turns her head. She doesn't even have time to draw Carl's gun. Gunfire splits the air apart, like lightning bolts from the end of Negan's machine gun, cracking through every last one of them in a flurry of blood and mud. More gunfire rains down from the snipers inside the factory, too, taking Negan's abrupt lead. I cover my head reflexively, but let go when the noise subsides a few moments later, when the only sound left is Lydia, screaming.
Carl is at my side, out of breath. He looks at me, shock in his face. We've never seen Negan do that. Kill in cold blood, sure, but never a bullet in the back. Never without even a warning.
We peek over the blockade to see all the Whisperers, even Alpha, lying dead on the track. Lydia's cries fall to breathless hiccups. She covers her mouth with her hands, her umbrella blowing up against the fence by her side. Negan lets the machine gun drop to his thigh, smoking. He shakes his head, then turns and grabs Lydia by the arm, pulling her to her feet.
"Come on, Little Miss."
"Get off me!" She thrashes out of his grip, grunting and crying out, "You killed them!"
"Yeah, I did — for what they did to you."
"Why? Why do you care?!"
"Because I do not tolerate people like your mother! She and the fucking rest of them don't deserve to live, not on my turf or anywhere!"
"She was my family! They were… they..."
Negan grimaces at her. "You do not call people like that your family. For what they did to you? You hate them for it. I know you do. You told me so yourself."
Lydia sobs, but doesn't argue. She hangs her head and buries her face in her muddy hands. Negan turns to the rest of us, his face downturned.
"Arat! Take her back upstairs. Get her cleaned up and a dry set of clothes, and a room." He grimaces as Arat and Lydia leave together inside. "The rest of you, move these bodies before any real dead show up. String up the ones who'll wake up. Burn the rest."
We get to work. Negan watches us from the walker pen, standing there with his umbrella over his head and a grim look on his face. Most of the Whisperers will reanimate, so we chain them up as quickly as we can. It won't be long before any nearby walkers will come, attracted by the gunshots.
A trailer is brought out to take the head-shotted Whisperers somewhere for burning. Carl, his men, and I start piling bodies into it outside the gate. When I notice Carl standing over a particular dead body that hasn't been moved yet, I go over, guessing he needs help with it, but as I get close I see his eye, wide in horror.
"Amore?"
With a small jump at my voice, Carl shuffles on his feet without looking at me. Keeping his eye on the dead Whisperer, he gestures with his fingers for me to stand at his side, where I follow his eye-sight down, confused for a second, until I realise what I'm looking at. My eyes widen, too. I cover my mouth.
Quickly, I turn away to avoid yacking. And I can feel Carl's hand on my back, rubbing circles. He calls Negan over, which attracts most of the others as well. I turn back to watch Negan crouch down to the Whisperer's body. He unfurls a bloody blanket from her arms.
Revealing the baby.
Newborn, by the looks, and mangled up with bullets.
It turns its head to see us, but it is not alive.
Negan pulls it up, slowly, and glares at it in his hands, wriggling and hissing. As he pushes his knife through the crown of its skull, most of the rest of us gag and have to turn or walk away. Even the most loathsome Saviors among us are shaken at the sight of it.
But no more so than Negan himself.
Furious, he pushes the baby's corpse into Carl's arms and twists around to the dead Whisperer who had been carrying it. His bat swings so fast it whistles. I've never seen him so distraught. He goes on a rampage, bashing every Whisperer's head to a pulp, even the ones we've strung up already. We all have to stand back out of the way until he finally stops —until he's just standing there hunched and out of breath, splattered in blood and brains— and marches off inside the factory without saying a thing to any of us.
The rest of us get on with cutting down the Whisperers that wont turn now and loading them in the trailer outside the gates. I find Carl's Colt Python in the mud. I take it and wipe it clean with a rag from my pocket, checking the bullets in the cylinder to see them all still there, except for one. Dust comes away when I rub my thumb over the empty chamber. Confusion creases my eyebrows. I look around for Carl, but he's gone; taking the baby's body somewhere, I guess.
Walkers arrive by the time a few Saviors drive off to to burn the trailer of Whisperers. The rest of us retreat inside and shut the gate, letting the walkers in the pen do their job in masking our scent. Soon enough the walkers outside will leave, and the new guys on watch will let in the guys who left with the trailer, and as so, my job here is done.
A thumb length above the skyline, I can see the sun struggling its way through the thin rain-clouds, signalling early-morning. I'm exhausted as I get back up to my room. Carl isn't here, or Judith. Negan's wives must be taking care of her for us. I have a hunch that Carl might be up there, too, with Negan, but I choose not to go and investigate for my own sake.
With a bucket of cold water and soap, I wash the mud and blood off myself, change my clothes, and remove my prosthetic. I take my inhaler and collapse into bed, and even though I want to wait for my family to get back, even though I want to apologise for losing my temper last night, I can't even keep my eyes open for long enough to pull my pillow under my head.
Notes:
Big thank you to VerbalWalker for inspiring the Whisperer Wipe-out scene. I really enjoyed bringing that to life. Dialogue inspo from S7E15 and comic issue 138.
Next chapter will focus more on the guys together, finally.
Happy reading.
Chapter 14: II: The Things We Try to Hold Onto
Summary:
Negan shares a personal secret with Carl. Carl, Oliver, and Judith finally get a moment alone together. The relief is long-overdue, yet short lived.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
All my dreaming
All my wishing
It hasn't come through
Life's just like that
And I don't know what
I am looking for
But when I find it
It will feel right...
~ Grimes ~
Up in Negan's headquarters, Lanelle tells me I'll find Negan in his room. On my way, I thank her and the other wives for taking care of Judith for me this morning, who is asleep now on the couch in the living area with an unfinished chess game on the coffee table in front of her, exhausted after her attempt to stay up.
I go to Negan's bedroom door.
I knock.
"Not now," he drawls from inside.
"It's me," I say. "Came to s…s... to check everything's okay."
I hear a sniff from inside. Like, a trying to hold in a sob type of sniff. I blink. I've never heard him cry. It never occurred to me before that he even could.
"I'll go," I say uncomfortably, turning quickly.
"Wait, kid..."
I stop, and sigh to myself, already regretting this.
"Come in," Negan tells me.
Reluctantly, I go into his room. Shiva roars silently from the floor where the rug made from her hide lies, but after so many years, her fur is trodden on and time-worn and moth-bitten, the once vibrant black and orange stripes now dusty and dull.
Negan is sitting on his four-poster bed, hunched forward with his head in his hands. A jar of liquor is set on his bedside table. It's awkward to watch him, so I look at the sitting area where I once sang to his bat, the couch and armchairs the same as then, too, and the black coffee table, and the taxidermy antelope head on the wall. It's still raining like that day, too.
"Did you sort it?" he asks me.
"I, uh… buried it, him, in the dirt p...p-atch under the dead tree."
He nods, sniffing. "That's a pretty spot."
I don't say anything because, in truth, the Sanctuary has no pretty spots. I chose that patch because it was the only place inside the grounds that I could dig up.
"What a fucking mess," Negan says after a moment, rising off his bed to go to his cupboard. He pulls out two glasses. "Join me?"
He steps on Shiva's paw to cross the room and sit on his couch. I carefully step around the tiger rug and grab his liquor jar from the bedside table, then go and sit on the coffee table in front of him when he gestures me to. Negan pours me a drink, then another for himself. We clink our glasses. We drink.
"I was never sure about havin' kids before the Turn," he tells me, grimacing through the strength of the liquor. "It was always Lucille who was desperate for them. She'd tell me it was her dream, to be a mom. Begged me for years until I finally gave in. We tried for a while. Then the cancer hit. The kid-talk ended around then."
I don't say anything. I just drink another gulp of liquor and watch his face. Negan smiles at me in this miserable, drunken way, and reaches out to cup my face in his palm. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he really loved me sometimes, like my father used to, but I know the difference. My father knew me. He saw me. And he loved me anyway. Negan loves the idea of me, and the things I represent for him. He sees me only through his own, warped filter.
He lets go of me roughly, causing my head to jerk to one side. I take this as my opportunity to stand up from the coffee table and instead move to sit on the armchair opposite him, measuring the expression on his face as he glares down at his drink.
"It wasn't the cancer that stopped us," he admits to the floor, his eyebrows arching. "It was me. I know it. I'm infertile... and after all these years... I know the rest of them know it, too."
His throat makes a hollow noise, like a choke. He has to bite his knuckle. Tears run down his face, and it takes a lot of effort not to look away when he lifts his eyes to mine.
And instead of saying, “I just shot up a fucking baby,” he only says, “I am so ashamed.”
I sit forward quickly, grabbing the liquor jar from the coffee table and pouring him another refill. He nods, choking back another catch in his throat, and drinks heartily. I sit back again, giving a small breath of relief, hoping this will help him forget this feeling, forget it and move on so he can stop talking to me about it, but it doesn't seem to work.
"It's why you mean so much to me," he goes on, his voice slurring. "You and Oliver and little Judith... and Lydia… maybe."
I watch him, knowing I could talk to him all night about this, but I know after this long that he doesn't need me to comfort him. He doesn't need me to try to say something important. He just needs someone to drink with, so that's what I do for him: I pour him another drink. He gets through several more refills while I pace myself with just my first, and finally he's drunk enough that it's easy to convince him to go to bed.
I help him across the room, but he trips over Shiva's head and collapses to the floor. I try to pull him to his feet again, but as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, he just pulls me down to my knees and holds me there in a rough hug that I can't get out of. He never hugs me. I think the last time he ever did was the first time, after I found my way back from the gas station. After a moment, I shuffle to sit so that I can hug him back. He cries into my chest for several minutes. I wait for him to stop.
"Bring me sherry," he says finally.
"You've had enough, Negan."
He hiccups into my chest. "No. My Sherry."
"Oh… right… erm… I'll check if she's around."
Once I set him into bed, I leave his room, thinking about how little sleep I've had. Yawning, I go to the living area. Sherry is sitting on the couch, petting Judith's hair beside her.
"He's asking for you," I explain, pointing my thumb over my shoulder. Sherry gives a reluctant nod and moves to get up, but I add, "or… you could w...w-ait ten minutes, and he'll fall asleep?"
She tries not to smile, nodding. "Thanks, Carl."
I double take at her, not expecting her to call me that. Other than Oliver and my sister, nobody around here still calls me by my first name anymore. Oliver's told me Negan uses it sometimes, but never to my face; to us, we're both still just 'kid' and 'kiddo' to him, or son.
Quietly, I say goodbye to the other wives, pick Judith up from the couch, and carry her downstairs to my room, where Oliver is asleep after his watch-shift. I'm careful to be quiet while I set up Judith's bed on the floor, unfolding blankets and positioning her pillow all while she's still asleep over my shoulder. Gently, I lay her down and tuck her in.
While I get dressed for bed, I notice my Colt Python sitting clean on the nightstand. Oliver must've retrieved it while I was burying the baby.
Oliver stirs as I shuffle into bed with him. After so many weeks away he must be used to having all the bed to himself, because he's taking up more room than allows me to fit beside him. I have to nudge him and whisper his name so he'll move over. It's a constant struggle being two grown men —husbands, in fact— who share a single bed. But we've made it work after enough time to get used to it, even if we both have permanently stiff necks and knots in our backs the size of golf balls.
"Stai bene?" Oliver asks as I get comfortable.
"I'm fine," I whisper, wrapping an arm around his side and tucking my face into the flat bones of his shoulder blades, where the rippled scars there are smooth and warm. I breathe in the smell of him — honey-wax soap and wild herbs and home-made shaving cream. "You can go back to sleep," I add.
"I'm not going back to sleep."
"Why not?"
He doesn't answer me out loud, but instead pushes his hip against me. It's a sweet gesture, something much more shy than typical for him. Usually if he wants me, he'll just ask bluntly. In answer, I push my hand down into the waistband of his underwear, kissing under his ear as he whispers to me, "Bellissimo..."
He turns to face me, tangling our legs through each other’s, but before I can catch his mouth with mine, he pulls away to look at me.
"What?" I whisper.
"I'm sorry for losing my tempter," he tells me. "Earlier."
"Don't be..."
Again, he stops me before I can taste his Adam's apple.
"Really, man," he says, "I am..."
I watch him, laying my head back on our pillow. "I get why it upset you. I get what you're trying to hold on to… I do. I'm trying, too."
"You are?" he asks, and I nod, and I can tell he wants to ask me more about it, but something stops him. I can see it in his eyes, the decision to hold back, a decision I'm so used to after all these years, and instead he just takes my cheek in his palm and says, "I missed you so much, man."
"I missed you, too," I whisper, truthfully, and this time he lets my kiss meet his, and as we kiss, between breaths, I tell him, "you were all I could think about while I was away... just like every year... every year and always..."
And again, Oliver pulls back, his eyebrows creasing. "You think we'll be doing this for that long?"
"Doing what?" I ask.
Oliver doesn't answer me, but again, his eyes show me something hopeless, something yearning, and it worries me, so I prop myself up on my elbow to face him better, leaning over him so I can look into his face as the dusty sunlight comes in through our little window down onto us. I rest my palm to his collar, running my fingers along the bones there, but before I can ask what he's thinking he just pulls me down to him and all other thoughts float right out of my mind.
Our kiss is desperate, frantic, but we have to be so quiet. Quiet while we take off our clothes. Quiet while we hold each other close and trail our lips across each other's scars. Quiet while we ask permission from each other to each other. And with a brief glance to check Judith is still asleep, Oliver and I retreat under our bedsheets and make love, silently and carefully, craving every last bit of each other, like cups threatening to spill. And after, as we come back again, back from wherever it is we always go together, we lay together warm and breathless in this little bed in this little room, our damp shoulders mashed to fit on the mattress.
Oliver cradles my head in his arms, careful not to touch my stitching, while I rest my cheek to his chest and listen to his thumping heart, slowing down now. I can hear, as well, Judith snoring across the room softly. At some point, I have to move my head because Oliver stretches over to reach down the side of the mattress, from which he pulls a jar full of moonshine. I laugh silently.
"It's barely noon," I whisper.
"We've barely slept," he says. "So, if you think about it, it's kinda still your birthday..."
Agreeing, I take the first burning gulp, and Oliver the second and third, and we get drunk together, and we goof around, quietly. I retrieve the little box Oliver had given me earlier, inside it a tiny little owl sculpture that he and Judith whittled for my birthday while I was away. We grin at it together now, and I set it on the nightstand, where I've decided is where it's going to live from now on, and we goof off a little more, quietly, until our lack of sleep and intoxication finally catches up to us and we fall asleep in each others arms.
I wake up in the evening, as the sun is setting. It'll probably take a few days for us to get our sleep schedule back to normal again. Maybe Dr. Carson can give us a sleeping remedy to help.
As I sit up, I notice that Judith is gone, her blankets all folded up neatly in the corner of the room; as she always keeps them during the day-time. I rub my face and climb out of bed carefully as not to wake Oliver, figuring I should go and look for her. Although, as I'm searching for clothes to do so, she comes back into the room, carrying a board game.
"Chess," she says, which tells me she was upstairs with Negan again. She shuts the door behind herself and gestures the box to me. "Play with me?"
Pulling on my underwear and a t-shirt, I nod, and we sit together on the floor with the board between us, quiet while we set up our pieces. Her side is missing its king, so Judith uses a small biker action figure she's got lying around — it looks kind of like Negan, which, I think, is why she kept it.
We play for a while. Judith sacrifices her pawns recklessly, whereas I, perhaps just as hazardously, use my queen to chase her castles, knights, and bishops around the board. Our kings remain tucked away on the back squares, protected and useless. At some point while I'm planning my next move, Judith notices my Colt Python, tucked safely in my holster over the back of our chair.
"If you died instead of Morales yesterday," she tells me, "I would've wanted Oliver or Daddy to give it to me."
I hate that she calls Negan that, but after so long it's been an impossible habit to break, considering.
"You can't have it," I say flatly. "It'll give you a flinch... if it doesn't shatter your wrists first."
"What's a flinch?"
"It's what Oliver has. It's why his aim's so bad."
At this, Oliver tuts from the bed and turns over to face us. I wink at him, and he turns away again, grumbling tiredly.
I look back to Judith and tell her, "Not until you're older."
She shrugs. "Okay."
I don't give her a smile or offer her some words of encouragement. No light-hearted joke like Oliver would. Judith and I aren't like that to each other. Other than yesterday when I was tickling her —which I think I only did because I'd been drinking— Judith and I are much more stoic and serious together than she and Oliver. She'll talk back to him, and gives him more attitude than he knows how to handle, but when it comes to me, I only have to look at her to get her to behave. I don't know why. And I don't know why she's more interested in my attention than his, either. She's polite to me, but much less relaxed and comfortable speaking her mind around me, unlike Oliver, which I sometimes feel a little jealous of. Though, I'm even more jealous when it comes to her and Negan. He's Judith's favourite person on the planet.
I win the chess match. Years ago, I used to let Judith win, but she made me stop after she realised. She tricked me, actually, and played so badly on purpose that it was obvious I was playing things down.
We're setting up the pieces for another round just as someone knocks on our door, but they don't wait at all to burst into our room. Judith and I jump, the door knocking aside our board.
"Laura!" I bark, grabbing my jeans from the floor. "Wh...wh—"
"Grimes," she says over me, turning away to let me dress. "Sorry, but you gotta come with me. Negan needs to speak to us."
Annoyed, I grab my boots and jacket. Laura checks that I'm decent, and seeing that I am, snatches me by the arm to leave with her.
"What's happening?" Oliver asks her, sitting up groggily and rubbing his eyes with his amputation stump.
"It's Dwight!" Laura answers, marching me down the corridor.
"What about him?" Oliver calls out, rushing to the door barely dressed.
"It was him," Laura growls over her shoulder. "It was Dwight all a-fucking-long!"
Confused, I glance back at Oliver, lost for words. Oliver just stands at our door, all the colour draining from his face as he watches us go.
I've dreamt of lovin'
I've wish ed for control
It hasn't come through
But I won't push that
Maybe all that
I've ever wanted
Is what I haven't
That is all mine...
Notes:
Song was 'All My Dreaming' by Emma Russack from the episode Bounty.
Can you tell I'm really ramming home the whole chess metaphor thing between Saviors vs the Coalition? Also hope you noticed the flipped father-figure action figure thing. And on the note of Negan, I didn't go much into the infertility thing, or even incorporate any of the stuff from 'Here's Negan' (even though I could have) because honestly I don't think Negan deserves it. I just had it to drill home the root of his child-collecting obsession and leave it at that.
I absolutely hated writing Shiva as a rug :( but on a more pleasant note, really enjoyed writing Carl playing chess with Judith in his underwear. That felt very candid and wholesome which is all we really want from this, right?
Anyway, onto the chaos and horror of Dwight being busted in the next!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 15: II: As Kind and as Gentle
Summary:
Negan learns the truth behind the Coalition's escape. Dwight faces punishment. Oliver spins out, and an unlikely friend steps in.
Notes:
Added CW: Alcohol abuse. Suicide ideation.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
Miles and miles of deceit come to light with the letter Dwight wrote to Rosita — the letter I left for certain in the mail box where it'd been hidden for over a year — the letter that can in no way be here, discovered, and read aloud by Negan at the fences while Carl and Laura drag a bloody Dwight out through the Sanctuary gates towards a rusty post across the street.
"'Rosita. It's good you're all seeming to be doing well where you are. It's good you were able to get everyone away from here. Keep being careful, coming back here like this. Negan will never stop searching for you all, and you'll never be safe here as long as he is alive. I know that's why you left in the first place. There wasn't much reason to keep sticking around here any longer, not after everything that went down, everything you lost. Y'all deserve to make a life for yourselves wherever it is you are. I hope one day things can come together how we hope. I'll keep working here, finding out what I can about your missing friends. I've heard some more rumours about helicopter sightings… blah, blah, blah... Keep up with any updates or news, when you can. Dwight.'"
As Negan finishes reading the letter, he crumples it up in his fist and drops it to the dirt at his boot. In the fashion of a golf ball, he hits it with Lucille. It bounces through the fence and lands a little ways away from Dwight. He doesn't lift his eyes from the ground as Laura chains his arms behind him around the post. She and Carl return inside the Sanctuary bounds, closing the gate behind them.
"The audacity!" Negan shouts. "The God damn audacity!"
He paces along the fence like a starved lion in a cage, glaring out at Dwight, the strung up carcass — soon to be, at least. The rest of us watch from various points along the walker pen driveway and up across the factory grounds. Most of the wives are upstairs with Judith, except for Amber and Sherry, who are both standing on the porch together. Sherry's face is totally blank among the grumbling, glaring crowd. Thick, sparkling tears run down her cheeks.
I jump and turn my head when something touches my wrist. Carl. He furrows his eyebrows at me. I relax my face and look back towards Negan.
"It all makes sense now," he laughs, pointing a finger in Dwight's direction. "You helped the Hilltop escape! You helped the Kingdom escape! Even fucking Oceanside! And then, after all these years, you even helped the Coalition run away to wherever the fuck it was they ran off to!"
Before now, Dwight had been interrogated all night up until this morning. He didn't give up a thing about my involvement, or Eric and Gabriel's, but confessed solely that he, himself, alone was connected to everything regarding the Coalition's departure from Virginia, and that he meant to send the letter this week but didn't get the chance to before someone discovered it in his room.
In his room...
Negan couldn't dispute it. Dwight was too smart to write the send date or any names other than his own and Rosita's in his letter. He gave a false location on where he intended to leave the letter for pick-up — somewhere near Kingdom we'd determined too dangerous in the early days. He even kept Carol safe when Negan got suspicious of her; since she'd had no idea Dwight was still involved with the Coalition at all by the point of her capture seven years ago, as we'd deliberately kept her out of it for her safety.
Still, though, Negan severed all the tendons in Dwight's forearms during his interrogation, among other things, and then he ironed the other side of Dwight's face at the furnace, and finally, more for show than anything, Negan water boarded him in the courtyard in front of the rest of us until Dwight stopped breathing and Dr. Carson had to revive him. Only then did Negan give up and order Carl and Laura to chain him up outside the gates like this.
"I trusted you," Negan snarls, glaring through the mesh fence. "And you humiliated me. I'd ask if you have any last words, but I already cut out your tongue… so fuck your last words."
Dwight looks up at him, slowly, the raw skin on the newly-ironed side of his face oozing. He doesn't try to speak. He doesn't struggle. He just spits a large glob of blood down at the ground between him and the fence.
Negan turns to us. Arat approaches past Carl and I with a stereo in her hands. Negan snatches it from her. He sets it down on the floor and we all watch him attach some wires to it to hooked it up to the outdoor-speakers on top of the fence. He flips on the power button, turns up the music, and soon enough, a few walkers show up to the beat...
'Good morning to you, I hope you're feeling better, baby
Thinking of me while you are far away
Counting the days until they set you free again
Writing this letter hoping you're okay
Saved you the room you used to stay in every Sunday
The one that is warmed by sunshine every day
And we'll get to know each other for a second time
And then you can tell me 'bout your prison stay...'
And we watch as Dwight is eaten alive. His screams. Oh... his screams.
'It's gonna be good to have you back again with me
Watching the laughter play around your eyes
Come up and fetch you, saved up for the train fare money
Kiss and make up and it will be so nice
Feels so good you're coming home soon...'
And finally, when he is long dead, and the walkers have shredded him dry, the watching Savior crowd begins to thin out. Some shout insults at his gnawed on skeleton, while others throw bricks or empty beer bottles in his and the stuffed walkers' direction, causing smashes or clangs against the fence mesh.
Negan passes us to head up along the driveway towards the factory. Carl watches him go, then turns to me, watches me for a second, and then gestures his head for me to help him clean up outside the fence. I follow him out. He deals with the first walker while I stab the second through the forehead. Arat and Laura come out, too. Laura and Carl get to unchaining Dwight's skeleton. Arat and I keep watch for any more walkers.
As they're dragging Dwight towards the gates to be strung up inside the pen, I crouch and pick up the letter Negan had batted over here. I un-crumple it, I re-read it, and then I look up towards the factory.
Sherry is watching me from the porch.
There's no way to tell her I didn't give her husband up, no way to explain that I have no idea who did. I couldn't think of any way to convince Negan that Dwight was being framed, or even working as some type of triple agent somehow. Not without seeming suspicious for getting involved.
And then Sherry turns away, towards the factory, with Amber hugging her side.
"Careful!"
I startle and drop the letter to the dirt at Laura's yelp. She and Carl both throw Dwight's body away from themselves and jump back. I realise why when I see that he has Turned. Only, the four of us quickly see that there's so little muscle and flesh left on him that he can't do anything beyond hiss as he collapses weakly to the dirt. Even his jaw is ripped off, so nothing to bite with.
He barely lifts his head to watch as Arat sends her boot heel through his face. She glares at me, blood across her chin. "Why don't you pay some attention next time, asshole? You're supposed to be keeping watch with me!"
I can feeling my lip curl, but I don't speak to her.
"You gonna do your job and help us?" she adds, spreading her arms. "Or stand there and enjoy the show?"
"Get fucked, Arat."
"Oliver," Carl warns me, standing between us. At the same time, Laura raises her arms in an attempt to stay out of it, too.
"No, no," Arat laughs. "Let him say what he wants. Let him do whatever he wants, like usual."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"It means: I bet I could sit around and do jack shit all day, too, maybe check some snares, all if I just get down on my knees for Negan's son and play gigilo, too, huh? Easy as that."
"Fuck you!"
"Man-whore!"
"Kid murderer!"
She punches me across the mouth.
The pain is so bright I see stars. And I know that because she's a woman, under Negan's rule, I'll be hanged if I lay a finger on her, even if she hit me first, so I just try to collect my balance as I take her next punch. It knocks the air out of my chest. Finally, Carl pushes his way between us before she can land her third or fourth blow. Laura grabs her and pulls her away from me, too.
I steady myself against the fence, shoving Carl off when he tries to take my face in his hands and look at my busted lip. He doesn't try to stop me as I march off towards the factory.
Other Saviors stare and murmur as they watch me pass them by inside. The paranoia begins to set in on my way upstairs. Whoever exposed the letter knows about my involvement. How else would they have found the letter? If they haven't told Negan about the letter box, though, then what did they tell him for in the first place? To blackmail me? To wait for the right time to get me and my family punished?
I think of going to Carol in her cell, but I know that will only look suspicious, not to mention I'd never be able to talk to her about this without risking the guards overhearing us.
Soon I reach the infirmary before I realise that's even where I'm heading. I don't find Dr. Carson inside. Regardless, I go to the cupboard where he keeps the medicine. My medicine. Or, at least, he did keep it here all those years ago, only then it occurs to me that I don't actually remember the name of the medicine he used to give me.
"Fuck..."
Breathing hard, I have to wipe the sweat off my face. I'm trembling so badly that I have to put each box on the counter in order to read properly. This panic attack is like the ones I used to get when I first got here — I guess that's why I came here in the first place, like instinct.
After finding a box that looks vaguely familiar, I un-pocket four pills and swallow them all at once. Taking the remaining box with me, I leave the infirmary and climb the stairs to my room. Soon I remember the moonshine from this morning. I wonder how much of it I'd have to drink to speed up the time it takes for the sedatives to kick in, and how much more I'd need to take to keep me sedated until tomorrow morning. And I wonder, too, how much I would have to drink to make sure I wouldn't wake up tomorrow at all...
I shake that thought off quickly. Only, I still cannot escape the overwhelming sense that everything is falling apart, that the world is so empty, and I'm just so sick of hoping, and dreaming, for nothing. I can't even stand it anymore. It's a feeling so visceral that it's difficult not to feel like it might even be a relief just to finally accept it.
Again, I shake the thought away, and instead I pull the jar of moonshine from where it is tucked down the side of the bed and drink a large gulp, and then another, and so on. I'm not sure which sets in first. The pills or the shine. I don't care, though. So long as this feeling goes away. This terrible, doomed feeling. Only it doesn't go away. I just start to feel worse. And my stomach starts to hurt. And then I'm so drunk and ill and in pain that the next thing I'm really aware of is that I'm curled up on my side, sweating and breathing very slowly and clutching my stomach, barely thinking anything at all except that I have no idea what's wrong with me, and that I just wish for it to end, for it all to end, and then I'm not thinking anything at all...
Anything at all until—
—until someone is shaking my shoulder—
—and smacking my cheeks, calling my name—
—sticking their fingers deep down my throat and forcing me to vomit—
—and to vomit again, like an erupting volcano—
—and to sit up in my bed against the wall—
—and to "Stay sitting up," to "Just, please, stay sitting up, Oliver..."
I'm so sick and so drunk. The whole world is spinning and my body is in so much pain. So much pain. And I'm still being made to sit up, still being talked to. And I don't know how long later it is or what's going on until at some point I'm refusing a glass of water that is being pushed against my lips.
Sherry whimpers my name so I let her pour the water into my mouth. I know as my forehead thumps my window that the sun is beginning to set. I've been up here all day?
There is a chair against my door but I don't know why. I try to ask but my mouth doesn't work. Sherry is holding my face, trying to get me to drink more water, but I turn my head away, so confused and in pain that all I do is begin to cry.
"Oh, Jesus, Oliver. Fucking hell. Be quiet, please. Someone will hear you."
I try to be. I try to make the room stay still. I'm covered in vomit and I think I've wet myself, too. The smell is disgusting. There are soiled towels that are usually kept under the bed all over the place, on the bed and on the floor. I try to tell Sherry to leave, to just please leave, but I just moan and start to cry again.
The door handle jolts against the chair-back.
Sherry startles from me and twists around to look at it.
"Uhh… who is it?" she asks, attempting to sound casual, but her voice cracks.
"Sherry?" Carl's voice says through the door. "Erm. You're in my room? W...w-ait. Is the door blocked? Let me in..."
He tries the door handle again.
"Just a minute! We made Judy a fortress!"
Sherry stands there in the middle of the room, hugging herself and glancing around nervously. She must realise she's got no choice left, because quickly, she turns to the door and moves the chair away. Carl steps around her into the room, looking amused in his expectation to find us under a fortress of towels with his sister, until he sees me alone on the bed, covered in vomit and tears and sweat, barely able to lift my head from the windowpane.
His eye flares wide. "Oliver?"
I just sob. Sherry shuts the door and stands in front of it, looking small. She shakes her head and wipes her eyes when Carl looks at her for answers. He rushes over to me and takes my arm. I'm too weak to hold myself up, so when he pulls me forward, I collapse against him and groan.
"Is he drunk?" Carl asks.
"I don't… I tried to keep him upright…" Sherry's hands are shaking. "I tried to make him throw everything up..."
"Oliver," Carl says to me, taking my face in his palms, "G...G-od, your lips are blue. Sherry?"
"He had these," she says, handing him the box of pills I took from the infirmary. "And the jar was empty when I found him a few hours ago."
"A f...f-ew hours? Fuck, Oliver! Wh..wh-at the..."
He looks at Sherry, then me again, and his eyebrows squeeze into a tight line. Suddenly I realise how this looks, what it looks like I've tried and failed to do today, and it's not just Dwight's death and the loss of the Coalition that weighs on me but the sight as Carl suddenly believes, in this moment, that I've tried to kill myself.
His mouth opens wide, but all his words disappear like clouds through a propeller, not a cuss or a question managing to get out in his devastation until finally he asks, in a desperate beg, "Why?"
I shake my head. It's hard to do anything except panic, slouched here against him feeling beyond pathetic, beyond heartbroken. Just empty and alone and too weak to explain myself.
"Tell him..."
My head is heavy as I glance up at Sherry's voice. She's still standing at the door.
Her chin shakes. "Tell him, Oliver."
I swallow and wince breathlessly.
I look at Carl and I say, "It's my fault... It's my fault Dwight's dead."
Sherry stares at us, her eyes dripping.
"I'm so sorry," I tell her, the sobs catching inside my raw throat, and then she leaves the room before I can say anything else at all. Carl tries to call after her. His voice shakes. He even rushes across the room to catch her but I throw up again across the bed and he comes back to me, pushing me onto my side so that I don't choke. I pant against the soiled mattress, watching him stand there over me with the truth caving in around him.
He stops looking at me.
He turns away.
And he just grips his head and mutters, "You were working w...w-ith him, all this time."
He doesn't ask it, so I just screw up my face in the blanket.
And Carl asks, in this worse-than-terrified way, "What are we gonna do?"
"Carl..." I say, just shaking my head. "It's over."
"It's over?"
"I can't do this anymore. I can't—"
"Shut up. Shut up! Shut up!"
And he grabs me, suddenly and violently, pushing me onto my back against the bed and shaking me. He's never shaken me before. He's never held me down. And it's like in this one moment I'm fifteen again and being squashed under that Claimer, and the panic of it is so real that I have to get him off of me, I have to get him away, so I swing my arm as hard as I can.
My prosthetic hook and Carl's cheek make an awful sound as they connect, like a mallet through raw meat.
Carl reels off the bed, landing in a soiled towel on the floor. He's so stunned for a moment that I think I've knocked him out. But he sits up, clutching his jaw. He grimaces at me, out of breath. I push my back to the wall and hug my knees, panting and crying and trying to hold in more vomit.
"You were just going to kill yourself?" he asks, keeping his voice low and harsh so nobody outside the room hears him. "You were just going to leave me here on my own? Leave Judith? Carol? Without even saying goodbye?"
I'm crying too hard to tell him it's not true — that I would never do that — that what happened was an accident — a stupid, panicked mistake. Carl gets up off the floor and sits on the chair, bending forward into himself and burying his head in his hands. He pushes his fingers through the small tufts of hair he has, scratching absently at the new, sore-looking, stitched cut behind his hairline. His eye, staring down at the floor, is wide and afraid.
"I didn't," I manage to tell him. "It was an accident. I swear..."
Carl hears me, but doesn't say anything.
"But I can't keep lying to you anymore," I go on. "I'm so tired..."
He blinks, still staring at the floor.
"Sherry's gonna turn you in," he says flatly.
"I don't care," I choke out, failing to hold back the sobs. "Just... make sure Negan knows you weren't involved."
The disgust breaks out fast across Carl's face as he lifts his head to look at me. I have to turn my face away from him, shaking my head.
"I'll stay here," I add. "You should go and get them now."
Carl must get up — I hear the chair scrape. I even flinch, expecting him to grab me again, but he doesn't. I look at him, watching as he stands facing the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose in the same way his father used to.
"Damn you!" he seethes under his breath, barely managing not to shout it, but still, he says it so harshly that I jump. He turns to look at me, wiping his eye quickly as a stream of tears fall. He has to cover his mouth for a second, and when he uncovers it he says, "You did this… to yourself and to me."
"I didn't try to kill myself."
"I know," he growls. "I'm not talking about that. You should have told me."
"What?" I croak in a monotone, barely able to speak anymore. "And throw away a chance to see our family? Our friends? Forever?"
"No!" Carl barks. "I could have helped you."
I almost don't have the energy to feel surprised. I can't even think of anything to say to him.
"Maybe we could have gotten out with the Coalition," he goes on, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose again, "if I had only kn...kn-own they were all still even just alive..."
His eyebrows arch. His chin is shaking.
"I'm n…n..." He struggles, but I know what he's trying to say. He's trying to say, 'I'm not fourteen anymore," so he tells me, instead, "I don't run and tell m...m-y dad on people like I used to. And Negan is not my father. I keep secrets from him, too."
I sit there, wincing at the pain in my stomach from the sedatives and the alcohol, wishing I could just breathe and think properly again. Finally, I shake my head and tell him, "It's too late. I don't know how to find them. Our people… they're all gone."
It's at the word 'gone' that Carl's face twists up again. I know he knows it's something I will be soon, too. He has to face away again and wipe his cheek several times. He sniffs. Then he steps across the room and looks out of the door, along the corridor. He's trembling so violently that the handle rattles. He stands there for several minutes, then comes back inside finally and sits by my side. He takes my hand, and then he just wraps his arms around me, vomit and all, and breaks apart. Just cries into me. Because we know we can't run, or fight this. Not with Judith upstairs, probably with Negan as Sherry is telling him what I've done. I've trapped us all in a corner. Completely and utterly. And there is only one ending left: my execution.
And so, we wait...
Half an hour passes.
An hour.
Two.
Three.
Until it's after nightfall and I've sobered up enough to be feeling the full unrelenting swing of the sedative and alcohol hangover as the effects wear off. I guess, since what I experienced was more of an overdose, it makes sense that this is worse than the worst hangover I could ever imagine. We're both too scared to attempt to find Dr. Carson. Carl and I have barely moved a muscle at all. I'm going to try to sit up now though, and ask him what's taking Negan so long to come for me—
Only this is when Judith steps inside the bedroom. Carl and I both gasp. Judith jumps at the sight of us, too, sitting here curled up on the filthy bed together.
She grimaces. "Is that yack?"
"Judith," Carl says, sitting up quickly. We both have sore rashes on our arms and legs from where we've been sitting in my bile. "Did N...N-egan send you?"
"No," she tells me suspiciously. "What's going on? Your hurt..."
Carl and I look at each other. His cheek is shining a bright purple now, with a small, scabby cut in the centre of the bruise to compliment his stitched cut behind his hairline. I can only guess what my lip looks like after Arat hit me, but it feels swollen. We both look like human speedbags.
"It's nothing," Carl lies. "We fell down the stairs."
"Together?"
"Yeah, sure — are you okay?"
Judith hesitates, then nods. She's standing on her toes, which is something she does when she's distressed. I don't doubt Negan told her what happened to Dwight already.
"Where's..." Carl begins.
"Daddy's upstairs," Judith says, guessing what he was going to ask.
Carl looks at me, confused. He looks back at his sister. "He's not coming down for us?"
"Why would he?" she asks, so Carl just shrugs. Judith clamps her nose between her finger and thumb. "You both should clean this up. I need to sleep."
"Yeah," Carl says uneasily as he cracks open the little window for air, because I guess he's thinking what I'm thinking, that perhaps Sherry didn't tell Negan after all. Perhaps tonight isn't the night I'll be put to death for treason. "We should do that. We'll do that."
He looks at me. I sit up slowly, my body aching.
"What's wrong with you?" Judith asks me.
"Oliver's not f...f-eeling well," Carl tells her. "He's come down with something."
Judith tries to investigate me, but Carl asks her to sit on the only clean bit of the room, the chair, while he begins to clean up. I have to move very stiffly and carefully while I do what I can to help him strip the bedsheets. Judith runs and gets us clean replacements at some point, and when the bed is made she lays in it, cosy and warm in her pyjamas, relishing the temporary novelty that is lying in a real bed, if not a worn, saggy, spring-digging bed.
She watches us tiredly while we clean the rest of the room with supplies from the cupboard next door. Carl mops while I groggily wipe surfaces, holding my nausea at bay by eating an energy bar Carl has stashed away and drinking more water that he pours for me in the glass Sherry left.
I worry about her. She just lost her husband.
She just watched me almost accidentally kill myself over it.
And she just saved my life.
"Carl," I whisper, after he's already helped me dress into clean clothes and is now helping me wash the dry bile and whatever else off my arms and face and out of my hair. I check Judith is asleep and say to him, "Sherry…"
Carl's eyebrows crease uncomfortably, but he relaxes his face and offers me a comforting nod. "Let's talk about it tomorrow," he says, his voice so soft, and he's so gentle as he takes under my arms and helps me into bed beside his sister, "when you're feeling better..."
While Judith sleeps, I hug her to me and watch drowsily as Carl finishes tidying our room. He sets up Judith's bedsheets on the floor, then finally gets to washing himself, changing his clothes, and putting them in the hamper with the rest.
Carefully, he lifts Judith from my arms, off the bed — her little hand hangs limply behind his back and I touch her fingers just as Carl carries her over to her blanket on the floor. He lays her down gently, tucks her in, and kisses her forehead.
He gets into bed with me.
The little window makes the room hum from the wind outside, so he reaches over and shuts it, then turns to the wall, sighing as he finally takes a moment to be still. I wrap my arms around him from behind. He presses the back of his head into my forehead. I breathe into his scalp. For a while, I think a small part of us is still waiting for someone to come and get us, but more time passes and nothing happens, so Carl speaks to me, easier than he has in a long time.
"I never told you what really happened at the gas station that day," he whispers. "I never told anyone what I saw… or what I did..."
I nod my head a tiny, dizzy bit, so he knows I'm listening.
"I watched Regina murder Enid," he whispers slowly, and I can hear the sorrow of it catching in his throat, like saying it —like just hearing it outside of his own head for the first time— has made him relive it all over again. "She shot her… right in front of me."
And I think I've always known this, too, even if hearing it out loud, after all this time, is like a bite to the stomach. For a while I have to wait until the tears stop. We both do. Finally Carl speaks again.
"Negan and Regina didn't know I was in the room. When the smoke bombs went off, they called out for me, but I didn't answer them. They got rushed by Tara and Rosita. They chased each other out of the store. And I ran away..."
He stops for long enough that I think he's finished, and I'm going to thank him for telling me. I'm going to tell him that he did nothing wrong, like he seems to think he did, but then he keeps talking.
"I found a survivor," he says, and takes a breath. It shakes. "I didn't even get his name..."
And again the pause is long enough that, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was done, but I wait, and he goes on.
"I shot him."
That's what he says.
He says, "I killed him while he was begging me not to. The gun — my dad's gun — it went off in my hand. And this guy, he was just dead. Just like that. And sometimes… sometimes I get so scared... because what if it wasn't an accident? What if, deep down, something in me wanted to murder him?"
He cries silently in my arms, twisting to bury his face in my chest, and I don't know what to say to him at all for several minutes, because it won't help to tell him that he isn't a murderer. It wouldn't be the truth. He has killed, and not accidentally like with this stranger, not in mercy or self-defence like I have. Carl has killed in cold blood. He told me about the boy in the woods. And I know he will never forgive himself for that. I know he shouldn't, either.
"That was the last person I ever killed," he tells me through a few hiccups. "I've spent every day since, terrified that I'll be put in a position to do it again, but I haven't. I haven't had to. Not even on Career Days. Negan promised me he would do his own killing and for a while I didn't believe him, but after this long, besides protecting you and Judith, it's one of the only things that he's ever done for me that I'm still truly grateful for."
He raises his head to look at me. The moonlit clouds cast murky glowing shapes in his wet eye.
"I… don't even know if I can kill anymore," he admits. "I get nightmares about it. I'm scared to death of it."
The dust in his Colt Python's cylinder makes sense now, as I realise its bullets must be the same Carl had loaded in seven years ago. The one missing bullet must be the same one he'd killed that survivor with, too.
I stroke the tears off his face. There are even a few managing to seep through the mangled tear duct in his scarred eye socket, too. I kiss his forehead. I tell him I'm grateful he's finally telling me all of this, because he's never told me anything about his role in Career Days. It's always been part of the unspoken agreement we had, the secrets we kept from each other.
"Tara and Rosita came after me, after what I did," he says after a while, when his hiccups slow down. "I didn't let them find me. I could have. They were right there... but after what I'd seen, and what I'd done... and I knew you were still trapped here… I knew, if I left with them I'd never see you again... so it was over... I gave up. I gave it all up..."
"Thank you, Carl."
And as we lay tangled in each others arms for hours, wiping each others tears away, and with the truth finally laid out before us, I think about how close I came to throwing this away, how close I came to losing everything because I didn't think I could trust him, because I was so stupid not to realise I could, for all this time. Because I meant what I said to Alden. Except now I mean it completely. More than I even knew. Carl has never given up on me. He is still the best man I ever knew. He is still just as kind and as gentle as he was when we were teenagers. I just let myself forget it in these past seven years. I gave up on him without even realising I had. And I vow to myself, as I fall asleep, touching my nose to his, that I will never let that happen again.
Notes:
RIP Dwight.
Song was 'Care of Cell 44' by The Zombies. It played in the background during one of Carol's sleep-deprived dream sequences in E3S10 (also just noticed the parallel where everyone thought she tried to hurt herself, same with Oliver this chapter, when in truth it was an accident for both of them). Absolutely did not mean to parallel drunk Negan asking about Sherry before bed with Oliver doing the exact same thing a few chapters later, too. Best not to look into that too much, I think.
And finally, yes, Carl is an active pacifist now. I hope it's more obvious looking back on his behaviour in the last 5 chapters. Should make things interesting in the future… what with the inevitable 'rescuing and reuniting the gang' arc incoming.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 16: II: For the Lost
Summary:
Things between Carl and Oliver are improving. They visit Alexandria; Carl for work reasons, Oliver for personal reasons.
Notes:
Things you should know for context from here on out: Noah lived in the OG fanfic by not getting eaten alive in the revolving door on the battery scouting trip in season 5. He then later disappeared mysteriously with Heath on the medical supply run that only Tara returned from. Dunno how relevant this is in this AU as I already have a whole plan for him in the other fic, and I won't want to write that twice, so you'll either see the result of that here or there. Depends on what happens in season 11, as well as how the Rick Grimes movies go, too. We'll see…
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
The truth finally coming out between Carl and I last month has opened up a fresh start for us somehow, in ways we never realised we needed so badly. It feels like a turning page, after years of setting the book aside to gather dust. I would almost feel peaceful if I wasn't still so paranoid over who found Dwight's letter, or if Sherry would just stop avoiding me and talk to me about what happened. Every attempt to get a moment alone with her has failed, and at this point I'm beginning to realise I don't want to talk about it either, so I've given up trying.
Carol tells me it's for the best. She's doesn't fully know why Dwight's execution shook me so badly, or what Sherry did for me that day in my room. I can't tell her for her own safety. Still, I think she's figured most of it out herself, really, even if she's tactful enough not to say anything. I've visited her every day to sit and talk about nothing in particular, sometimes with Carl, sometimes with Judith — who, oddly enough, barely ever gives me attitude anymore, especially when it comes to school work. I think she understands a sense of how sick I was that day in our room, and has taken it upon herself to give me a break.
I haven't complained.
In truth, I think I needed it.
On top of all that, like a glistening cherry, Negan has barely spoken to me or Carl at all. The Whisperer girl, Lydia, has been like a shiny new toy to him. She's the new kidnapee, see? And unlike Carl and I, she's taken a fondness to Negan already. Lydia doesn't seem to respond to her family being murdered the same way Carl and I did. Lydia glues to Negan like a puppy. She glues to Negan like Judith does. The three of them have been inseparable.
Regardless, Negan is so preoccupied playing Daddy to the girls that, this morning, he barely hesitates at all to give Carl his blessing to bring me along on a response-check to Alexandria today; there was a report yesterday of some Alexandrians not returning from a nearby scout, and as well as that, some Saviors didn't come back from patrolling the same area yesterday either, so Carl needs to go and speak with Gregory to check things out. We suspect it's just some folk caught up somewhere while scavenging, but as per protocol, someone needs to check-in and make a report either way.
It's the first time Carl and I have ever left the Sanctuary together, just the two of us. It's difficult to describe how it feels, but it's even more difficult to describe why it took this long to happen. It wasn't like we weren't allowed to leave together, as far as I'm aware. Negan has always known that for as long as he's got Judith wrapped around his little finger, Carl and I aren't going anywhere. I guess that, to us, the notion of leaving together like this just didn't feel possible until now, like this level of freedom was blocked off by some invisible wall we didn't even realise was there.
When I try to explain this to Carl, he gets this thoughtful look on his face, like he feels the same way, and says to me, "You know what it is, right?"
I shake my head, watching him.
So Carl says, "Stockholm Syndrome."
It's morbid, but we both snicker about it anyway. I reach over and rub the top of his head, jostling him. His hair is short enough now after I buzzed it for him that it no longer touches his forehead or even reaches through my fingers. I don't know why he still keeps it so short. I always used to like it long enough that he looked sort of feminine from certain angles, but I guess after what Negan did that day in the infirmary, Carl's never wanted to give him or anyone the chance to do it again. It's the same reason Carol still keeps her hair short, too — less for people to take away.
The clouds are pale and thin today, and the sun comes through in short bursts every so often to warm our faces. I roll my window down to feel the cool wind on my eyelids.
As we draw close to Alexandria, the weight of not returning here once in almost eight years dawns on me. I haven't seen or even spoken to Eric or Gabriel face-to-face since then, either, in spite of reading their letters to the Coalition over the years, and vice versa. We never even met together at the mail box. In the first few years it was too dangerous, but then, in these last few years, when it was less dangerous… I don't know... I guess visiting them at Alexandria or at all just felt wrong. Not so much like I wasn't allowed anymore, but like I would return to something too different from what I once knew. I could never have come back here again if Carl wasn't sitting by my side to accompany me.
We drive through the burned cul-de-sac until finally I see the tall rusty walls in the distance, and it's clear even from this far that several expansions have been built in the last seven years. Someone or something must have removed or knocked down the sign in that time because it's no longer nailed up, leaving just a discoloured square on the wall to signify it's past existence.
No more mercy for the lost.
And no vengeance for the plunderers.
Not these days.
Carl reaches across the truck's centre console to take my hand, and I remember to breathe again.
As we park outside the gate, I recognise Tobin up on guard, looking much older and more tired than I remember him. He squints down at us for a second until he recognises us and nods, then disappears to climb down from the deck and open the gate for us. Another woman is there to help him, who I recognise, too, but from much more recently — Yumiko. Her head injury is healed well in the month since meeting, leaving not much more than a bright scar on her forehead. We catch eyes awkwardly as Carl drives on past, through Alexandria.
Across the Y-bend, I see the solar panel grass patch, where not even a plaque sits to honour Rick's memory. At least he has a grave, as Carl once told me.
Carl seems to very deliberately not look in the solar panel's direction. He even drives the wrong way to avoid it, all the way around the lake and through the main street, past the infirmary, to finally park along the Brownstone Street outside the Monroe family's old apartment. I guess Gregory lives here now because we see him come out through the front yard to greet us.
"Grimes! My boy… good to see you, good to see you! Spitting image of your father."
Perhaps Carl would take this as a compliment if it wasn't so ambiguous as to which father Gregory is talking about. Rick's likeness is clear in Carl's face and body, now that he is a man, and he walks just like Rick did, too, with his knees bent outward in that odd way, but Carl's demeanour can sometimes fall more to Negan's alignment as well, like the way he looks people in the eye in that deliberate, calculated way when he's weighing someone up, or other times, when he tips his head to the side and leans backwards so his hips angle forward, but I've noticed Carl always tries to stop that if he catches himself doing it.
Gregory double takes at me as I get out of the truck. "Ah, yes." He cocks his eyebrow, a much less cheerful look on his face now. "I remember you. You had that ashen horse — showed up at Hilltop with it. What's your name again? Arthur something, wasn't it?"
"Sure," I say flatly, and walk away, leaving Carl to it. I only have one thing I want to do today — Carl and I agreed on how best I'd get it done: He would speak alone with Gregory about the missing Alexandrians to keep him out of my way, and I would go and find Eric and Gabriel.
It's nerve-wracking to go this part alone, and it doesn't help how surreal it feel to walk these streets again. The gravel has become much more dusty and hoof-beaten over the years, and there's a small farming area and a series of new fruit and vegetable patches dotted around the new expansions, from what I can tell. There are many faces I don't recognise, too, some I know are new here since my kidnap and others I can't tell if I've just forgotten in all these years, but one thing is for sure, they are not happy to see me.
I am nothing but a Savior to them now, after all.
Just another cog in the machine that preserves their enslavement.
When I arrive to Eric's house, I knock on the door, but an old woman answers who I don't know. She hides half her face behind the door and demands to know what I want from her.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, ma'am. My name's Oliver..."
"Cheryl," she returns.
I nod. "I'm looking for someone, but… he must not live here anymore."
"No man's lived in this house for six years," she says dryly. "It's just me, my daughter, and her daughter here..."
"I see. I'll be going then. Do you happen to know where..." She shuts the door in my face with a snap. "Eric… lives? Okay..." Awkwardly, I step off the porch and look up and down the street. Some folks are watching me from other streets, and I catch a few faces peering through windows, but they all quickly walk on or shut their curtains.
I head across the village, to the church.
Thankfully, Gabriel is inside sweeping the floor. My chest pulls at the sight of him. He looks much the same as seven years ago, well-groomed and composed, if not a little shorter than I remember him, and greyer in his goatee. Far from the timid coward I met him as almost a decade ago in Georgia.
I clear my throat. "Err… Father Gabriel?"
He looks round to my voice. For a moment he just blinks at me, processing what he's seeing, and then his face opens up into a grin and he moves around a row of pews towards me. We hug. Gabriel hums a chuckle over my shoulder. My heart fills. Because even though he is not among those who were traded away by the Scavengers, or part of the Coalition who fled years ago, Gabriel is still one of the people I lost. He was as much a part of my family as the rest of them. It makes me feel lighter to know that this doesn't seem to have changed, in spite of everything.
"Oh, Oliver," he says, pulling away to beam at me, "look at you. How you've grown. Why, you're a man now. Taller than me! It's so good to see you again. I heard that it was you who directed those new survivors here last month, rather more kindly than customary these days. I'd meant to find a way to thank you for it somehow..."
I'm shaking my head, because like back then, I don't want to hear a thank you for what I told them that day.
"I was hoping that Dwight might stop by so I could ask him to do it for me," Gabriel goes on happily, "but, well, now he won't have to. You're here yourself."
He must be able to tell that my smile is forced.
"What is it?" he asks me.
"I have bad news," I say, quietly, and leaning close so he can hear. "I need to speak to you and Eric, alone. It's important."
Gabriel nods and looks around anxiously for any unwanted eves-droppers. The church is empty. Quickly, he sets his broomstick aside, and grabs a wise-looking, black, felt, boater hat from a pew instead, which he places firmly on top of his head. He then leads the way outside and across Alexandria.
I learn that Eric has moved to one of the newer-built, smaller houses, I guess, because he lives alone now. Gabriel knocks on the door, casting me a levelling glance.
"You might want to let me do the talking," he says.
I frown, confused.
"Nothing to worry about," Gabriel adds unconvincingly. "It's just… Eric may need a moment longer than I to adjust to seeing you here, is all..."
I swallow nervously when I hear footsteps from inside. Eric opens the door. He was as close to family as the rest of them once upon a time, but like Gabriel seems to imply, this must have changed for him, because our reunion is much more subdued. No hug. Just a look of surprise and forced hellos, followed by awkward nods and avoided eyes. Eric used to be a smiler. He used to light up rooms. But looking at him now, I find it hard to believe he's smiled in years.
We go and sit in his living room. It's sad not to see a wall full of licence plates somewhere, but I do notice a box on the floor by the dining table with some stuffed neatly inside.
"So, how are you both?" I ask, returning my eyes to them sitting across from me on Eric's couch, while I sit on a dining chair.
"As well as can be expected," Eric says stiffly.
Gabriel glances at him, then me. "I'm alright. Still living at the church, with a few other people. Keeping busy, you know… and how about you, Oliver? How is Judith? And Gri… I mean, uh, Carl? We see him around sometimes… for collections..."
He trails off, glancing again at Eric, who avoids our eyes.
Gabriel adds to me, quickly, "Are they treating you all well at the Sanctuary? Dwight tells us a little, when he's around, but usually there's not much time or privacy for proper conversation."
"I'm alright," I answer, finding it difficult to relax my face. "Judy is so grown up now — too grown up. Carl and I barely keep up with her these days."
"So we heard," Gabriel says. Eric pulls an uncomfortable face. I guess Yumiko's group told them how it was Judith and I met them, and not just that we'd told them how to get here.
I nod awkwardly, pushing my glasses up my nose with my hook.
"Listen," I tell them both, rubbing my mouth, "Dwight — he was found out. Somehow someone found his letter to Rosita. He was executed a month ago, outside the Sanctuary. He didn't talk, and his letter didn't name any of us, so… I think we might be safe, for now, at least. I wanted to tell you weeks ago, but I didn't know how to get word to you without drawing suspicion. In the end, I asked Carl to bring me with him today so I could tell you both myself."
They both ride through the panic of what I've just told them.
"Wait," Eric says, "you didn't tell Carl anything about us, did you?"
"I did," I admit. "I... I had to."
"You had to?" Gabriel asks, but Eric cuts him off.
"You didn't have to tell him anything. Do you even realise how fragile this thing is, now, especially?"
"Yes, I do."
"Really?" Eric retorts, scoffing. "Because without the mail box, we now don't have any way to communicate with the Coalition at all. We're lost without them."
"No, see… the letter box part doesn't make sense. Negan doesn't know about it. Whoever found the letter told him they found it in Dwight's room. So, if I could just find out who took the letter from the mail box, then I could figure out if using the mail box is still safe."
"If Negan hasn't told you who found the letter, then what makes you think he'd say where the letter was really found? Maybe he's just waiting for someone to show up at the letter box, like a trap?"
This is something Carl and I considered, too, and is the reason we haven't gone anywhere near the letterbox at all. I sit silently and think for a moment. I don't know anyone who would give up Dwight's involvement and not mine. Not even Arat hates Dwight more than she hates me. If she'd found the letter, it would have been me on that post being eaten alive in a heartbeat.
I shake my head. "Something about it doesn't make sense."
"Sure it does," Eric says, giving me an obvious look. "Who can you think of who would find evidence against us and the first thing they'd think of is running and telling Negan?"
"It's not Carl," I say impatiently. "He had no idea about any of this until Dwight was already dead… and even if he did, he said he would've helped us. He still wants to. He is, now."
Eric shakes his head. "You have to understand. Your boyfriend is a liability."
"My husband. And he's not. I know it."
Eric glances at the battered gold ring on my finger. With a small shake of his head, he says, "He's Negan's henchman."
"Just like Dwight was," I insist.
"And look what happened to him!" Eric gripes. "And what's going to happen to all of us soon enough because of this. You've put us all at risk here."
I fight the urge to shout something defensive back at him, but sigh and shake my head at my knees instead, gripping the seat of my chair. "Carl has kept secrets from Negan before," I say calmly. "He kept the fact Maggie's still alive a secret all this time, hasn't he?"
They both think for a minute about this.
"You really believe he'll help us?" Eric asks.
"He already is, by bringing me here, and distracting Gregory. Carl hates Negan. He always has. You know what he did to his father. You both saw it."
"Yeah, and we've heard how loyal he is to Negan now. We heard he joins in on Career Days. On line ups..."
"He hasn't killed anyone," I say.
"You know that?" Eric asks.
I falter, remembering what Carl told me happened on the day at the gas station.
With a small stutter, I say, frustratedly, "He hasn't killed for Negan."
They both seem to know what this means.
"Carl has to be there for Career Days," I add,. "Negan will punish him if not, by hurting me and his sister, or Carol. That's the way it works. It's why Carl works for him at all. It's why we've had to watch Carol live in a prison cell for almost eight years, and why we watched Dwight get eaten alive, and why we stand back and let Negan treat Judith like his daughter... because we need to protect each other. We're all we've got. It's how we've survived."
They watch me, then nod uneasily.
"I'm sorry," Eric says. He rubs the dark bags under his eyes. "It's been almost eight years. Without Aaron. Without my husband. It's been… difficult. My life has been on pause since the day he was taken by that helicopter with the rest of them. And after this... I'm starting to lose the last bit of hope I have left of ever seeing him again."
"I can't imagine what it's been like without him," I say, honestly. "I'm so sorry, Eric. But, please, don't give up yet. Not when we're still here… still trying..."
Eric looks so tired.
"We went scavenging at the junk yard again recently," Gabriel says after a moment, trying to bring light back into the room. "It's a big place. Every year the winter and spring storms move things around a little more each time. We've gone back every six months or so, out of habit, really..."
I nod and rub my chin, scratching at the stubble growing there.
"Except this time we did find something," Gabriel says.
"It's not worth mentioning," Eric mumbles.
"It is," Gabriel tells him, smiling encouragingly. He looks at me. "We found the RV that Tara, Noah, and Heath left in, after we hit the Satellite Station..."
I frown. "What? You're sure?"
"It was… buried… and old… but it was the same vehicle," Eric admits.
"So, what... you think Jadis took Noah and Heath, too?" I ask.
"It's what it looks like," Gabriel says.
I have to grip my hair for a minute.
"But it still doesn't bring us any closer to learning more about this helicopter group," Eric says.
"Wasn't there anything inside the RV?" I ask.
"A map of the country. No markings. Some stale Twizzlers Tara left behind." Gabriel smiles at the floor fondly, then shrugs to me. "That was it."
"As unhelpful as everything else," Eric says. "Like I said."
Agreeing with him, I slouch back in my chair and wipe my hand over my face frustratedly. A nasty part of my mind feels glad that Jadis became Negan's slave after being cut off by the helicopter people. It seems fitting that you should become a slave yourself if you've been a human trafficker for years beforehand. She got what she deserved, in my opinion.
"And those helicopter people are still out there," I say bitterly, "trafficking more survivors."
"It's impossible to be sure without solid proof," Gabriel says, "but yes, most likely, considering how often rumours about the helicopters go round..."
I curse, loudly.
They both watch me, waiting for me to calm down.
I apologise.
"I should go," I say, "before anybody gets suspicious."
"You're right," Gabriel says. "I'll go, too. I've got to get back to the church. I left the front door open and the crows have made a nasty habit of sneaking in and stealing the communal bread." He stops rambling and looks at me, solemnly. "I'm sorry... about Dwight. It must've been hard to watch what Negan did to him."
I nod to the floor. I thank them both for talking to me. Gabriel hugs me again. Eric takes hand and squeezes it. This means more to me than I can really express. He nods firmly and tells me to be careful, because whoever found the letter could still be waiting for their moment to come forward. Hearing this aloud sends a fresh supply of adrenaline through my bloodstream.
Gabriel and I leave together.
My anxiety must be obvious as we walk along the dusty streets together because Gabriel tells me to stay strong, and to focus on taking care of my family. I say I will, and a few minutes later we're parting ways, too, waving to each other as he heads back inside his church and I head on for Brownstone Street.
Carl is still inside Gregory's apartment when I arrive. I can hear Gregory shouting as I knock on the door, to no answer, so I go on inside uninvited. I find the living room, where the shouting is coming from, just in time to see Gregory pointing a finger in Carl's face, and Carl slapping his hand away, before crossing the room and reaching up over the fireplace—
The fireplace where Michonne's katana is mounted on the wall.
Carl lifts it down, gently.
"That is private property, young man!" Gregory protests. "Hey! It belongs to me!"
Carl turns to him, placing the sheathed sword over his back by its strap.
"How dare you!?" Gregory cries. "You think just because you're Negan's son, you're entitled to everything I own!?"
"It doesn't belong to you," Carl says, in a low, dangerous voice.
Gregory notices me, turning his head skittishly. "You! Theodore! Would you please tell this brute to return my property!"
I cross my arms and shrug. "You heard him. It's not your sword."
"Thievery!"
Carl is already marching out through Gregory's apartment, grabbing me by my prosthetic hook as he goes, which causes me to spin around much more dramatically than I mean to in order to keep my balance.
"Thank you for your services, gentlemen!" Gregory shouts behind us. "You've been absolutely no help at all!"
We get in the truck, me driving this time. I go the long way to avoid the solar panels — around the lake and towards the gate. Carl keeps his head faced out the window, grinding his teeth so that the sharp ridges of his jaw muscles pull under his cheek. He nods to Tobin and Yumiko as they open the gate for us. I'm socially aware enough this time to offer them both a wave as we pass by.
As I drive through the burned cul-de-sac, I take a better look at Michonne's katana with Carl has placed by his knee, propped against the centre console. Keeping my hook on the steering wheel, I lift the sword across my lap and run my palm along the worn, off-white, leather sheathe. I look at Carl, briefly.
"Michonne would've wanted you to have it."
He doesn't look at me, but he does nod. I set the katana down by his legs again, tucking it snug between his seat and the centre compartment.
"So, what did Gregory say?" I ask, both hand and hook on the wheel now. "Did you get any idea about what's going on with the missing residents?"
Carl shakes his head, still too distressed to find the words, I guess, which doesn't happen a lot when it's just the two of us together, especially in these last few weeks. He motions for me to turn down a road, which I follow for a few miles until he asks me to turn down another dirt road that eventually leads to a field dotted with small wild trees growing across it, where I park up next to a broken fence.
"This where Gregory said the Alexandrians were last seen?"
Carl nods, his eye scanning the rolling hills.
"What were they doing?" I ask.
"Catchin' horses," he answers, rigidly. "S...s-potted a flock here and a team came to round 'em up."
"It's a herd, not a flock. Herd of horses."
Carl rolls his eye and refuses to look at me, but I catch him crack a smile, which he hides stubbornly. "Either way," he says, "the horses bolted, so they went after them. Haven't been seen since."
"Well, they're not here, so they're still following them, right? And those folks who aren't back from the Sanctuary, they must've gone with them to help? They aren't like the regular, militia Saviors. They were just some low-rank hunters, so it's not so weird they'd help each other out. Plus, they wouldn't carry walkie-talkies, so that explains why nobody's heard from them yet, too."
Carl nods after a beat of hesitation. "Just… feels weird… I dunno… like I'm m...m-issing something."
We sit for a minute.
"You're right," Carl says finally. "Catching horses sometimes takes days. We'll give it until tomorrow morning. If they're not back, I'll bring a team back here to follow them. Doesn't look like it'll rain, so the tracks should keep."
Nodding in agreement, I back up the truck and turn around, and we go our way on towards the Sanctuary. I switch on the CD player to fill Carl's thoughtful silence, and to my surprise, find a CD I recognise inside it.
"My mix tape?" I ask, totally amazed.
Carl allows the corner of his mouth to twitch upward in my view. "Gabriel g...g-ave a bunch of them to me... years ago. A lot of our stuff was destroyed, after the war, but these survived."
He shows me more in his glove box, all CDs I put together in my spare time on Deanna's old laptop. Going nuts inside, I ask him to put a specific one in. A favourite I made specially for him when we were fifteen. The first track is an odd, endearing kind of song that starts with a story about a woman on an airplane that's falling towards the ocean. The woman gets to talking to this stranger beside her as they're about to die.
I only added it because it was a song I knew Carl would like; Carl was always the sort of teenager who got a kick out of strange music, like Weird Al, Talking Heads, and the Bee Gees.
This song, thankfully, was a hit for both of us.
Carl even starts singing along, no stutter at all.
"We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing
It'll go like this:
While my mother waters plants
My father loads his guns
He says death will give us back to God
Just like this setting sun is returned to this lonesome ocean
And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash
We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run
We must hang up in the belfry
Where the bats and moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow
With just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge
And then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything
And then we'll see it, oh we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it
Oh my morning's coming back
The whole world's waking up
All the city buses swimming past
I'm happy just because
I found out I am really no one..."
Each track plays on — More Than a Feeling by Boston. Build Me Up Buttercup by the Foundations. Give It All Back by Noah and the Whale. All We Ever Wanted Was Everything by Bauhaus. Heroes by David Bowie. Carl and I yell the lyrics in each others faces, we beat our heads to the rhythm, we laugh at each other when we howl the instrumentals, and then for no reason at all Carl touches my cheek with his fingers and leans across his seat to kiss me, even as I'm still driving—
I guess we both get the same idea at the same time—
Because we have to sleep in a tiny room with his little sister every night—
And even though we manage to have somewhat of a sex life without getting caught it is still an exceptionally silent and subdued sex life—
Out here, however, with miles between where anyone will see or hear us, where there will be no need to shuffle and hide under bedsheets, and no need for covert and frantic quickies in cramped and overused bathrooms, and no need to hold in the gasps or the moans or the desperate, pleading whimpers into each others ears—
Mio, Dio.
With haste, I park the truck on the side of the road, almost skidding into a hedge. We practically fight our way to be the first between each other to reach the back seats, where we wrestle each other's pant-buttons undone and yank our shirts off over our heads. He climbs onto my lap, and he feels so perfect and beautiful that I think I might die right here and now just from looking at him, just from listening to his voice, just from how good he feels as I hold him in my arms, dying and living and dying again.
We stay here together all day, giving ourselves to each other for hours like clouds to a sky, until the mix tape is long over and the sun has already set and we're just laying across the back seats, dozing off in each other's arms while the rest of the universe doesn't exist at all.
Finally, static noise brings reality back to us.
Carl's walkie-talkie.
"Calling all Sanctuary-central Saviors," someone says. "This is an urgent announcement for all Sanctuary-central Saviors..."
Groaning, Carl pulls himself to sit up, snatching his clothes to find his walkie-talkie and unclip it from his belt.
"Report back to the Sanctuary immediately," someone says through the static. "I repeat: All Sanctuary-central Saviors report back to the Sanctuary, now."
"What's going on?" someone else asks.
"Some crazy psychopath snuck into the Sanctuary and attacked Negan and the girls in his headquarters," the reporting Savior answers, and reality doesn't just come back to Carl and I now but crush down on top of us. "It doesn't look good. Some folks upstairs were hurt, too," the Savior goes on. "We need back up, pronto!"
Notes:
Song was 'At the Bottom of Everything' by Bright Eyes. It was the song in Carl's death episode. Kinda fits with Carl's canonically strange taste in music lol
Thank you, VerbalWalker, for inspiring the thief Gregory arc! And for the rest of you, Verbal Walker has a walking dead fanfiction, Rock, Paper, Scissors, so feel free to check it out!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 17: II: Beta’s Rampage
Summary:
A loose end is found after the Whisperers' massacre, putting everyone at risk. Negan must find a way to deal with it.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
In a state of sheer panic, Carl and I arrive back at the Sanctuary, where all the big floodlights are turned on out front, casting bright dusty shadows up towards the dark sky. We rarely turn them on at night because of the light pollution they create, risking the attention from both the dead and those alive for miles. The fact that they are still on is a bad sign. A beyond bad sign.
Our tires skid as I stop Carl's truck in the busy courtyard. We get out without shutting the doors behind ourselves. Saviors rush past with their guns and torches, shouting things to each other, none with enough time to stop and answer any of our questions. Carl and I push through, our minds on one thing and one thing only as we sprint inside the factory.
Judith is not in our room when we arrive to it, which she should be, this time of night. She's not with Negan's wives upstairs either, who we find are all sitting in the living area. The place is completely trashed — the liquor cabinet is a wreckage of splintered varnish-wood and shattered bottles and glasses. Sherry is sitting on the couch, her face blank and wet, with a large bruise shining across her collar bone. The other six wives surround her, all holding her hands or petting her hair comfortingly.
"What happened?" I begin to ask, as Carl rushes past into the next corridor.
"Judith!" he calls out.
I join him, shouting, too, "Jude!" Out in the corridor, I see the window at the far end is smashed, glass everywhere. The draft coming through howls loud and eerily, this high up. "Judith, you up here!?"
"They're not here anymore," Frankie says from the living room.
I head back to them to ask again, "What happened?!"
"Didn't you hear?" Amber asks, too, from the couch with the others, her eyes red and puffy.
My heart drops. Carl, stepping back into the room, too, must be as afraid to speak as me. We stare at them all. Sherry's hands tremble as she rubs her face. Belle holds a wet rag to the bruise on her shoulder for her.
Lanelle breaks the silence, her voice shaking. "One of those skin-mask people snuck into the Sanctuary. He attacked us all. And the girls... Negan."
Finally, Sherry speaks up. "He was so big…" she mutters distantly, chin shaking. "He was like a giant." She looks at us for the first time, swallowing. "He kept his face covered, under a hood..."
She dissolves into more tears. The wives comfort her.
I look at Carl, whose eye is wet and wide with fear.
"Beta," he whispers, but I don't know what it means.
"The girls," Sarah sobs, "they saved our lives."
Carl has to clutch his throat. "W...w-here is my sister?"
As Sherry blinks up at us another tear falls, and she says, "The infirmary."
Carl and I leave without waiting anymore. Fear grips our bones as we fly down flights of stairs to the right floor. There are guards outside the infirmary door. Carl flicks his wrist and they move aside for us instantly. Inside, Judith is sitting on Lydia's lap on a chair beside Negan, who is lying in an infirmary bed, battered black and blue. There are several deep cuts across his shoulders and chest, which Dr. Carson is busy stitching up. As Negan twists his face away and hisses in pain, he spots us.
"Boys," he croaks through a grimace, "I was wondering when you'd be —ouch!— along. Enjoy your little field trip back to ol' Alexandria?"
Meanwhile, Judith jumps off Lydia's lap and Carl catches her as she leaps into his arms, folding her into a tight hug. I put my hand on Judith's back and kiss the top of her head, asking her if she's alright, and she nods, falling head first into the story...
"It was so scary!" she exclaims. "That big man was coming for Lydia. He was dressed like a Savior, only he didn't show his face, but Negan saw him and couldn't recognise him so he made Lydia and me run and hide while they fought. We hid in the bedroom, under the bed. Things were smashing and banging and Negan was hurt!
The scary man came in the bedroom to find us. He was going to, so Lydia climbed out from under the bed. He tried to hurt her. He was saying all these awful things to her, blaming her for what her momma did to her, saying she deserved it. And I was so scared I just stayed hidden and I couldn't move.
And then Sherry came in, and she shot at him and he threw her across the room and she dropped her gun and she wasn't moving.
And then the man, he grabbed Lydia and carried her into the corridor. He was going to take her away! All the guards outside Negan's floor were dead. I thought Negan and Sherry were dead, too, and everyone else was too scared to help.
And I just knew I couldn't be scared anymore!
So I took Sherry's gun and I shot the scary man. I shot him and he dropped Lydia and then she was so quick and strong and she pushed him through a window!"
As her story ends, Carl and I both stare at her, utterly horrified. I turn and glare at Negan, who by this point, is done being stitched up and is drinking down some pain killers with a glass of water.
"How did this guy get in?"
"How should I fucking know?!" Negan answers me. "The guards had no fucking clue before they were dropped right outside the door of my headquarters. I only managed to get the girls hidden in time before the guy threw me through the liquor cabinet."
"He's called Beta," Carl says gravelly, rocking Judith in his arms, much more for his own comfort than hers I think. "I'm s...so dumb... I didn't see him in the crowd, when the rest of them... I'm... I should have... I just didn't think."
"That is a pretty big lapse of judgement, kid," Negan says, his face stony. "How do you go and forget a man built like a fucking bear?"
"I kn...kn-ow. I'm s...s… I apologise," Carl says, "it'll never happen again."
"Oh, I know it won't," Negan says, grimacing. "Considering your lack of diligence almost cost you your little sisters life. My daughter's life. I'd say, by the look on your ghostly, white, fucking face, that it's pretty clear you've already learnt your lesson."
Carl doesn't say anything. He just lowers his eye and continues to rock Judith in his arms. Negan watches them, a smile creeping across his face, satisfied, then turns his head to glance at Lydia. She smiles back, nervously.
"So, he's dead?" I ask. "Beta?"
"Unfortunately not," Negan says, grunting a little as he struggles to sit up better. "Two or three floors below the window Lydia pushed him through is the outside emergency-exit ladder, that runs down the side of the building. Beta's giant lucky ass landed on the catwalk. We think he was wearing a bullet proof vest, or some kind of metal plate over his chest, 'cause despite just being shot twice by Sherry and Judith, the girls here leaned out and saw him get right back up and climb on down the building himself. Fucking crazy bastard."
"I'm sorry," Lydia says from her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. "I caused all of this. He was here for me. None of you deserved this. Those guards... and Negan, you were almost killed... and your wives, and Judith..."
"Aw, come on, now, darlin'," Negan tells her, reaching out so that she can take his hand. "Don't go blamin' yourself for those guards dyin'. That's what they're there for, to be dropped so the rest of us don't have to be. My priority is you girls, my boys, and my seven wives. As far as I'm concerned, today went exactly the way it should have."
It's so odd to hear him speak so encouragingly to her. To anyone.
Just then, Arat and Laura come rushing into the infirmary.
"The Whisperer freak's gone," Arat says. "No sign of him. We've searched everywhere."
"He killed the guards on the east fences," Laura says, "tied them to their posts so they'd keep moving even after they were dead, so nobody would think twice. Then he got himself in and out through a hole he cut in the fence."
"Bastard!" Negan barks. "How did he even know how to get this shit done?!"
"The settlers and the Saviors who're missing," Laura says. "We found them outside the Sanctuary eating their own horses. He must've captured them and interrogated them for information."
"He knew when the guard shifts would swap over. He took their clothes," Arat says. "He got in right under our noses."
Negan would look impressed, if he wasn't so furious.
"We have to go after him," Carl says, "before he tries something like this again. W...w-e don't know how many other W...W… how many of them are still out there."
"Carl's right," I say. "Beta clearly came here for revenge. Lydia won't be safe here until he's stopped, and neither will the rest of us if we wait any longer to do something."
Negan has to take a moment, wincing. He seems to have a concussion, because he throws up into a bedpan that Dr. Carson quickly sets under his chin.
"I'm not sending my men after some jacked-up, insane man," Negan groans, spitting into the pan. "If this Beta was any old angry bastard, sure, I could deal with him. But he wasn't just angry. He had some screws loose, which is a much trickier situation to deal with even if I don't mind dropping a few of my men to get it done."
He lays there, thinking things through while Dr. Carson removes the bedpan for cleaning.
"No," Negan goes on, sniffing something loud out of his nose, "getting this done is going to take a different strategy. Something he won't be expecting. Something that'll catch him off guard."
"What are you gonna do?" Lydia asks.
Slowly, we all watch the idea click together in Negan's brain.
"I'm going to send someone after him for me..."
"What?" I ask, squinting in confusion. "Who?"
Negan grins at me. "I'm gonna send the one person I know who managed to even get close to doing what that crazy bastard did here tonight. The only person alive who I think can get this done properly..."
And it clicks in my head, too.
"No," I say. "Not her..."
"Oh… yes, indeed, her…"
While Carl spends some time with his sister, Negan and I head a few floors up to Carol's cell. I have to wait outside the room for almost an hour while Negan and she discuss the terms of her employment. Lydia comes by to sit and wait, too, following Negan around like she does now. She scratches the short brunette hair growing on her head, which is about the same length as Carl's now — not yet past the flats of her fingers yet.
"That's your mom?" she asks, glancing back through the barred windows.
I nod.
"Your real mom? You don't look very alike."
"Might as well be," I say, and add, eventually, "adopted — from before we were brought here."
"Why's she in a cell? She do something wrong?"
"She tried to take me away from here, years ago."
"Like Beta?"
I shake my head, frowning. "No. Not like that."
Lydia waits for me to explain, but I don't this time, so she sits back quietly in the chair beside me. She glances at me a few times, until finally she says, "Negan said you're like his children, too. You and Carl and Judith. He says he wants me to be like that to him... if I want it."
"Do you?" I ask her.
"He's been kind to me. He… protected me, before, at the gate… and tonight. And Judith… she saved both our lives. I never knew people who took care of each other like that. I've never had someone take care of me like that. Not even my mom."
"Negan killed your mom."
Lydia thinks about that, something empty or far away in her eyes. "She beat me. She let people hurt me, every day. It was so... normal to me. I didn't even know it was wrong. I just knew I didn't like it and that that never mattered. But after being here, after what Negan said to her... I know what it was now. I know that it was wrong... and that it wasn't my fault that it happened."
I don't say anything. Lydia seems to take this as me disagreeing.
"You wouldn't understand," she tells me, turning away and sighing. "You're a man. You don't have to be afraid of things like that."
"You're wrong," I tell her, quietly. "I do understand. Things like that don't just happen to girls."
She watches me, narrowing her eyes sceptically.
I avoid her face, and just nod so she knows I'm telling the truth.
"I know what it's like when someone who's supposed to protect you leaves you to get hurt," I tell her. And for a moment I don't really know why I'm tell her. I guess because she looks so broken, and I guess I can see an old, pushed-away version of myself in that brokenness.
"You do?" she asks, in a small voice. "From… before you knew Negan?"
I nod this little bit, because it's true. And I get to thinking back to the short period in my adolescence when Rick was like a father to me. How I trusted him, after our time at the prison, and when I needed him most, he left me to those Claimers at the suburb, and for days, abuse and hunger and the cold were all I knew. If Daryl hadn't come along and helped me escape, I would be dead by now. And even after I got away, even after me and Carol and Tyreese and Judith found the rest of our people again, it took a long time for me to feel like I could get past what happened to me. Sometimes, still, I feel like I'm still struggling with it, like I'll never really stop struggling with it. And I never really forgave Rick for what he did. I thought I'd started to, after he rescued me and Carol and Maggie from the slaughter house, a few weeks before he died, but after all these years I don't know how much I think that's true anymore...
Negan once said to me that he would always protect me, that he would always have that over Rick. And he was right. Rick was a flawed man. He wasn't all good or all bad. And, in those ways, Rick was similar to Negan, just like Dwight once tried to tell me.
So Lydia's right: Negan can be kind, in his own way. There are some aspects of him that are admirable, and even good. What he said to Alpha at the gate? It was… heroic.
It was honourable.
"Negan's never gonna let anyone lay a finger on me," Lydia says in my silence. "That's what he told me. And I believe him. Because Judith is here, and she's safe. And you are. Negan gave you that. And… I want that. I've always just wanted that."
I can't argue with her.
But I do say this.
I tell her, "You're here for the same reason I am, the same reason Carl and Judith are, too. You're even here under similar circumstances. He killed Carl's father. He destroyed and enslaved our people. That's the truth of it. And it's something we shouldn't forget. It's something Negan doesn't want us to forget. Just like he won't want you to forget what he did to your mom, and your people. He'll remind you of it every day you're alive. And you should know that, so you can be prepared for when he'll use it against you one day."
"What are you saying?"
I shrug, looking into her face. "I'm just telling you the truth, Lydia. You're right about Negan: He will protect you. Just like he does me, and Carl, and Judith, and his wives. But it will come at a price. That's how the world works for you now. Here. It's his world... the rest of us are only living in it."
Lydia watches me, concern and confusion in her eyes, and then she sits back in her seat and slowly crosses her arms over her chest. I sit back in my chair, too, but stop myself just before I cross my own arms.
A few minutes later, Carol and Negan both leave the cell.
I stand up instantly.
Carol inhales, watching me. "I'm doing it."
"Then I'm going with you," I say.
"I'm afraid that's in direct violation of mine and Carol's new deal," Negan says.
"Deal," I repeat, helpless.
"Carol does this for me, on her own," Negan says, in answer to a question I didn't ask, "on the condition that I promise to free her from custody when, and only when, her work for me is done."
My head spins a bit. "Free?"
"Free," Negan affirms. "Free to live where she pleases outside this factory, within my territory, but outside the constraints of my power. She will no longer be owned by me. She is, essentially, buying back her complete and utter freedom, as well as a small plot of land of her choosing, within reason."
Negan watches the confusion run through my expression.
Grinning, he adds, "If she manages to do this, it will be a feat that nobody within the nearest two-hundred miles has ever managed to successfully accomplish, although a many few have tried, as you well know... I'll even let y'all visit each other, when you feel like it. Call it split custody, if you will."
I glare at him, horrified. "You can't be serious? You're making her go alone? You said it yourself: Beta's too strong. You're sending her to her death, Negan, or worse!"
"Do not raise your voice at me!"
I shrink like a snail, flinching under the sight of his bat as he jerks it forward off his shoulder, and on instinct alone, I kneel instantly, my eyes on the carpet.
"You're a grown man," Negan growls down at me. "So fucking act like it!"
"Yes, sir," I say, flinching. "I'm sorry."
A moment passes, until Negan walks away without another word to me. I keep my eyes down and away, holding my hand to my side so it doesn't shake. I glance behind myself as I hear them reach the door. Carol looks back at me one last time before she is taken out into the corridor. I look at Lydia. She watches me as I remain knelt there beside her, her eyes still spooked from Negan's outburst and my reaction to it, and then she gets up and rushes out after him.
Negan gives Carol all the supplies and weapons that he thinks she'll need, then sends her off on foot from the Sanctuary without so much as a single clue as to where to find Beta and any of the remaining Whisperers. All Carol has to go on is that he left the Sanctuary on foot a few hours prior through a hole he cut in the east fence, and that following his tracks might take her somewhere she needs to go.
For hours, I drive myself mad with worry. For the rest of the night, I don't sleep and I don't eat and I don't think if anything except all the terrible things that could be happening to her. Every minute is longer than the next, and I can't even sneak out after her because Negan's stationed guards to watch me. At some point a few hours before sunrise, I'm so pent up that I volunteer to go on watch duty on the fence by the gate, just to feel like I'm being productive, seeing as the guards can't stop me doing that, at least.
As the sun begins to rise, I spot something in the dusty sky through my binoculars. A black column of smoke is slowly rising into the clouds in the distance, at least two or three miles away. It sets my heart going fast and hard, because I know it's Carol. I know it and I can't do shit about it. Another hour passes, and in the bright daylight, the tower of smoke continues to climb.
Carl comes out at some point. We don't have to speak to know we've both seen the smoke.
He holds my hand.
I feel like a rock sinking in water.
I think she's dead.
I really think she's dead this time.
And then a figure emerges in the distance.
Almost gasping out a sob, I snatch my binoculars and look through the lenses.
Through the fog and the dust and the sallow rays of sun beating through the clouds, Carol approaches the Sanctuary, covered in soot from head to toe. Clenched in her fist is a severed head, scorched to a craggy meld of ash and skull, its blackened skin oozing.
I let her in the gates, pulling her into my arms. Soot comes off of her onto my arms and clothes. Her hands are burned and raw; a small part of her chin, too. As she says my name, she begins coughing violently. Carl and I ask her to come with us to the infirmary, while the guards stay and keep watch, but she refuses.
"Come on," she croaks, hoisting Beta's head on her hip with her good arm, "let's just get this done."
Negan is thrilled when Carol arrives to his headquarters.
"Holy fuck," he laughs, "that didn't take you long. Not fucking long at all."
Carol just shrugs, pushing Beta's skull into his arms. "I don't like to waste my time..."
Notes:
Really wanted Carol to just get that shit done, for a nice parallel in comparison to Negan's half-season-long mission to kill Alpha in the show. Carol leaves no mess, no survivors. The Whisperers are dead. We shall never know exactly how she did it. There.
Sorry for the hiatus. I work three jobs now. And I'm afraid of words. This was fun though. See you again.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 18: II: Echoes Across the Forest
Summary:
Life goes on for everyone, until something falls through the sky from outer space...
Notes:
Added CW: Hostage situation.
Shoutout to VerbalWalker for the Eugene dialogue help in this chapter! I can't speak Eugene but VW can, as you'll see in their fic Rock Paper Scissors! Go check it out!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
Negan kept to his word.
Just about...
For a little over a month now, Carol has been living totally free on her own a handful of miles outside the Sanctuary, far enough away not to have to be around the cement and the dust and the constant in and out truck-traffic to and from the factory, but close enough, too, for Carl, Judith, and I to visit her every weekend, or vice versa — though, Carol tends to avoid coming anywhere near the Sanctuary anymore unless she has to.
She lives, fittingly, in the same old cottage outside the Kingdom that Ezekiel had provided for her all those years ago. It's overgrown and run-down after so many years of neglect and inconsistent Virginian weather, but she's done a good job in repairing the place so far. The roof's been replaced, the broken windows tarped, and she's got the fireplace cleared and working again, ready for colder nights.
The catch, however, is that with her release has come the consequence of living totally cut off from the Savior's benefits. This makes things especially difficult for Carol because she still lives in Savior territory.
She has to gather her own seeds for crops, hunt her own prey, and build her own forms of defence and repairs from materials she gathers herself. Carol knows how to do all of that and more, so it's only so much of a catch because, from being in Savior territory, the Savior's are still within their rights to confiscate anything she leaves or uses outside her crop of land. This means that if she lays snares, hunts any game, or scavenges any supplies outside of her cottage plot, Saviors, too, have fair game to those belongings if they manage to get their hands on them. Already, Brandon took an entire deer off her shoulders once while she was carrying it back to her cottage. She said she wasn't a hundred feet from her property line when it happened, either. I couldn't even do anything about it, considering Carol and Negan's deal. I did, however, manage to piss on Brandon's clean laundry the next day when he wasn't looking. He still thinks someone's dog did it.
Carol laughs when I confess to this. She checks Judith doesn't hear us. She's busy picking flowers across the garden.
"Thank you," Carol tells me, trying not to look too pleased, "but really, it wasn't necessary. Usually, the Saviors don't tend to bother me."
I shrug. It was a good excuse to give Brandon a bit of what he deserves anyway.
"You've got respect from most of them," Carl says to her, "cause of what you did for Negan."
Carol smiles. "I didn't do it for him..."
He lets the side of his mouth twitch up, a little.
We're sitting in the backyard, helping make home-made soap; which is essentially boiling wood ash and animal fat in a pot. While I stoke the fire, I watch Carol. She smiles at me. I guess, despite the restrictions, she's happier being trapped here than trapped in a cell. But I still worry. She has to ration her food until her next proper harvest comes in. And although she can hunt and snare anything that wanders onto her property without difficulty to keep her going, as well as gather effective herbal remedies for simple ailments and build her own weapons from natural materials that she finds and isn't confiscated off her, I know it's still hard for her to find certain things, like medicine and commercial weapons. Carl and I bring for her what we can when we can get away with it.
She is no longer Negan's property, I remind myself, trying to feel the relief of it. The Saviors can't collect anything from her property, like they do to the settlers. If they do, she can report the violation to Negan herself and the guilty trespasser will face punishment. So far, it's kept any greedy Saviors off her land. Even Brandon. It's not nearly enough to make up for everything. And it isn't the whole outcome I'd been hoping for all these years — I also had much less a part in it than I thought I would, but it still happened. She's free. Free enough, at least. It's one thing I can check off my list of dreams that I was beginning to think were impossible.
I'm a creature of hope, after all.
I run off it like gas to an engine.
"Saw a couple feral goats while I was out foraging yesterday," Carol tells us, pulling my mind back. "Was thinking of luring them here, taming one of them, using it for milk."
"That's a good idea," I say, mixing the soap pot. "Goats are pretty easy to take care of."
"Easier than horses," Carl says, his face turned up to the sun, eye shut.
I look up at that, interest piqued, and ask Carol, "Could you catch a horse, too?"
"If you help me, sure," she says. "But for now, I'll start with goats."
I smile. Carl picks a pebble from the ground, which he tosses up and catches a few times; something he used to do to practice his depth perception, but now has just turned into a habit. I snatch the pebble from the air before he can catch it again. We scrap over it for a moment until he, wielding an entire extra hand than me, wins. I snort. Carl pushes me and rolls his eye, but laughs, and throws the pebble up again triumphantly. Carol squints at us.
"You two're in a good mood," she says. "Somethin' happen I don't know about?"
Carl shrugs at her. I make a 'I dunno' sound. It's been a weird month. Sherry still hasn't said anything to Negan about what happened in my room, and whoever found Dwight's letter at the mail box still hasn't come forward. Carl and I think Dwight may have done it himself, as miserable as that is. It doesn't make sense that anyone else would try to protect me and turn him in at the same time. It makes more sense that Dwight had just lost hope, and chose to give himself up. It still doesn't really explain why Dwight would leave Sherry behind, or why Dwight felt the need to take the letter at all, and not just verbally confess, especially if he didn't give up the mail box's location, but Carl and I agreed that some mysteries are just safer left unsolved. We agreed, too, that it's still too dangerous to go back to the mail box. If anyone from the Coalition ever comes back to Virginia, they'll find another way to get in contact with us, one way or another — we're sure. It might be easier than before now that Carol is out here — Carl and I haven't mentioned anything to her so that she can keep her plausible deniability, but we figure, if they do show up, we won't have to.
It's another bit of hope to hold onto, for sure.
Other than that, the only real thing that's gone on in the last month is that there's been some talk of a new group cropping up somewhere in the Saviors' territory who managed to steal food from some of the stashes dotted around. Negan was furious, but mostly because when the group were caught they were quick enough to escape before any Saviors could blink an eyelid. He hates to miss out on Career Days, after all. It didn't help that they had horses, and were able to bolt through rough terrain that the Saviors' trucks couldn't follow them across.
"They are in a better mood lately," Judith says to Carol, finally coming over with the flower petals and herbs she's picked from the garden, which she drops one at a time into the pot; the mixture starts to smell pretty. "They've been kissing a lot more than normal, too."
"They have?" Carol chuckles.
Judith hums. "M-hmm. The other day I walked in on—"
Carl clears his throat loudly.
"Thank you, Jude!" I interrupt her, too. Judith shrugs innocently.
Carol holds back her laughter at the colour of mine and Carl's faces. "You both can't find somewhere private to do that sort of thing together?"
Carl stutters, so I speak for us both.
"For one," I say, "we were in our room, and two, we weren't… doing that."
Carol pulls a confused face. "Then what were you doing?"
"Doesn't matter," I say quickly, but at the same time, Carl says, "Crackin' backs." And I palm my own face while Carol and Judith burst into laughter at us. We explain the procedure, so we don't sound like lunatics. How Carl will lie on my stomach or vice versa and we'll squeeze around each others' ribcage in turn until our spines crack all the way down like bubble-wrap. Sometimes, after a long few days of work, when we have knots the size of golf balls between our shoulders, cracking each others' backs is better than sex.
Despite the embarrassment, I laugh, feeling sort of more normal than I really know what to do with. The thought of going back to the Sanctuary at any point puts a rock in my throat. I often fantasize about running away, all four of us; just grab a full truck, pack our things, and drive off into the sunset without looking back...
We could, if we wanted to. Negan hasn't made any steps to prevent it, as far as I can tell. He even lets Judith come with us — which I know is probably only so he can ask her about the visits afterwards. In any case, I know we couldn't really run away, even with how much I'd want to, even with how much I think we could. We have nowhere to go, we don't know how to find the Coalition, and the world is too dangerous to meander through without a plan, without protection, with a child to take care of. I know Carol could go, if she chose to, but I know she won't without the rest of us. Not after everything we've had to go through.
And then the sky cracks open.
BOOM!
We all startle. In the same instant, a flock of birds filling a large tree nearby suddenly rise up from the branches in all directions, spooked and squawking loudly as they clutter in the air above. The noise sounded like an explosion, only it came from everywhere, so loud that the ground shakes. We only realise what's caused it when we all turn our heads to see a large ball of fire falling through the sky.
Two smaller balls of fire split off from the huge ball in the middle, all parts careening at high speed east, until they disappear over the hills in the distance.
"Never saw a shooting star that big before," Judith whispers.
The rest of us are too stunned to move or speak for several seconds.
Scratchy voices make us all jump.
"What on God's good, green, fucking earth was that?"
Carl grabs his walkie-talkie. He doesn't have an answer for Negan so he just listens. The rest of us huddle in, too, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable. It's easy to forget how big the planet and the universe is. Especially when you've not seen or thought of anything outside of your own territory for over a decade.
"Was it a meteorite?" someone asks.
"Looked like an asteroid to me," someone else says.
"That's the same thing, idiot!" says another Savior.
"Looked like it landed somewhere in Maryland."
"Yeah. Just got word in from a patrol near New Oceanside. Whatever it was, it crashed in their hunting grounds. The fire's big, getting bigger by the sounds of it. Looks like they're gonna need help putting it out before it spreads to the settlement."
"Roger that. We'll get half a dozen teams from the Sanctuary and the Chemical Plant to drive on over to New Oceanside, pronto. Get what you need ready until they arrive. Buckets, barrels of water, sand from the beach to bury the flames, anything you can..."
"Copy that."
"Beg pardon for clicking in, gentlemen. Taterbug here, aka, Eugene Porter chief engineer and head of bullet production, currently situated at the Porter Bullet Farm. And I would bet my bottom biscuit that that was no simple lump of space rock! Negan, permission to send a team out to excavate the crash sight once the fire is kaput?
"What in the everliving fuck for, Euge? Things are gonna be busy enough as it is."
"What just tumbled through the cosmos in a fiery blaze of glory was none other than an authentic USSR space satellite. Said Sputnik holds detrimental tech beyond what we'd ever even hope to build within our lifetimes. If I can use parts from that spy-from-the-sky? Oh boy, with enough time for tweaking and a side helpin' of pickles, I could get the SS singing our tune from Virginia all the way yonder to Portland."
"A Russian satellite?"
"Affirmative, boss."
"Well, now, that does sound like fun. Excavate away, my big-brained friend!"
They go on discussing for several minutes, by which time Carl, Judith, and I have gathered our things. We head to Carl's truck, figuring it's best we get back sooner rather than later.
"Are you gonna be alright here by yourself?" I ask Carol a third or fourth time.
She nods, helping Judith pull on her seatbelt. "I think so. That noise will've confused a lot of walkers in the area. I'll keep a low profile, just in case."
I watch her anxiously. She shuts Judith's door and comes to my window, where she reaches in and hugs me.
"Take care," she tells us, squeezing Carl's hand, too.
"You, too. Be careful."
She nods to all three of us, then leans out of the truck, steps back, and waves as we drive away.
Carol's assumption turns out to be right. Within the next day, after the fire near New Oceanside it put out and even after Eugene gets finished salvaging the crash sight for satellite parts, the walkers gather across Virginia like swarms of confused locusts, wandering in random directions in search for the noise that had seemed to come from everywhere. Negan was smart enough to act quickly, too, after Carl and I told him about Carol's prediction, and sent out a portion of Saviors from each outposts to defend all the settlements in time.
The clusters come for days, like a tide against a shore. The Sanctuary, of all the other Savior-owned locations, is the hardest to hide, and therefore the hardest hit. Every person in the factory works in shifts, day in, day out, for three days to combat the dead. We line up along the fences and work tirelessly to take out each cluster, and finally their numbers begin to wade, and after twenty-four hours with no new walkers in sight, I finally get to go to my room to sleep.
After so many days focussed on nothing but aiming and shooting and waiting and then aiming and shooting again, I pass out before I even hit my pillow. I have a vague memory of Judith tucking me into bed at some point, and kissing me sweetly on my cheek —although she's so rarely this physically affectionate that I'm sure the memory is a dream— and then I have another memory, maybe a moment later or even several hours later, of Carl collapsing into bed against me, only I'm sure this one is real because he's too hot and it wakes me up for long enough to push him against the wall for space, and then things are just blurry dreams until my only lucid memory or thought after that is waking up to the next day's sunset shining dully into our room.
Judith is drawing quietly on the floor, using her folded bedsheets as cushions, with a plate of something out of a jar set on the nightstand, only half eaten. Beside it, the owl sculpture sits wisely, watching us, and at its side, too, my buck sculpture that Carl made me years ago in honour of the whittled doe sculpture that my nonno made for me when I was a child, that I lost after being brought here.
Carl has both his leg and his arm draped over my shoulder, somehow, and I'm so stiff and groggy that I whine as I clamber my way out of his labyrinth of sweaty limbs.
Judith looks up at me from her drawing of Lydia, which is quite good for someone her age. She's got all Lydia's face shapes right, if not a little asymmetrical. I love to see her draw. I've been slowly tempting Carl to pick it up again over the last month after all these years of him giving it up. The most I've gotten out of him is last week when he made a quick sketch of my nose, which he drew much longer than he needed to, just to spite me. To apologise, he told me he liked the length of my nose, and quickly put the entirety of it in his mouth to prove it before I could stop him.
I stretch, causing several parts of my stiff body to crack painfully.
"You both stink," Judith says.
I snort at her, then yawn, before pushing open the window for air. I pick up Judith's plate. It's baby carrots and apple sauce because after the walker-tides, there hasn't been much time for the cooks to work, and the factory's been rationing in case we were stuck here for too long. I start eating without asking Judith if she'd like to share, which she only glares at me over for a moment.
"Any more clusters while we were sleeping?" I ask her.
She shakes her head. "Nope. No more gunshots. They're starting to take the bodies away. A few Saviors got killed, but nobody important."
I frown uncomfortably and set her plate aside. I'm too tired to voice my morality, or shape hers. Not today. So I just say, "I'm gonna go check on Carol. You finish that food."
"I'll come with you," Carl says from the bed, his voice croaky.
Judith gets up and passes him her plate. He eats a few baby carrots, but otherwise gestures her to eat the rest, so she does. Carl and I watch her eat. I lean backwards into him and rub my hand over his head, feeling the little gap in his short hair where his new scar is, all shiny and pink. Carl rests his chin on my shoulder.
"Can I come with you, too?" Judith asks us.
"No," Carl tells her, "but you could change our bedsheets for us wh...wh-ile we're gone? You know, 'cause we stink'n all."
Judith tuts. "I'm your sister, not your handmaid."
He glances at her, deadpan. "I love you."
Judith blinks, then sighs and begins putting away her drawing things. I can see her smirk though, flattered, even if she tries to hide it. When she stands up to face us, straight-faced again, she makes a 'move it' motion with her hands so Carl and I get up and move out of her way so she can strip the bed. While she does that, Carl and I wash quickly with a bucket of water and soap, then find a change of clothes, by which point Judith is finished and back to drawing on our bed. We each thank her gratefully, then tell her that we'll be back later, before going downstairs together.
In all honesty, Carl and I are confident Carol has managed to keep herself safe against the clusters. There were no reports of any swarm activity near the Oakborough Farmstead, which is relatively close to Carol's cottage. Going to see her now is mainly just to put our minds at ease.
Out in the courtyard, I head for Carl's truck and he tosses me his keys. He must've left it unlocked because when I press the button it gives a dull click with no beep. While I drive to the walker pen gate, Carl opens it for me, then shuts the gate behind me and jumps in the passenger seat by my side. The clean up crew, who are outside the fence loading walker bodies into trailers, wave us down as I drive out through the main gate.
"Hold up — take a trailer with you," someone tells me, gesturing to our un-trailered truck.
Carl glances at me apprehensively.
I shrug. "Might as well catch two pigeons with one fava bean."
He frowns, but must agree with me because he nods to the clean-up crew and gestures they hook one of the full trailers onto his truck's coupler. Once it's done, someone slaps the side of the truck twice to signal we can go.
"Where to?" I ask them.
"We've got a few burning piles dotted around the area," the Savior answers, pointing out into the distance at the few funnels of black smoke just visible through the dust, rising up through the sky. "Pick any one you want and pile the bodies on..."
I nod and wait for the Savior to step back, then I step on the gas, driving for a few miles toward the nearest column of smoke.
"It's... kill two birds with one stone," Carl says at some point. "Not… whatever it was you said."
I laugh. "Sure it is, burlone."
"I'm not joking," Carl chuckles. "Think about it. Why would you throw a — what was it?"
"A bean."
"A bean! Why would you throw a bean at a pigeon?"
I do think about this, and it occurs to me I've never actually heard the expression in English; only from my mother in Italian. I laugh at myself. "Oh."
Carl starts really belly laughing now.
"Idiota," he says, mimicking my accent because he knows it makes my neck hot.
"I had no idea, man."
There is someone in the back.
I notice too late.
Carl's gun is snatched from his holster before he can stop it. I see the flash of pale fingers between the centre compartment, grabbing it, then almost instantly, feel an arm snake around my neck, choking me, as the Colt Python is pressed to my temple. I gasp and freeze up, skidding the truck roughly to a stop. I reach for my own Thunder, or my knife, but find both gone from my hip. Carl curses as he's aimed at, too, by my gun which I can feel in the person's fist against my collar. He raises his hands in surrender, staring at me and whoever has a hold of me, his mouth open and panting, his eye wide.
I let go of the steering wheel, slowly, and raise my arms. "Easy, okay..."
"Don't move," a voice I recognise says behind my head. "Or I paint the truck with your husband's brain."
"Sherry?" I ask frantically. "What the—"
"Shut up!" she yells in my ear. "Get out of the truck. Both of you. Slowly."
We do as we're told, arms up as we leave the vehicle. Sherry climbs out the back door, both mine and Carl's guns pointed at our backs. She makes us walk a few minutes into the nearby tree-cover, until she tells us to stop in a secluded spot where we can't be seen by any roads or paths. She stands in front of us. She's shaking, gripping our guns very tightly as not to drop them.
"Listen, Sherry, please, just… tell us what you want?" I ask her. "Alright? You don't need to do this."
She grimaces, sweat streaking down her temples. "What I want? I want my husband back! That's all I ever fucking wanted..."
Carl and I glance at each other anxiously.
"Don't!" Sherry shouts. "Don't even look at each other. Turn your backs to each other. Now!"
We do. I can hear Carl's footsteps behind me, shuffling. Sherry circles around us, her eyes flittering all around, and our guns aimed at our chests.
Avoiding her eyes, I look out across the forest, shaking my head. "Sherry…"
"Shut up!" she says, her voice thick. "We were going to get away from this place. Together! Dwight promised me. He told me he was helping you, for years. He told me he was helping all of you. And you sold him out! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"
I flinch, expecting a bullet, and when it doesn't come I say, "It's not what you think. I swear. I didn't do it. I swear I have no idea who did it... I promise you, Sherry… I should have told you. I wanted to..."
She's quiet, except for the catch in her breath. "But, you did… you said it was your fault."
"Not like that," I say. "I thought someone must've seen me with the letter, at the mail box. That's what I meant. And I've been scared every day of someone coming forward to sell me out, too, but after this long… I'm starting to think... he did it to himself…"
"No!" she cries. "No, he wouldn't do that to me."
"I'm sorry," I say, desperately. "I really am. What happened… it was… it should never have happened."
I take a step towards her.
"Oliver," Carl mutters anxiously.
"Shh," I hiss back at him, and as I approach Sherry with my arms outstretched, to show I won't try anything, she glares at me, tears soaking her face, dripping off her chin, our guns trembling even harder in her hands.
"I can't live like this anymore," she says, shaking her head. "I can't go back to that place — alone. I won't! Dwight was the only person I… the hope... what he promised me... it was all I had left..."
"I understand," I tell her, realising I mean it. "I do. You saw it. You saw what I almost did to myself. And you saved my life."
She watches me. "I almost didn't, you know… I was going to let you die."
I didn't know this, so I don't say anything. I swallow, my throat dry. Sherry doesn't speak again either. She only begins to cry. She dissolves into tears like solid turning to liquid.
"Sherry..." I say, almost able to touch her now, standing right in front of her guns. "Sherry, it's okay… everything's gonna be okay..."
"No... it won't be."
She lets out a small sob, and with both our guns still in her hands, she manoeuvrers her fingers against her coat to pull the front zip down. Underneath, she's wearing a tight, black dress, which is what the wives always wear in varying styles, so I'm not all that sure what she's showing us.
"It's getting to the point that I won't be able to hide it for much longer," she hiccups. "Another week or two and I won't just look like I've put on a few pounds..."
I hear my throat catch, noticing the small bump that looks as unassuming as any woman's stomach, like a normal layer of fat — though, unfairly, enough of a layer to be something her and the rest of Negan's wives would be encouraged to lose.
"You're pregnant?"
Sherry sniffs, nodding.
"But you can't be," Carl chimes in. "Negan. He's… He can't..."
His face opens up wide.
And he says, "Dwight..."
Sherry sobs and wipes her face with her inner elbow. "I thought I'd lost him years ago," she says. "I thought he'd lost himself, who he used to be. But he came back to me. After everything, he finally came back to me as the man I used to know. Who I loved... And now he's gone. He didn't even know."
"Sherry," Carl says, gently, "what are you gonna do?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not going back. Not to Negan. Not so he can raise my baby to think he's its father. My baby will know who its father is."
"Okay," I say, calmly, "okay, but… if you are keeping it, where are you gonna go? How are you gonna keep it safe, and yourself? Negan will only hunt you down. He wont stop."
Somehow Sherry begins to cry even harder. It's like she's made of tears and tears only. She's shaking her head and trembling and I can see the sheer panic in her eyes, the full weight of how trapped and alone she is hitting her all at once. I don't think she knew what she was going to do after she brought Carl and I out here. After she took her revenge out on our lives...
And then, without warning, she puts Carl's Colt Python under her chin—
"Sherry, no!"
At the same time one or both of us cry out her name, Carl and I throw ourselves at her—
A gunshot goes off—
Echoing across the forest—
A flock of birds flee from the trees around us. I hear the bullet embed in a random trunk off to our side. I feel the leaves and nuts rain down on top of us all as Carl and I wrestle to get both guns out of Sherry's hands. The cylinder of Carl's gun was so dusty that I have to cough when the smoke from it firing gets in my lungs.
"Get off me!" Sherry screams, but I have both the guns now, and Carl has her pinned by her wrists to the forest floor, and she knows it's over, so she crumples up into herself like a tossed away ball of paper. Carl lets go of her, carefully, and moves quickly to search her for anymore weapons, retrieving our knives, before he jumps back from her and rushes over to me. He checks me for injuries. He doesn't even notice that he's the one who's bleeding.
"Carl, you're shoulder..."
He notices it, and after a small startle, quickly grips the wound with his right hand. Blood dribbles slowly through his fingers down his left arm. I tell him to hold it tightly, even though he is, and then there is a rip behind me and Sherry pushes a torn strip of her dress into my hands. I wrap it around Carl's shoulder twice and tie it tightly. The wound isn't too deep. The bullet must've only skimmed him before it hit the tree, thankfully.
Out of breath, I give him back his gun, then grip the back of his neck and squeeze.
Sherry sits back, tears still falling.
"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm just so lost. I don't know what to do without him."
Carl holsters his revolver, watching her. His arm is beginning to bleed through the dressing. He wipes the blood, winces, and then I see an idea pop into his head. He steps over to her.
"I know what you can do," he says.
Sherry looks up to him, her eyebrows arched and her cheeks shining with tears.
"You can still get away from this place," Carl tells her.
"How?" she asks, sniffing. "Oliver's right. Negan will only come after me. It's hopeless."
He reaches down to her with his unbloody arm, smiling that soft and kind smile of his.
"I have a plan," he says. "You just have to trust us..."
And after a moment, she takes his hand.
Notes:
The guys really need to get into the habit of checking the back of their trucks, huh? Really enjoyed some of the sweet moments the guys had throughout this. It's nice to write them doing normal-ish couple things again. Been a good few years lmao.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 19: II: The Negan Show
Summary:
Oliver has to participate on his first ever Career Day. Arat has something to get off her chest.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
We lied to Negan about what happened. We told him Sherry snuck into Carl's truck as we were on our way to burn walker bodies, held us at gunpoint, and told us to pull over. We told him she was going to shoot us and steal Carl's truck, but when she got us to get out, we overpowered her, she shot Carl, and ran. We told Negan that we chased her, that we were going to bring her back with us, but by the time we caught up to her a cluster of walkers had gotten to her first. We told him all we could recover from her remains was a torn, bloody, part of her dress.
It worked.
Negan hasn't tried and go after her.
Carl and I have vowed not to tell anyone what really happened to Sherry. We don't tell anyone that we took her to Carol's cottage, and that Carol gave her some supplies and food and clothes, and helped us come up with our story so that Sherry could run away without being hunted. With any luck, she'll be two states away by now at least.
And somehow, things have felt a little lighter since. Because we did something. Finally, we got someone away from all this. Two people, maybe. Whether Sherry makes it out there on the road or not, whether she finds somewhere safe to carry her pregnancy through and raise her baby, it doesn't matter. Because she's not here anymore. She's free from Negan. She's got a real chance to take back some control of her life again.
Though, the same can't be said for the rest of us.
As we're finishing our supper in our room one night, there is a knock on our door. Negan enters a second later. We can see others, too, standing out in the hallway; Arat, Laura, and another Savior, Justin, who has always given me the creeps.
Judith jumps up to hug Negan, like usual. He gives a big groan as he swings her in his arms and then sets her down.
"Good news, boys..." Negan says, and faces me with an evil grimace on his face. "As of five minutes ago, you have been promoted, along with Justin here —we go way back— to replace Dwight and Morales."
I hear Carl's breath catch beside me.
I clear my throat. "Err..."
"Right on time, too," Negan adds. "Because I just got a report from one of my patrols that they just found that thieving little new group nearby, in a quaint little camp just east of here. My guys have got the place surrounded right now, and are waiting on my signal to move in."
I gulp. Carl checks his walkie talkie. It's off. He must've forgotten to replace its battery; not getting wind of any of this himself until now.
"Get your things, boys," Negan says, turning out of the room. "Today's Career Day."
"Grimes," Arat says as Negan leaves, gesturing impatiently in my direction, "brief him. Quickly."
"Oh, yes," Negan agrees as he heads down the corridor, "and be thorough. I will only say this once: today is not a good day for fuck ups, on any front."
Arat grits her teeth at us.
Carl frowns at her. "Yes, sir!"
As Arat, Laura, and Justin leave down the hallway after Negan, I look at Carl. He looks afraid. To anyone else he would just look angry or threatening, but I can see the fear in his eye, twitching his brows. He swallows and glances at his sister.
"Judy," he says hoarsely, handing her our dirty dishes, "could you take this down to the kitchen?"
"Now? But I want to see you both off. Isn't it great? Oliver's being pro—"
"Please," he says, a little sharply, but gives her a reassuring nod, so she goes without arguing. Carl shuts the door quickly when we're alone. He grabs my arm. He looks at me closely and shakes his head. "Oliver..."
He stalls.
"We don't have much time," I say.
He grimaces. "I don't understand wh...wh-y he's done this."
"Yeah," I say, grabbing some things around the room, "it's weird he'd promote me now, after all these years, when there are so many other Saviors who want the role instead."
Carl nods and shakes his head like he's thinking about lots of things at once. He rubs the scar behind his hairline, a stimulation tactic he's developed to help himself through his stutter.
"It's bad, isn't it?" I say.
"He's angry," Carl says, "angrier than usual. Than ever."
"At us?" I ask, a cold wash of dread hitting my stomach. "Do you think he knows what we did?"
"I don't think so. I don't know," he answers. There's panic in his voice. "He shouldn't have p...p-ut you up to this. You were always just leverage, against me, to m...m-ake me do things. He never needed you to s...s-ee it. You never had to... I've always protected you from it."
"'Make you do things'?" I ask. "I thought... you said you never had to kill anyone yourself."
"I didn't have to," Carl says, "and I haven't, but that doesn't mean I still haven't had to stand there and watch him murder people himself. Innocent people. It's just as bad. It's w...w-orse. It eats me... and it's g...g-oing to eat you, too."
I throw my hand up. "Then what choice do I have?"
"None," Carl says, "that's the point."
"What? Then what are you even trying to say?"
"I'm saying," he explains, through his teeth, "you're g...g-oing to try to make it your choice."
I frown. "What? No, I..."
"You will," Carl says. "I know you will. I know you. You might think you won't now, because you know what's at stake if you do, but when you see it, when you see what Negan is gonna do, it'll be different. I know you know wh...wh-at happened to Glenn and Abraham, but you weren't there. You didn't see it. And I haven't told you about the Career Days since. You don't know how bad it is."
"Carl..."
"Just like those survivors in the woods," he insists. "You gave them an option. You chose to do that. And you got away with it because you g...g-ot lucky. By the time Negan found out Alexandria had the five new survivors, they'd already been there months and it wasn't worth giving them their own Career Day. But that won't work again. It won't work. Just trust me. Please."
I stare at him.
He tells me, "No more answering cries for help, okay? It's not us anymore. It can't be."
So I nod. "Okay."
They call themselves the Highwaymen.
When we arrive to their camp, which is inside an old, run-down, convenience store, several trucks are already parked around the lot, their roofs reflecting the moonlight, while groups of Saviors are on guard outside and more groups gather inside the building where the Highwaymen have been captured, ready for the main event.
Carl and I stick together as we follow Negan in through the store.
Carl told me before we left our room that I have to walk confidently, and keep my face still, and that I should just focus on breathing steadily if things get rough. He said that if I just keep my mouth shut and stand still and try to look solid, the things around me will churn on without me having to get involved. He says it's a tactic he's used for years, and that for the most part it has worked. He had enough time to tell me, too, about some of the instances where his tactic hasn't worked, though, like the time he had to hold a woman down to stop her from lashing out at Negan, because he knew she would only get someone else killed as punishment, and a different time, when Negan didn't realise he'd miss-counted the members in a group, and the unaccounted for tried to ambush mid-Career Day: Carl was forced to stab someone in self defence. He managed not to kill them, though, but that easily could've not been the case.
'This is Negan's show,' was the last thing Carl told me before we went downstairs. 'We're just the extras. And we don't look away.'
Saviors litter the store's aisles, their weapons drawn at the ready. Over by the merky, wide, front window we see the twenty or so Highwaymen collected in a huddled group beside the tills. They're out of breath and bruised and sweating, fearful looks on their faces as they watch the rest of us approach. One of them, a broad, bearded man with dark, shaggy hair, is being restrained by Arat with one of those stick-and-hoop dog-leashes from pounds.
"Oh, baby!" Negan says, bat on his shoulder. "Y'all shitting yourselves yet? Oh, don't you worry, folks, we'll get you there soon enough. Real soon. I'll need to pull out the doggy bags, to go with that doggy leash."
He turns to them all, a grimace across his face.
"Which one of you is the leader?"
Arat shakes the stick-leash, causing the broad man at the end of it to jerk forward onto his hands and knees. "This one," she says.
"Ozzy, right?" Negan asks him, bending to his level. "I'm Negan. And I do not appreciate you stealing from me. Not to mention, wasting all that gas my fine colleagues used trying to chase you down over the past few weeks. Not cool. Not fucking cool. You don't even realise how not fucking cool that shit is. But you'll be caught up shortly. And you're going to regret crossing me in a few minutes. Fuck yes, you will."
He explains the new world order, how he wants their resources in exchange for their lives, how things are going to be different for them from now on, now that Negan is in charge.
"Understand?" Negan asks finally.
"Listen, man," Ozzy says, sweat dripping off his nose, "we're not all that different from you, alright? We're just surviving out here. We take what we need from travellers we find and we send them on their way. That's our way of doing things, too. But it was a couple sacks of preserves, alright? It wasn't like we killed any of you."
Negan watches him, a surprised look on his face.
"That answer is both not good enough and severely incorrect," he explains. "See, you and I are not the same, in the slightest. Perhaps you're a little thick in the skull but I was quite clear when I said I owned you all now. You're not going fucking anywhere."
Ozzy shakes his head. "That's… crazy. Come on, man. Have some humanity. You're talking slavery here."
I expect Negan to make some snide joke. Maybe to tell them that 'at least he's not a racist slave master like in the old days, considering most of the Highwaymen are white' or something equally as useless that I've heard him say before. Instead, though, he grimaces. Not one trace of a grin in sight, which, even with my lack of experience here, I know is rare.
Carl's right. Negan is livid.
"Line them up..."
All twenty-two of them are taken to the store window and neatly put in a line, at Negan's gesture. Negan doesn't even have to ask anybody to get them organised for him, because dozens of Saviors step forward without hesitation to do it, Justin among the first, shouting at the Highwaymen and kicking them in the calves to get them in the right positions, like this really is just some big, rehearsed show, each Savior more eager to impress Negan with their performance than the last.
"I don't want to kill any of you," Negan explains, raising his bat in his fist. "Let me make that clear right now. I want you working for me. But you stole from me. And quite frankly… I'm having a really fucking bad few weeks. So for that, well, someone is going to be punished. Call it what you want — bad luck, wrong place at the wrong time, whatever — but when it comes down to it, you crossed me, and I need to blow off some steam..."
He pulls on a pair of leather gloves without setting his bat down.
"I'm going to beat the holy fuck fucking fuckety fuck out of one of you with my bat," he says, "who I call 'Lucille'. She has barbed wire teeth and she's really fucking awesome. Now it's just a matter of picking which one of you gets the honour."
He does exactly what Carl told me he did nine years ago, choosing by eanie, meanie, miney, moe, and his bat stops on a large man wearing a dark coat and a Stetson hat, who someone cries out to as Alec. His face is arched in fear as he watches Negan roll up his leather sleeves.
"Anyone of you moves, at all… and I knock your teeth out and feed them like little pills to the person next to you. I'll even give you a cup of this bastard's blood to wash it down with! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. You're all going to be doing that."
"Ozzy," a woman mutters desperately, tears running down her face, "make it stop," but Ozzy, their leader, just stares, trembling, at the mouldy, tile floor.
"Please," Alec begs, "please..."
My whole body flinches as Negan brings his bat down through Alec's skull, killing him instantly. I'm quick to steady myself, to force myself to stand completely still. And I don't look away. Not once.
The rest of the Highwaymen stare in horror. Some of them are screaming, some are covering their eyes, and some are just sobbing, or staring, completely still and silent.
"Wow! He went down quick," Negan growls at them, teeth bared furiously. "I was expecting much more of a fight in him. That was too easy, and Lucille is still hungry!"
Negan raises the bat above his head and bashes it through Alec's skull again, cracking the tile under him, and again, and again, mashing him up like pulp.
"Lucille is a fucking ware-wolf-bat!" Negan growls breathlessly. He casts a glance back at the distraught Highwaymen, then shakes his head. "Honestly, you're all a drag! I can tell already you've not got one ounce of humour among the lot of you!"
He growls as he beats Alec's crushed skull again.
The sound is awful.
"I'm laughing," Negan says, even though he isn't, at all, "and my wife just fucking killed herself last week! So you sorry sacks, CAN DO BETTER!"
He hits the corpse again, blood spins outward at the Highway men, splattering them.
"Please!" Ozzy sobs, crawling forward towards Alec's body. "Stop! He's already dead! You monster!"
Negan steps back to glare at him.
He aims his bat at him.
"I told you not to move..."
He kicks Ozzy off of Alec's body and shoves him backwards against the window, and before I can even react he turns and swings his bat through another woman's jaw. The same woman who had muttered Ozzy's name earlier. It doesn't kill her, but it sends her twisting onto her side. Her jaw bone hangs off her skull. Blood gushes. Her teeth fly and clatter across the floor.
"Margo!" Ozzy screams. "No!"
A few of the Highwaymen have to grab him to stop him from getting up.
"Jesus," Negan says, "I only meant to blow her fuckin' teeth out! Oh well."
He raises his bat above his head again and blood drips down his leather jacket.
Ozzy cries out.
And I step forward through the crowd of Saviours.
I step forward and I reach out my arm.
I don't even think about it.
And there is a yank so hard on my collar that I almost buckle to my knees. Negan sends his bat through Margo's face again, her neck snapping to one side, cracking. I look away. I can't help it. And I see Carl, who's grabbed me. He snatches my hand. He shakes his head, his face tensed in so much fear and anger that I have to look away from him, too. I step back again, quickly, into the fold of Saviors, and only realise I haven't let go of Carl's hand when Arat snatches our wrists apart. She gives us each an appalled glare and then gestures us to keep our eyes front.
So we do.
It's over sometime after that.
Negan sets his demands for half the Highwaymen's supplies and food by the end of the week, and the fifty of us file out of the store, leaving them to bury Alec and Margo themselves. I try my best to hide how horrified I am as I sit silently in the back-seat of Negan's truck on the drive back to the Sanctuary, with Arat glowering beside me and Carl sitting quietly in front beside Negan.
"You think the ware-wolf joke was too corny?" he asks. "I like to switch it up but I'm thinking of just keeping it to the vampire references. It was the dog collars. They set my imagination going..."
Carl shrugs. "Either's fine."
"You're right! Did you see the look on their faces?"
"Sure did, boss," Arat says.
We arrive home sometime later, our truck the first back since we were the first to leave. Negan leaves Carl to park while he goes on into the factory, a skip in his step. I wait for Carl. As I watch him reverse Negan's truck in its spot, Arat comes over, looking pissed.
"What the fuck was that back there?" she hisses.
I look up at her, tiredly, and shake my head. "Just leave me alone. I'm not in the mood."
She shakes her head. "That's not good enough. You need to get your fucking head straight, spoiled Goddamn brat."
"What is your problem?"
"My problem is that you don't know how good you've got it. You or Grimes." Her eyebrows are creased together tightly. "You're always acting so high and mighty, like you really believe the reason you have any say in the choices you make isn't anything other than lucky timing. And Negan lets you get away with it. He strokes your egos like you're fucking trophies that need to be polished."
I grimace at her, thinking she's delusional.
"I didn't ask for this shit, either, you know," she goes on, "yet here I am, the only one left who suffered through the early days. Paula and Gavin, Simon, Morales, and Dwight. They're all dead. And Regina's stuck scrubbing toilets, for one mistake, after everything. After all the sacrifices we made. The shit you saw tonight wasn't anything compared, and you barely got through it without having your hand held! You're pathetic. So buck up, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and have the respect not to insult old-timers like me who had to suffer before Negan decided to take the noble route and do all his own killings."
I glare at her, floored.
"You want my respect?" I ask her, almost spitting. "Is that a joke?"
Her mouth twitches, and she laughs this dry huff and says, "You wanna be careful who you make your enemy around here, de Luca. There's a long line of Saviors willing to do just about anything to get your job."
Adrenaline stings my chest, but I keep my face hard.
Arat points in my face. "The next time you want to step out of line, think about how I have sacrificed who I used to be… just to survive. Think about how you haven't had to do that. Think about how you never will. And only then... try to tell me you're better than me for choices that you'll never have to make."
I grind my teeth. Arat keeps her eyes on me, sharp and piercing, until she turns and walks away. Other trucks are arriving back to the Sanctuary now. I move aside to give them room, realising only then how weak my legs feel. I'm shaking.
Carl comes over to me a moment later, Negan's keys in hand.
"What was that?" he asks, motioning to where Arat has just disappeared to inside the factory. "Looked like you were arguing — again."
"It was nothing," I say, not sure if it's true or not, "just… Arat giving me shit, for… you know."
He gives me an examining look. "I tried to warn you."
"I know," I say, irritated, and then a little softer. "I know..."
He takes my hand and squeezes it, gently.
"Come on," he says. "Let's head upstairs. I'm dead."
We're quiet as we get to our room, so we don't wake Judith. While we get settled into bed, Carl asks me if I want to talk about what we saw tonight, but I say no, because we don't need to discuss it. We know what we saw and we know we have to remember it. And we know we'll have to do it again soon.
I just say, "We do it because we have to."
And he whispers back, "For Judith. For our family."
Notes:
End of Act Two: The Subservient
I grappled with having Negan force Oliver or Carl to murder under his hand at some point in this story, but I really didn't want this to turn into a war-criminal-protagonist fic. Like, at all. That's really just a niche that I don't want to write about anymore here. That arc has been run into the dirt at this point. It wouldn't serve this fic anymore than it already has at this point. So yeah, that's why Negan 'does his own dirty work'.
Next is Act Three: The City – set a year later! The MOST fun I've ever had writing in my LIFE. Hope it's a good read for you, too!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 20: III: Bonds We Make
Summary:
Time has passed. Oliver has adjusted to his new career rank. Eugene makes the first move in repairing his and Carl's relationship — by asking for a favour. Something's upsetting Judith.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT THREE: THE CITY
ONE YEAR AND FOUR MONTHS LATER
FALL 2021
~ de Luca ~
After the chaos of last year, the next year or so has been welcomely more quiet in comparison, for the Saviors, at least. No more herd-weilding skin-wearers, and no more attacks on the Sanctuary. My new job as Negan's henchman takes me out of the factory more often than before, but mostly just on collection runs to New Oceanside and the Vineyard Settlement, which is simple enough, and there've only been two or three more Career Days that I've had to take part in.
I do better at hiding my abhorrence these days, although it's clear Negan knows it's still there. He seems to believe that the only reason why I won't disobey him or conspire against him like Dwight did is because in my case, at least, he hasn't forcibly married the love of my life.
I guess he's right… for now.
I do what I have to.
But I remind myself what it's all for, every day.
And I don't forget how things are supposed to be, so that Carl and I can teach Judith to do better than us, when she's old enough to understand, and so that one day we can be with our friends and family again, and still be able to live with ourselves for all we'll have had to have done to get there.
Life goes on, as it always does, and we have to keep moving through the things we don't have any power to change. We have to focus on the positive aspects of our lives, on the things we can have some control over. For instance, I turned twenty-five recently, and Carl twenty-four this past spring, and Judith is going to turn eleven this upcoming winter, so Carl and I are planning to teach her to ride her first bicycle.
"We should start looking for one soon," Carl says one morning while we bring mugs of hot coffee up to our room after an early watch-shift together; we need to stay awake to go and visit Carol.
"Don't worry. We'll have more than enough time to find the perfect one," I say, stepping over an asleep Judith to reach our bed, where Carl and I sit, sipping together. I look out the little window, squinting past the dust cloud of the Sanctuary bounds, to the orange- and yellow-tree-coated scenery in the distance. It's been a nice Fall. Lots of rain, but in a cosy, familiar way, especially on the days we go out to see Carol.
"Find the perfect what?" Judith mumbles from her tangle of blankets, rubbing her eyes.
"A new left shoe for you." Carl thinks fast. "Yours is w...w-earing down at the sole."
"Shouldn't I wear..." She yawns. "...matching shoes?"
"Nah," he answers.
"Absolutely, yes," I say over him. "We'll find you a new pair. Don't listen to your brother about fashion sense. He can only half see."
Carl punches me in the arm. I almost spill my coffee. I catch him wink at his sister as she sits up, secretly assuring her he'll find her a left shoe and a left shoe only. She giggles. I roll my eyes, giving up.
"You're both destined to go feral, ovviamente."
Judith cracks up harder. Carl and I drink the rest of our coffee. Just as I'm helping Judith fold up and set her bed things in the corner of the room for the day, someone knocks on our door. Carl squeezes past us to answer it.
Eugene nods at him from the corridor.
"Mr. Grimes, greetings."
Carl nods.
Eugene clears his throat. "I, erm, wish to speak with you?" he says, and glances past Carl's shoulder into the room, where Judith and I are watching them. "In private, if you'd be so kind?"
After a moments hesitation, Carl leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. I go to the door quickly and quietly, pushing my ear to it.
"Don't snoop," Judith says, "you're not allowed."
"You're not allowed," I whisper back at her.
She glowers at me.
I give her an innocent shrug. "If it's your husband it doesn't count as bad. Anyway, I'm not snooping," I say to lighten the mood, grabbing a stray cloth from the chair, "I'm… dusting the doorknob."
Judith narrows her eyes at me, then grins. "Then I'll help you..."
I can't exactly out-smart that, so we both press our ears to the door together. She sits on my lap, cloth abandoned.
"I know this is sort of awkward and all," Eugene is saying from the other side of the door. "Me comin' to you like this, after the complicated history we share. I respect that, and I respect you. And I know that under the circumstances, I can never expect to regain your respect in return, or your trust, or your friendship. But I still appreciate that you've been mature enough to move past things, in regards to the business-aspect of our relationship… erm..."
He trails off. I can just picture Carl narrowing his eye at him.
"Right, yes, I'll stop with the grovellin'," Eugene says, quickly. He clears his throat. "I came here to speak to you about that... incident... all those moons ago, during your annual inspection at the Satellite Station with Laura?"
A pause.
"Pertaining to what you overhead in the radio room, I mean?" Eugene adds, to jog Carl's memory, to which Carl hums in this tormenting tone that sounds uncannily like Negan's voice. I can even hear the low purr at the back of his throat. It makes me shiver.
"Stephanie," Carl croons.
Eugene shushes him desperately. "Keep your voice down, would ya? Affirmative, Stephanie."
The name rings a bell.
Carl had told me about the odd encounter months ago. With the new radio parts from the fallen satellite over a year ago, Eugene's radio at the Satellite Station reaches half way across the country now. Negan even wanted to start doing something similar to what Terminus did by sending out messages on the radio-waves notifying any listening survivors of our presence. But Carl pointed out what happened to the Termites in the end, how, with further reach comes the risk of groups too big for even the Saviors to handle, so Negan decided against the outreach of messages in favour of simply listening in for pickings of our own.
'We gotta avoid biting off more than we can chew,' Negan said. 'That is, until we grow bigger teeth."
Anyway, Eugene began speaking to Stephanie at some point on a rogue channel earlier this year, but didn't tell anybody until one day near the end of Carl's inspection, while they were in the radio tower together, and Stephanie's voice came through. Eugene must've forgotten to switch channels since he'd last talked to her. Carl grabbed the receiver before Eugene could stop him, and spoke to her, and Eugene snatched the receiver from him and tried to apologise to her but she didn't respond at all. Eugene even started crying, apparently. He said he'd promised her he'd keep her a secret from everyone, and that she was never going to speak to him again after Carl's interference. Carl felt so bad at the time that he promised not to tell anyone. He told me though, ovviamente.
"We're back to communicating again," Eugene tells him, excitedly, "it took many late nights calling out to her in the void, but she finally responded, and, I believe, has begun to trust me again..."
"And?" Carl asks, disinterested.
"She's agreed to meet me at a specific location," Eugene says, "on a specific date, and at a specific time on said date."
Carl waits for it.
"I came to ask you to come with me," Eugene explains. "To meet her, and maybe her people, too."
I hear Carl tut. "Ask upstairs. I don't organise Career Days."
"I can't do that," Eugene says gravely. "Stephanie's group, they're very secretive. She wouldn't reveal to me much of anything about them herself. And to tell you the honest truth, I'm not so keen on telling Negan regardless. As you and I know very well indeed, he tends to come on a little... strong. What I'm precariously attempting to do here is something unlike the usual Career Day. Something... cordially philanthropic, if you will."
I narrow my eyes at the door. Eugene's never cared about how Career Days are organised before. It's difficult to tell what's different about this one.
Carl seems to be just as suspicious, because I can hear the grimace on his face as he says, "You like her..."
Eugene tuts indignantly, but I can hear the choke in his throat. "Look, I see how it could be misconstrued as… odd circumstances," he says to Carl, "but I think if I can successfully spare her group from the typical Career Day and bring them into the fold more gently, she might just appreciate it a bit more."
"Spare her," I whisper back to myself, almost gagging. Judith gives me a suspicious look. I pretend I have a hair in my mouth and pluck it out.
"What was that?" Eugene asks.
"N...n-othing," Carl says, and moves on quickly. "Eugene, listen to yourself. You're not some white-night. P...p-eople aren't stupid. Stephanie won't want to be a part of this place anymore than anyone else ever does."
"I'm sure Negan won't like to hear you speaking like that."
There is a tense silence, one in which Carl must be giving Eugene one of his worst kind of glares, because I can hear another faltering choke in Eugene's voice as he speaks again.
"Then again, I'm sure Negan won't like to hear that I've been keeping a group secret either… especially not behind his back," he says, "so I see how I'm not really in the position to be making such comments. I apologise."
I grimace at the door, wishing Abraham had knocked out more than just a few of Eugene's teeth that day he confessed the truth about himself, that he wasn't a scientist with a cure, that he was just a liar and a cheat who people died for to keep alive. We should have learned our lesson then. But we kept on trusting him because he was family. Even now, despite what he's done, he is still family. It's why Carl or I didn't rat him out for talking to Stephanie in the first place. We could have. We have enough reason. But we both learned a long time ago that revenge isn't the way to resolve our problems.
I guess this is why Carl, somewhat begrudgingly, says, "I'll talk to him."
"But—"
"Negan trusts me. I can sort something out."
"So you'll come with me?" I listen, but Carl doesn't say anything, but I guess he must nod because of what Eugene says next. "Thank you, Mr. Grimes," he says, and there is another awkward silence until he speaks again. "You have a good day now..."
I listen to Eugene hop away along the corridor, then pull the door open a little. Carl turns, unsurprised, to see me and his sister peeking at him through the gap.
"He gone?" I ask, shuffling his sister and myself aside.
Carl nods, stepping into the room.
"Nobody likes Career Days at first," Judith tells him, like she thinks he needs the consolation. "But they come to understand why they're needed eventually. That's what Daddy says."
"Sure," Carl tells her. "But one day he wants me to take over this place, so I think it's only fair that I can have a say in how I want to run things when the time comes."
"But Daddy's way works."
"And so can mine," Carl explains to her. "He and I have been talking about it. You saw, in the woods last year? You and Oliver convinced those people we could help them, and they joined us willingly, and now… they're some of Alexandria's best hunters."
Judith seems to agree with this, hiding a flattered smile.
"Ways can change for the better," Carl tells her, touching her wrist. "We can respect tradition, but if we can find better ways, we should. Negan will understand."
Judith watches him, nodding.
It's difficult not to see Rick here in front of me right now, a version of him in Carl, a leader, doing everything he can to protect his family, and I can see a version of the Carl I once knew as a teenager here in Judith, too, stubborn and rebellious and independent. I wonder if Negan ever thinks the same things about them, too.
I stand up and take Carl's hand, proud and anxious.
"So," I say, throwing an arm over his shoulder, "Stephanie again, huh?"
Negan's been having fun conditioning the newest survivors who all moved in to New Oceanside a few weeks ago, and must be in an especially good mood when Carl goes to speak to him, because in minutes Carl comes back downstairs with the news that he's been given permission to lead a small group to meet Stephanie at the destination she and Eugene had agreed upon: a train station in Charleston, West Virginia.
Carl said Negan wanted to do it the old fashioned way at first, with a Career Day, like Carl and Eugene had predicted, but Carl dealt with him well, and reminded Negan that he'd been training Carl all these years to run his own Career Days one day, and this would be good practice, and that he wanted to do it his own way by gaining their trust first, learning more about them, and then bringing in the force later if it was needed.
Negan only issued a small catch: If we aren't back at the Sanctuary with information on Stephanie's group in one week, then Negan comes himself, with trucks, and does things his way. That means three days to get to Charleston. One day there. And three days to get back.
"It was that easy?" Eugene says, astounded. "He's just letting us do this, just like that?"
Carl shrugs. "People are a resource. I'm his son."
For the rest of the day, the three of us get ready for the journey. Our walkie-talkies will only reach so far, certainly not two- or three-hundred miles. Another thing that worried Negan was that Carl isn't keen on using a truck for the journey, in case we end up needing more gas than we can carry, especially as the journey is probably going to be much longer than it should be since most roads are destroyed or blocked off after all these years and we'll need to find ways around, so as a result, Negan agrees for us to stop off at Alexandria to collect three of their horses and make the rest of the journey that way instead. Horses can leap fences and cut through crammed-highways or rough trails, after all, and trucks cannot, even if Negan thinks horses are beneath him.
The next day, I wake up early to start loading the back seats with our three duffel bags. As I'm waiting in the courtyard for Carl and Eugene to meet me downstairs, I spot Judith making her way over, kicking the dirt as she goes.
"Got my eye on you," I tell her. "No sneaking into the truck-bed this time."
"Can't," she says, shrugging. "Carl's truck doesn't have one."
I smile, watching her sit on the empty back seat. She crosses her arms.
This is the part Judith hates the most: Saying goodbye. It's in her blood, I think. She's more furious than usual, though. But Negan would never allow it, and honestly, with a journey this long, neither would Carl or I. We know she's safer here, especially with Carol looking out for her, since she and Negan have somewhat of a mutual acquaintanceship nowadays — even if it's fragile; Negan could change his mind about her freedom at the drop of a hat if he wanted to.
I go to the truck and crouch in front of her, setting my elbows on the footrest to keep balance. "We'll be back before you know it," I tell her. "You'll see."
Her mouth suddenly turns downward and her eyes swim like dark pools.
"Hey," I say anxiously, touching her shoulder. "Hey, hey… why are you crying?"
She shrugs and shakes her head, the tears coming faster and harder. Not normal crying either, like when she was small and would fall over or feel scared by the guard walkers. This is the kind of crying you do when you're trying hard to stop, but can't.
I take her pale face in my palm, gently, but she pulls away from me.
"What's going on, mi amore? Jude… come on… talk to me..."
She hiccups and wipes her face. "Tu mi odi."
I can feel my face arch. I even laugh. "Why on Earth would I ever hate you? Judith, sei tutto il mio mondo."
"You're leaving."
"For a week," I say. "I'm coming back. And it's not because of you! I'm leaving to help Eugene. You're perfect, and you always have been."
She hiccups again, like she might calm down, but suddenly again she breaks up into another fit of sobs. And I realise this is bigger than just me leaving. She's hiding something. Something she thinks is so terrible that she can't even say it aloud. The horrible scenarios run through my head so quickly and brutally that I get light headed. We live in a tower full of bad people. Anything could happen to Judith, even with all the rules put in place to keep her protected.
"Judith," I say, very gently, my chest thrumming, "tell me what happened? Did… Did someone hurt you? You can tell me. I promise."
"No, of course not," she blubs, confused, and the relief slacks my shoulders. "But... you're gonna get mad at me. You're gonna hate me forever."
I smile at her, suspecting she broke something of mine. Maybe my whittled owl, or buck. Maybe she got paint on one of my books by accident, or ripped one of my old beanies. "I would never hate you for telling me the truth, silly. About anything. Ever."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"And you won't leave?"
"For anything other than work, no." I expect her to chuckle at my joke, but she doesn't. She just cries more. I stare at her, shocked. "God, Jude, what's come over you? Why would I would leave you for anything?"
She looks at me with her big, wet, dark eyes.
And she says, "Because you said you wanted to, to Dwight."
It's like my whole world collapses in around me then, like I'm not knelt on dirt against a truck but over a black hole, and I'm falling into it, being spaghettified for light-years.
"You…" I mutter, and have to sit back. "Oh, Judith." I can't breathe. Judith starts hyperventilating, too. I look at her, shaking. My voice breaks up all over the place. "You took the letter."
It's suddenly so obvious. She saw me in the woods. She dug up the letter after I'd put it back. She had it on her before I even found her with Magna's group. She went home and she told Negan she found it in Dwight's room…
"Dwight was gonna get you into trouble," she sobs, "I didn't know Daddy was gonna get so angry with him. I didn't mean to get him dead. I just didn't want you to get in trouble!"
I have to scoop her up in my arms and shut us both inside the truck to stop people from hearing her cries. I'm so horrified that I don't know what else to do for several minutes but hold her. I can't believe it. I can't believe it at all. I don't know how I don't scream at her, or shake her violently, because I'm so furious and she's just a child and she could have gotten us all killed. I could have gotten us all killed! All I can do is just keep on holding her while she cries, thinking even now, with how guilty she feels, she doesn't understand what she's done, what I've caused her to do, and maybe she never will, and I realise that I don't just have to protect myself in this mess: I have to protect her, too, from herself and from me.
So I lie to her.
I lie through my fucking teeth.
"You did the right thing, Jude," I tell her.
"That's what Daddy said," she says, "but… it doesn't feel good."
I shake my head, furious that Negan didn't tell me or at least Carl that Judith was who brought him the letter. Judith must've begged him not to, or he might've chosen not to, to keep us all on their toes.
"Dwight was a bad influence," I tell her, lying and lying and lying. "He was tricking me into believing things that weren't true. You stopped him. You stopped me from getting into trouble. You protected me. And I'll never do anything to get into trouble again. Thank you, Judith. And... thank you, for keeping all of it a secret."
She looks up to me, my manipulative lies softening her sobs, her face wet and dripping as she nods. "You promise I didn't do anything wrong?"
"I promise. It wasn't your fault someone died. It happened because he broke the rules."
"And, you promise you won't do anything to get yourself into trouble anymore?"
"I promise," I say again, and I can feel my whole body trembling. I wish I could take her upstairs and talk to her more, comfort her until she feels better, cancel the mission to Charleston altogether and stay here to bring her endless ice-cream instead, but I know doing that will only seem suspicious after everything is all so well planned out, and I know I need to act like this was as inconsequential of a conversation as possible to get Judith to move past it, so I tell her, "Let's clean up your tears, alright? We'll wait for your brother to get down here so you can say goodbye. And I will see you in a week. We both will. Alright?"
She sniffs and nods.
I wipe her eyes. "Everything's gonna be okay, bella bambina. I promise you."
Notes:
Judith be the real Future Serial Killer, huh...
The title is a reference to the episode title where Eugene makes first contact with Stephanie.
Thank you VerbalWalker for helping me out with the Eugene dialogue again!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 21: III: For the Plunderer
Summary:
The mission to meet Stephanie is underway. Before they set off with their horses, however, Carl visits his father's grave, Gabriel shares a few kind words, and Yumiko's group have a request.
Notes:
Drunk. Threw up from anxiety at least once while doing the final proof read. World sucks. Scared I'm gonna lose everything to misery. So here's a chapter because writing is the only way I can cope. (This is definitely a cry for help, but like in a way that I'm sure that things will most likely turn out okay, so if you're worried don't be because I'm actually basically fine – things are just shit right now) Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
For the whole two hour drive to Alexandria, Oliver doesn't say a word. He just glares out the window, grinding his jaw. I try to catch his eyes. He turns his head away. I'd ask what's wrong, if Eugene weren't sitting behind my seat.
Oliver'll talk at some point. I know that, at least.
We arrive to Alexandria before eight AM.
The stable-hands, pre-informed of our arrival, begrudgingly check three horses out for us. Eugene's given a palomino gelding called Peach Pit, Oliver's given a brown pinto mare called Puddin', and I'm given a white gelding named Cauliflower. While Oliver and Eugene sort the horses' supplies, I tell them I'll be back in a few minutes, and head for Gabriel's church.
The graveyard is empty when I get there. It's the first time I've been here in nine years, almost to the day. I've always avoided coming near here. Too many ghosts.
I don't know why I'm coming here today.
My father's grave is overgrown by weeds and moss. His cross is aged and rotting. Mould creeps up the wood, almost covering the engraved words completely. I kneel and push the weeds aside to see that someone has re-scratched over what Negan had previously scratched out, as well as added an old, familiar mantra, in tiny writing, hidden unless you look as closely as I am.
Rick Grimes
Father, Friend, and Leader
1971 – 2012
Mercy for the Lost
Vengeance for the Plunderer
Quickly, I wipe a tear off my cheek and gently pull the tall weeds back over the cross to hide the carvings again. I have to sit here for a few minutes until my chest stops threatening to break. I jump up when I hear footsteps behind me, coming through the graveyard. I relax when I see it's only Oliver. He casts me his best chin-strong smile.
"Carl?"
More tears fall down one side of my face. I wipe them on my inner elbow. Oliver puts an arm over my shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Do you know what Judith said to me once?" I sniff. "She said… she doesn't even remember him."
Another rush of tears fall before I can stop them.
"And the worst part is..." My voice shakes. I look at him, at his huge, worried eyes, and I tell him, "I don't know if I remember him, either. Any of them. I... I'm starting to forget their voices..."
Oliver hugs me, tightly, then pulls back to look at me, and he says, "Forgetting the sound of a voice isn't forgetting the person altogether..."
I take a few moments to collect myself. When Oliver lets me go, we turn and look at my father's grave together. We crouch so I can show him the new carved words. As we stand again, Oliver puts his prosthetic arm around my waist, squeezing again in that gentle way. I put my head on his shoulder. I feel his kisses against the bristly-short hair on my head, his breath warm on my scalp.
"Voices change," he goes on. "Ours sure have. I think what matters is that we don't forget who your dad was to us. The same for everyone else. Michonne. And Maggie. Enid. Sasha. And Daryl. Rosita. Tara. Aaron... All of them... We remember the good of them, and the bad, and we hold on to them and what they taught us... so we don't forget ourselves along the way..."
Someone clears their throat. We both jump and turn our heads to see five people I don't know gathered at the graveyard entrance.
"Hi, Oliver," one woman with dark hair and a British accent says, "long time no see."
"Yumiko. Hey." Oliver greets the rest of them, naming them each as Magna, Connie, Kelly, and Luke. "This is my husband. Carl."
They double take at me, all realising in unison whose grave we're standing in front of. I watch their faces change in recognition. Not in a good way, either. It's not unusual. It's the look settlers always give me when they realise who I am. It's a weird mix between disappointment and resentment. I'm a living example of failure to them. Settlers see me and they realise who I am, where I'm from and where I am now... and all they see is wasted potential.
If only his father had won the war, they think.
If only...
I glance away guiltily, but steel myself, and set my jaw to watch them all.
Yumiko swallows nervously. "We don't mean to interrupt. It's just... Oliver... can we talk, if you're not too busy?"
"Err…" Oliver glances briefly at me. "This, sort of, isn't a great time."
I shrug to him, not minding.
Oliver glances back at Yumiko. "Okay. Can I meet you outside? We won't be long."
Yumiko nods. The five of them leave.
I cringe to myself, wishing they hadn't seen us like that. I learned a long time ago that it's not a good idea to show any vulnerable sides of myself to the settlers or Saviors alike. It'd be too easy for them to use Oliver against me. So far it's only Negan who's nailed that tactic down.
Oliver gives me a sympathetic look. "Here I was thinking it was bad enough when they think we're Negan's kids..."
Pulling a face, I try to make light of it: "I get it. It should be m...m-e in that grave right now instead. Things would've worked out much better for these people..." Only it's much darker outside of my head than in, judging by the strong tut Oliver gives me.
And then, as vivid as the day it happened, I see my father's mashed-up face spread across the grass and side walk, gargling my name with what little he had left of a mouth and tongue.
"C- C- Ca- C- Car- Carl..."
The final blow splashed my face. I remember the heat of it, his blood and brains, dripping off my chin — I jump when Oliver takes my hand, pulling it gently from my cheek. He watches me anxiously.
I pull my hand from his, steeling myself again.
"I shouldn't have come to see it," I say sternly. "It isn't happening again."
"Carl..."
I'm already leaving the graveyard. Yumiko and her friends are waiting outside on the steps of the church. I go on inside while Oliver talks to them. Gabriel's sitting at one of the pews. He turns to me as I make my way along the church aisle.
"It okay… if I..."
"Oh. Please," Gabriel says. "You're always welcome here, Carl."
That crack in my chest pangs again. I take a deep breath. Gabriel gestures me to sit beside him. I do. We don't talk, but Gabriel does pat my knee in greeting, and I get this odd, warm feeling, like I'm much younger than I really am. Like, for a second, I'm fifteen and I'm sitting here for service on Sunday with Sasha and Maggie and Judith, waiting for Gabriel's sermon to begin. It's difficult not to smile. Difficult until I realise that maybe I don't have to try not to smile in the first place, not with him.
Gabriel watches the stain-glass windows ahead of us. The sunlight glistens down on the alter in shards of crimson and orange and green and indigo and violet. I think about painting it. I miss painting...
"We overheard Eugene talking to Gregory," Yumiko says outside to Oliver. "You're going on a mission? To a new community?"
"We are, yeah."
"Well, do you think we could join you?"
I glance over my shoulder at them, and see, through the church doors, the top of their six heads outside at the base of the steps. Oliver shakes his.
"Oh, no, it might not be a good idea. We're on a schedule."
"Look," Yumiko says, calmly, "we care about the people here, we do, but the way things are… we need to see what else is out there."
"I told you… that day..."
"We know. And we know you were right to warn us to leave sooner rather than later, but we didn't. Alright? Come on, you said it yourself, things shouldn't have to be this way."
"I... didn't say that."
"But you wanted to," Magna cuts in. "You just couldn't, right?"
"Shh," Oliver hisses.
"Come on, man," Luke tells him. "Be real with us. We know who you are, and whose grave you and your husband were just standing in front of. We heard what happened."
Connie makes gestures with her hands, but Oliver doesn't understand her, so Kelly translates: "Con says: A lot of things make sense to us now, from that day we met you..."
"Please," Oliver says, a cringe in his voice. "I… really can't talk about this out here. And you shouldn't either. It's… dangerous."
"Well, we should still come," Yumiko says. "You're trying to get to know this new group right? Eugene said something about 'a kind approach'?"
Oliver nods, crossing his arms.
"Well," Yumiko says, "we can help you with that."
"You can?"
"I hate to break it to you, bro," Luke says, "but you're not exactly the most approachable-looking bunch. And Eugene said this Stephanie woman and her group are skittish. With the five of us along with you, we can help soften your edges. Come on. Look at us. We're adorable!"
Oliver's voice has a smile in it as he says, "I don't know. You have my vote. But I'll have to ask Carl and Eugene, too." At this, he turns to the church to see me watching them.
I shake my head.
Oliver turns back to the others.
Luke, seeing our exchange, scoffs, and opens his arms. "Last vote's down to Euge then. Let's go find him!"
As they go, I notice Gabriel smiling at me.
"They're good people," he says, "Oliver did a good thing bringing them here."
"He w..w-asn't so sure."
"I understand. It's a… difficult situation. But Yumiko was injured. There wasn't much of a choice. He made a decision, and it was the right one for the circumstance."
I look into his kind, familiar eyes, at the small smile on his face.
"You know," he says, "I meant what I said earlier. You are welcome here, and not just in the church but here at Alexandria. Both of you, and Judith. I know it's difficult… but we're still family."
I chew my lip, knowing it can't be true. Negan would never allow it.
Suddenly it's hard to keep my chin from shaking.
"Thank you," I tell him, clearing my throat.
Gabriel seems to take my emotional state as a hind, and leaves me to organise the sheet music over by the organ. I don't want to leave yet, so instead I look up at the church ceiling, at the sorrowful paintings and intricate engravings, and I shut my eyes and I pray, trying to wait until the tension in my chest eases. It doesn't feel like it used to, praying. It doesn't make me feel peaceful or protected or like I can trust that everything will be okay, but I pray anyway, just in case the feeling might come back.
After a few minutes, I get up to go find the others. I can only wave Gabriel goodbye because I'm afraid a hug might threaten to dissolve me completely. Oliver and Eugene are at the stables, along with Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, and Luke. Eric is here, too. When he sees me, he nods downward with a frown.
Oliver and Eugene are bickering.
"They'll only cumber our expedition."
"Cumber?" someone asks.
"You can barely even ride a horse, Eugene," Oliver says. "If anything, you'll... cumber... the… expedition."
Outraged, Eugene huffs and crosses his arms. He looks at Eric. "You vouch for these folk?"
"I do," Eric says flatly. "They're friends."
Eugene twists his mouth up, almost shaking. "And Gregory agreed to it?"
"We went to him first, actually," Yumiko chirps. "He seems glad for a few less mouths to feed."
"Course," Eric grumbles. "More for him."
"Carl already said no," Oliver says to Eugene, "so it's down to your vote."
"Then I, too, say nay!" Eugene hisses.
To this, I catch Oliver's eye, and nod.
"You changed your mind?" he asks me.
I nod again.
Ignoring Eugene's fury, Oliver asks the stable hands to saddle up five more horses. Magna's group look pretty pleased with themselves. Eugene looks around at us all. He uncrosses his arms and snatches Peach Pit's reins, leading the horse out of its stall.
"Well," he huffs, "better get goin' then, before we lose any more daylight."
Yumiko is given a cherry bay mare called Sundae, Magna saddles up a buckskin named Alfredo, Connie takes a bay gelding called Cinnamon Roll, Kelly a dark chestnut called Paprika, and Luke, finally, a black and white paint called Oreo; strangely, he only brings one thing other than his backpack — a narrow rectangular case.
I haven't ridden a horse since I was small and visited the local ranch back in King County with Dad. It's a nice memory to reclaim. As I mount up into Cauliflower's saddle, I try to copy the way Oliver sits on his mare. He's not wobbly like me. He seems to have remembered how to ride well. He pets along Puddin's brown and white neck with a nostalgic smile on his face, catches me watching, and smirks.
"A lot more than a-hundred-and-twelve ounces, huh?"
We ride at a steady trot until we can no longer hear the Satellite Station on our walkie-talkies. There isn't much to do on the journey except get to know the new folks, which is an activity Oliver, Eugene, and I do passively, considering mostly it's only the five of them who talk amongst themselves, or, at least sign. Still, the others tend to speak aloud and sign at the same time, so we pick up a lot about them as we ride miles and miles east.
Kelly, Connie's cousin, is the most agile of their group, while Connie seems to be the most cheerful, and signs a lot of things that make them all fold up laughing. Luke is possibly the second most upbeat person among them, as well as the most talkative. He's kind of goofy, too, whereas Yumiko and Magna have much more serious personalities. It's clear Yumiko is the sensible person of their group, as she's the first to propose searching for somewhere to settle for the night, whereas Magna is more broody and quiet and protective, always watchful of our surroundings, which I appreciate.
We set up a camp under a bridge just outside of Pittsburgh for the night. Since there are eight of us, there's plenty of time for us to sleep each if two of us keep watch for a few hours at a time. Kelly and Magna take first watch at a vantage point by the mesh fence that overlooks the highway into the city, while the rest of us set up our tents or sleeping bags, start a campfire, spool a perimeter wire around the undercarriage, and even set up a few snares just beyond the perimeter where small critters might be tempted to roam through the tall grass.
We gather around the fire to eat our various packed foods, which are mostly sandwiches made back home and some fruit we picked on the way here, so that we can save our preserves for as long as possible.
"Did you three know each other before the Outbreak?" Luke asks us.
"Oh, no," Eugene answers, chewing his unwrapped catfish sandwich. "We met under tense and terrifying circumstances a few years after the world went bust. Cannibals were involved, as were seemingly infinite train tracks... ironically, considering we're headed to a train station presently'n all. There were many others who we lost over time, under… fluctuating circumstances. It is… a lengthy fable. Many aspects of which, my actions have left me... unmentionably shamefaced. I'd require a lot longer than a single night to full divulge it all. A whiskey or two, also, I'd expect." He trails off, awkwardly.
Oliver grits his teeth at the campfire, rolling a bitten apple around in his hand, then turns his head to the others and forces a polite smile. "What about you guys?" he asks, to move on.
Yumiko hesitates, sensing the tension between the three of us. "Uh, I knew Magna before. And after, it was just us for a while," she answers, "then Connie and Kelly joined us, then Luke. There were others, too, but they didn't make it."
She must've heard by now that Eugene was among those who betrayed us in the war, and contributed to our loss. I'm sure none of them ever did something so callous to each other. It's clear, by the way they're all so comfortable with each other, that they've only ever had each other's best interest at heart, even Magna, who looks permanently annoyed. Eugene must notice this, too, because he finds it very difficult to look at any of us for several more minutes.
Connie puts down her tankard to signs something to me, but I don't understand it. I make an apologetic gesture with my shoulders, so Yumiko translates: "She asked, 'What did you do before?'"
Magna glances back to us from watch then, curious.
"I was a teacher," Eugene answers.
"No way," Luke says, "I was a teacher, too. Music."
"Science."
"Teacher gang!"
Eugene nods quickly, and I can practically hear him silently begging Oliver and I not to reveal how he'd lied about his career to us when we met him.
"Guess you two were just school kids, huh?" Luke adds to us. "Like Kelly."
"Seventh grade," Oliver says, and gestures to me. "Sixth. Right?"
I nod and look at Yumiko and Connie expectantly.
"Connie was a kick-ass journalist," Kelly answers. "She exposed a bunch of corrupt politicians and managed to put them in prison."
Connie signs something that looks modest.
Yumiko smiles and turns to us. "She says: "Don't listen to Kelly. They're being melodramatic." She's being humble. That's her thing."
"They?" Oliver asks.
Yumiko nods. "Kelly's pronouns: they, them, their."
Oliver scratches his head, figuring this makes sense, I guess, because he nods. "Okay. I'll try to remember that, but if I forget just say."
"No problem," Kelly says, with a nod of their head.
"Cool," Oliver says. "So, Yumiko, what were you and Magna before?"
"I was a lawyer," Yumiko answers. "Magna was, uh..."
Again, Magna looks around from watch again. "I waited tables at a truck stop."
Connie watches them. She smiles this soft bit, encouragingly.
"You know, it's funny," Luke says, signing his words, too, "before all this, if you saw us all at a table, you'd think we were all work colleagues or something."
Yumiko chuckles. Luke, too, giggles. Connie pats his arm and grins, her eyes all crinkled happily.
"We certainly don't have anything in common," Luke goes on. "Except for the fact that we're breathing. And that's a lot nowadays, right? I mean, it's enough to make us family, pretty much."
I watch them, feeling a stab of envy.
And I think to myself, If only it were so simple...
We get to sleep not long after that, when there's no longer enough light to safely keep the fire going without the risk of attracting attention. It isn't too cold this time of year yet, but it is wetter, which in this case, is just as bad. Sometime around midnight it begins to rain heavily. Eugene and Luke are on watch. The others sleep through it safely tucked away in their tents, but Oliver and I, unfortunately, weren't as forward thinking to bring our own tent and only brought one double sleeping bag and a blanket for ourselves. We have to move out of a forming puddle before it soaks through. It's not as wet in the spot we choose, though, considering we are under the shelter of an underpass.
Damp and shivering, we reset our things. We hang our socks to dry, then curl up together, tucked deep in our sleeping bag, but we're so cold that the first thing I think to do to warm myself up is push my hands into Oliver's underwear. He gasps, which I laugh at quietly, but he must realise what I'm doing because he quickly puts his own hand in my underwear as compromise. I jump, the chill of his fingers cutting right through me.
"Fuck."
"Take what you give, man."
I tut. We warm up quickly, until soon, we stop shivering.
The rain noise slows my mind down. I look at him. I think about him, and he must be feeling the same way because he looks at me, too, and I can feel him reacting in my hands, the same way he can feel me reacting in his hand.
It isn't too difficult to screw around on the road without being noticed or overheard by our camp members, and even if we are, it's universal etiquette by now to ignore it and look the other way. Regardless, I'm sure we don't get caught. We've had plenty of practice to perfect being as quiet and as unassuming as possible without drawing attention, what with our tiny shared bedroom. Here, it's possibly even easier than back at the Sanctuary, because we have the rain to help drown out the sounds of our hands moving under the sleeping bag, our mouths on each others skin, and our bodies moving together...
We must fall asleep afterwards, because the next thing I'm aware of is that it's still raining by the time we have to wake up and take last watch for the remaining few hours until sunrise.
When people begin waking up, Oliver checks the snares for us, but only finds a single hare. He rings its neck quickly. Connie skins it, guts it, and they both cook it over a new fire while the rest of us get ready to go. Finally, they serve us all a small share of the cottontail which Oliver seasons with some nettles he'd picked nearby. It's not much, barely more than a mouthful each, but it still means we can all save our preserves for a little longer, at least.
With everything ready, we mount up and get going.
The rain slows down to barely a light drizzle as we ride through the abandoned city, following a map for the quickest route. The horses' hoof-beats echo through the streets loudly, which makes us all nervous, so we decide the safest thing to do is keep up a steady trot to keep ahead of any lurking walkers who might hear us.
Eugene points out there shouldn't be many around, after a decade, but still insists we assume there's at least a few nearby at all times — "Much like the order of Blattodea."
"Ah," Luke says, "the illustrious cock-a-roach family."
Eugene double takes at him. Luke winks.
"What's with the case?" Eugene asks him, clearly warming up to him.
Luke twists in his saddle, patting the case strapped to Oreo's rump. "This," he says, "is an original Stradivarius, circa..."
"Circa seventeen-twenty-five," Yumiko says over him in a sing-song tune, like she's heard him talk about it a thousand times.
Oliver asks, "Stradi-what?"
"It's an instrument," Magna explains. "A super old instrument."
Kelly snickers, and Connie, who'd been watching our conversation, lets go of her reins to sign: stroking her neck with her hands and sticking her tongue out in a mock-pleasure way. I smile at her, even more confused.
"No, no, it's not a fetish," Luke argues, making a sign with his hand that I can tell is him begging Connie to stop embarrassing him. "It's not a fetish. I don't have a fetish… you know what, whatever. I won't even talk about it. Clearly, it won't be appreciated for its beauty anyway."
Oliver chuckles. Luke rolls his eyes.
"He found it," Yumiko explains mercifully, "in a mansion outside of Philadelphia before it was overrun by sickos. A kid's room, of all places."
"Not like the kid was gonna miss it," Magna says snidely.
Yumiko snickers dryly.
"Why did you bring it with you?"
"It's… art."
"Here we go," Yumiko murmurs, and the others chuckle, like they all love him unconditionally and also already know he's lost his mind. The stab of envy deepens.
"Look," Luke says, "for a very long time, historians and archaeologists have wondered, how did ancient humans survive the Neanderthals? Okay? How did we defeat them? When they were bigger, smarter, stronger, faster, they had better tools than us? So why are we still here and they're not? And then they found a cave. And in that cave, they found a forty-thousand year old flute."
"A flute?" Eugene asks.
Luke laughs, petting Oreo's mane. "Yes. And then they realised that maybe ancient humans didn't defeat Neanderthals. Not in the way that we think of defeat. They came together as an answer to defeat. They shared their stories with each other in the form of music, and paintings, and… they created a common identity. And then they, you know, built communities, and as they grew, Neanderthal died out. So this?"
He raises his Stradivarius.
"This… separates us from the animals. For better or for worse, it brings us together. And if we're going to rebuild something, we can't ignore that… I couldn't leave it at Alexandria."
"That isn't all it'll take," Oliver tells him. "Not anymore. Not in this world."
"Yeah, well, you Saviors are… not the kind of..." Luke stops. "I bury it in the woods every month to make sure it isn't taken on your collections. Please, just, tell me, for my own sake, that you're not, like, bound by some Savior oath to tell on me... This thing is... my soul."
"Technically we are," Eugene says, "but I imagine we won't."
I nod in agreement.
"You're good, man," Oliver assures him, too. "Swear."
Luke sighs, relieved. "Well, anyway... I can't keep it buried out there for more than a few hours at a time. The damage… I couldn't live with myself. It's much safer with me out here."
"It's really that important to you, huh?" Oliver asks.
Luke scoffs. "It's art," he repeats. "Of course it's important."
Oliver smiles at him, then glances at me. "And I thought Michonne was the biggest art-lover around. Remember that cat sculpture?"
I smile, because of course I do. I was there when she found it.
Connie, who's been being signed to by Kelly this whole time, signs something to us.
"She asks, 'Who's Michonne?'" Kelly translates, readjusting Paprika's reins.
"She was someone we lost a long time ago," Oliver explains. "She used to own this ugly rainbow coloured cat sculpture. Really, it was an eye-sore. But, where we lived at the time was pretty colourless, so, as much as we made fun of it, I think we really just loved it. We lost it after that place fell, but luckily, the next place we lived had a lot more colour, so we didn't really need it anymore. Could do with something that colourful in our room now, though."
I let the beat of Cauliflower's walk sway me gently back and forth in the saddle for a moment, reminiscing in memories. I stop soon enough.
We can tell by the context that Connie asks in sign, "What happened to her? Michonne?"
Oliver glances at me, then back to Connie. "She was taken. Negan traded her off to some place. We don't know where."
We fall into silence then.
A few minutes later, I pull Cauliflower to a halt as we pass a bike store, spotting a small children's bike in the window. It's a vibrant shade of green, Judith's favourite colour, and it even has purple tassels on the handlebars, her second favourite colour. I reach across my saddle and grab Oliver's thigh, so he stops his horse beside mine. He looks at me, so I point to the window.
"It's perfect," Oliver says. "We'll come back for it on the way back."
I nod in agreement.
"Come on, Puddin'," Oliver says. I think he's talking to me until he pets Puddin's neck. He laughs. I feel my face heat up, so I nudge Cauliflower's sides to move on ahead.
As we catch up to the others, I think I see something in the corner of my eye. Something pink and fluffy, but it's gone before I'm sure.
We make it through the city without incident by noon, then ride on south-west into West Virginia, and after one more night and day, we arrive at Charleston's train station, a few hours before sunset, ready for Stephanie to meet us.
We lead our horses around back, through a gate, to the train yard, then across the tracks to a particular yellow train freight Stephanie identified to Eugene. As we check inside, I think back to Terminus. A paranoid chill runs down my spine. I climb out of the freight quickly. I help Oliver unsaddle and tether the horses for rest.
"So, what now?" Kelly asks.
Eugene looks around and removes his Stetson hat from his head. "Now we wait..."
We all begin to set up camp together under the cover of the train platform, out of the drizzle. However, before any of us even take a seat, footsteps approach. Our horses spook against their tethers, bumping into each other. Oliver, Eugene, and I draw our guns. Connie and Kelly draw their slingshots, Magna un-sheaths her knives, Luke pulls his mace off his shoulder, and Yumiko snatches an arrow and sets it against her bow string.
"Holy shit!" Oliver says.
Because that's when a few hundred soldiers carrying machine guns, dressed in shining, white armour with helmets that cover their faces invade the whole train yard, out of nowhere.
They surround us.
"HANDS UP! DROP YOUR WEAPONS, NOW!"
Notes:
Keeping up with the 'animals-named-after-their-coat-colour' thing except Alexandria's thing is food centric. Peach Pit is named after a random horse in the comics, Sundae is a spin off to the same horse from the main fic only that one's called Sunday, Oreo is a reference to a joke Carol made to Oliver in the main fic, Puddin' is a reference to season 4 (you know the scene), and Cauliflower is the white horse Rick rode in his final episode — I've decided. Paprika, Cinnamon Roll, and Alfredo are just cool names imo.
The weird dashes in Rick's dying dialogue was a reference to/direct copy of the format of Glenn's dying line in the comic. And the chat about the Stradivarius, as I'm sure you guessed, is just copied from the S9 episode 'Stradivarius'.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 22: III: Any Friends in the Area
Summary:
The crew meet a new group, but lines blur over who is underestimating who.
Notes:
ACCIDENTALLY FORGOT TO POST THIS CHAPTER HERE. SORRY.
A/N: Following up from my last A/N. Things are much better now. All is well – except the fact that I caught rona again. On the mend now though. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)
P.S. IF YOU READ ANY PART OF THIS CHAPTER THEN READ THE END. THAT'S ALL I ASK :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Orders are shouted at us through a blur of machine gun flash-lights and shifting white soldiers. We're forced to set our weapons and belongings on the ground and lie face-down with our hands on the back of our heads.
"NO-ONE MOVE OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!"
The army closes in around us, grabbing our backpacks and guns. As they root through our belongings, one soldier opens Luke's Stradivarius case and lets the instrument fall out onto the ground, where it shatters into a clanging pile of splinters, its thin maple neck snapping into two pieces held together only by their strings.
"No!" Luke cries. "Oh my God. Do you realise what you just did… this is unbelievable. This is unbelievable!"
"SILENCE! DON'T TRY ANYTHING STUPID!"
Luke moans miserably. Connie takes his elbow consolingly as we're all gathered into a line.
"Where's Stephanie?!" Eugene shouts, but is only answered by the facing scope of someone's machine gun. "Stephanie!"
Suddenly a voice speaks to us from somewhere.
"She wasn't authorised to speak on the entire Commonwealth's behalf," it says. "You'll be talking to me..."
The voice is coming from across the train yard, behind one of the freights.
"Gentlemen," the voice adds, "can you escort our guests into the staging area? I'd like to sit down."
Oliver frowns anxiously at me. The eight of us are escorted to a freight with an open side-door, where several more soldiers are standing guard. Inside is a small, office-like set up, with hanging lamps and a single desk at one end. Sitting at it is a smartly-dressed middle-aged man with a neat haircut and a wide, smug smirk on his face.
"There. Much better," he says as we stand before him, soldiers surrounding us. "The journey here was not kind on my Arches. My kingdom for apocalypse-proof shoes." Maybe he's trying to make a joke. If he is, none of us laugh. Still, he doesn't seem to take notice. "Now, let us begin..."
He removes a pair of thin suede gloves from his hands with his teeth, then opens a hand-sized notebook and draws from it a shiny, bronze, fountain pen.
"Okay. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Lance Hornsby. I handle all new entries into the Commonwealth. I'd like to start by getting all your names and what geographical area you're travelling from."
"I want to talk to Stephanie," Eugene says flatly.
"We like new people. We need new people," Lance says, and goes on a moral spiel that reminds me of Deanna's introduction to me day we arrived at Alexandria, sitting in her living room with a camera pointed at my face, except Lance's speech finishes differently than hers did: "I will never put what we built at risk so that you can be more comfortable. I'd just as soon have one of my esteemed colleagues put a bullet in all your heads."
Yumiko, Luke, and Eugene bristle uncomfortably on their feet. Connie scans the soldiers around us. Magna, Kelly, and I cross our arms. Oliver creases his face into a frown.
"So we're going to do this properly, and we're not going to rush things," Lance says. "Do I make myself clear?"
Eugene swallows. "I met Stephanie on the radio. I conversed with her. I got to know her. I trust her. I don't trust you... I will not talk to you until I see her."
Lance shuts his eyes and sighs.
"Officer Samuels, Officer Frost," he says, "take your guns—" He waits a beat long enough for the blood to leave my face. "—and do a thorough sweep of the area. Make sure our friends didn't bring friends of their own. Until you men return... we wait."
Two officers leave the freight.
Eugene watches them go, then turns back to Lance. "Bring me Stephanie, or we're taking our things and our horses and we're leaving."
Lance groans, burying his head in his hand. "You're dead set on making this as unpleasant as possible for me, aren't you?" He peeks through his fingers at us. "Does he speak for all of you?"
There's a small moment of hesitation, because we all have varying answers, but given the circumstances we all decide to nod anyway.
Lance smirks. "Okay then, you're united. That's a good thing, actually. Whether you agree or disagree with me, it means more to you to at least agree with each other. I get it. Honestly, it tells me you're reasonable people. You're strong-willed people. But don't get us wrong. We are all that, too, and more..."
He casts a hand outward.
"Gentlemen," he says, "take aim."
Every officer in and out of the freight raise their machine-guns and snap a small button on the grip, causing a long, shiny blade to pop forward from the flat side of each barrel. All of us flinch and group a little closer to each other.
"Good," Lance says, "first thing's first, you're near us. That makes us vulnerable. That means we're going to see this through. You have our attention, so now we're going to learn everything we want about you. So go ahead, leave — or rather, try to, and see what happens."
We glare at him. Oliver looks at me. I know we think the same thing at the same time.
The coin is flipped.
We're having a Career Day.
"Good," Lance repeats, and throws up his hands. "While we're prepared to shoot you, please understand we consider it an absolute last resort. So, please, don't hold my threats against me."
"You don't know us," Eugene growls.
Lance narrows his eyes, then lets his face relax to neutral. "That's exactly the point. Wonderful to see we're on the same page." He bends over his notebook, scribbling away with his fountain pen. He doesn't look up as he speaks: "Let's start with your names. No, wait, actually, lets get those extra weapons off you, shall we? Can't be too careful."
We all at least have one knife on our hip, except Magna, who has several of her throwing blades up and down both thighs. We comply as Lance's officers search us and take our weapons, patting up and down our bodies.
"Will we get them back?" Yumiko asks. "Our stuff outside, too?"
"It will all, of course, be brought with us, organised, and, assuming things go well here, returned to you in due course. Yes," Lance answers her. "Name?"
Yumiko steps forward. "Yumiko Otsuka."
He scribbles down her name. "Distance travelled to get here?"
"About two- or three-hundred miles. We all came from Virginia."
"How many days on the road?" Lance asks.
"Three."
"Okay," Lance says. "Any friends in the area we should be aware of?"
She shakes her head.
"Any unusual customs, or ways of living you've picked up in the years you've had to survive in the apocalypse?" Lance asks.
Again, Yumiko shakes her head.
"None at all?" Lance asks disbelievingly. "For instance, we recently had a man arrive who survived by covering himself in blood of the dead, all the time. Every day. It was disgusting."
Oliver and I give each other uncomfortable looks, recalling the herd at Alexandria. My eye socket twitches.
"So nothing like that?" Lance asks. "Because it's important to us that we know these things."
Yumiko shrugs. "Nothing that I'm aware of."
Lance nods. "Thank you. Next?"
Kelly goes forward.
"Name?"
"Kelly Joyner. Same answers as Yumiko."
"Alright. Succinct. Good," Lance says to the book as he writes. "Next?"
Kelly motions Connie to come forward, signing something to her, then turns to Lance and says, "This is my cousin, Connie Joyner. Same answers—"
"Thank you, but I'd like to hear it from Connie herself, please."
"You know sign language?"
"No," Lance answers.
Kelly gives him an obvious look.
"Mute?" Lance asks them.
"And deaf."
"Alright. I'll just add that to strange customs then."
"Excuse me?" Yumiko interjects.
"They're not strange customs," Kelly tells him, sternly. "They're disabilities."
"Look, we need to speed this up," Lance says. "Next, please?"
Kelly steps back. Connie frowns and steps aside, too. Magna's arms are crossed angrily over her chest and her jaw is set tight as she gives her name and information, and then Luke gives his, but tries also to bring up his destroyed Stradivarious, but Lance brushes him off and asks to speak to the next person.
Eugene steps forward. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth is set in a thin, irritated line. "Name's Eugene Porter. Three days on the road, from Virginia."
"Yes, yes. Friends in the area or unusual customs."
Eugene frowns. "Stephanie is my friend in the area. I have acquired no unusual customs."
"Bar the foul manner, of course," Lance says as he writes.
"You can talk!" Yumiko barks. "Ableist twat."
Lance rolls his eyes, scribbling and casting his free hand in a shooing motion. "Next, please?"
Glowering, Eugene steps aside for me. Lance grimaces when he gets a look at my face. It's a grimace I'm used to, but usually people have the decency to stop quickly enough. Not him, though.
"Carl Grimes," I say, careful around my stutter. I point to the others, about to explain my answers are the same at theirs, but notice the surprise on Yumiko's groups' faces and it occurs to me that I haven't yet spoken in front of them. It explains why Connie assumed I knew sign language before, I guess. I make a small note to myself to ask her and her group to teach me sometime. "Err… answers like theirs."
"Alright," Lance says, and again, winces at my face. He even swallows back a gag. "Anyway. Yes, uh. Next... please?"
Relieved, I step back again.
"Oliver de Luca. Same answers. No friends in the area or unusual customs."
Again, Lance doesn't hide his displeasure when he sees Oliver's prosthetic arm. "It's easy to forget how savage life is out here for the rest of you. Cannibalism, I assume."
Oliver stiffens up. "No."
Lance sighs and presses his finger on his notepad. "Honestly, I don't want to know, but, as per my job description… I'm required to… so?"
"I was bit," Oliver explains. "Nine years ago."
"I see. Removal before the spread of infection." Lance shivers at the thought. Writing, he says, "Yes, we've heard of similar instances, but fortunately I've never had to see it until now." Finally sets the fountain pen down and shuts the book over it.
An officer comes into the freight.
"Ah! Just in time, Samuels!" Lance cheers. "What did you and Frost find?"
"We canvassed the whole area," Samuels says. "Turns out they did have a friend lurking around."
Just then, I hear scuffing gravel outside.
"Get off me, hija de puta!" someone shouts.
A second officer —Frost, I assume— comes into our view, having difficulty dragging with him a woman I've never seen before. She's got bushy dyed-purple hair and is wearing flight goggles on top of her head, fingerless gloves on her hands, and a bright-pink, fluffy coat.
As she's brought inside the freight car, through us to Lance, she shrugs Frost off and pulls the collar of her coat straight. I get a wash of déjà vu.
"Don't you guys feel a little overdressed?" she asks the officers. "Just look at you all. You even have little armour flaps for your penes. Are there dead ones out here who go straight for the pene?"
One of the officers behind me says, "Is she for real?"
"Quiet," Samuels hisses back.
"Search her," Lance says.
Surprisingly, the woman has small daggers hidden all over her body; up both her sleeves, another up her right pant leg, and even a small, curved one resembling a raptor claw tucked inside her sock. Then, as an officer removes and shakes out her fluffy pink coat, several more weapons fall out of hidden pockets, like a studded, iridescent, knuckle duster, a pair of polka-dotted nun-chucks, a small cannister of mace, and a strike light.
Lance raises an eyebrow, watching it all clatter to the floor loudly.
The woman shrugs. "What? Girl's gotta look after herself."
Frowning, Lance scribbles some more into his notebook.
"And who are you?" he asks her.
"We'd like to know the same thing," Magna demands.
Lance regards this doubtfully.
"Princess," the stranger answers. "But my birth name is Juanita Sanchez. I never liked it, though. Princess is like a nickname, that I gave myself."
Lance scribbles away, rolling his eyes. "Distance travelled to get here?"
"Oh, uh, well, I came here from Pennsylvania."
"How many days on the road?" Lance asks impatiently.
Princess counts on her fingers. "Oh. Well, I guess, I started following these guys just since yesterday." She avoids looking at the appalled expressions on our faces. "But I've been, you know, 'on the road', on my own, for… ooh, over a year? It's been… rough. You wouldn't believe..." She laughs, trailing off.
"One day then," Lance says flatly, drawing a line. "Any friends in the area we should be aware of? Other than these people here?"
She shakes her head. "Oh. No. They really don't know me, yet. Like I said, I started following them since they clip-clopped their horses across my city yesterday. Woke me up from my nap. I thought I was still dreaming. But when I pinched myself, it hurt. Unless it was only dream-hurt. Is that a thing? Maybe I'm still asleep!"
"Why didn't you just announce yourself to us?!" Yumiko asks.
"I'm not stupid," Princess scoffs. "I don't know you. You've got guns. I know I have a machine gun and a spear but you all still outnumber me. I wasn't going to risk my life just because you might be real-life horsey-people, let alone real-life horsey-not-going-to-kill-me-people! So I stayed back, watched you, to see how you treated each other. I was going to come and introduce myself earlier, but these Stormtroopers came out of nowhere and ambushed you. I tried to dip. This shit is… way too overwhelming for me... but they found me. And here I am. Rambling. I should stop talking now."
We all watch her, lost.
"Right, anyway," Lance says awkwardly. "Any unusual customs?"
Princess thinks about it, muttering something to herself, then raises a finger suddenly and says, "I talk to myself sometimes — more than I talk to other people, actually, but then again, that's only because I haven't been around other people… uh…"
She trails off again because Lance is staring at her, looking very bored. He cocks one eyebrow, then crosses something out in his book and writes something else to replace it. Princess raises up on her tiptoes in an attempt to lean over the desk and read it, but he covers the page with his free hand.
I look at Oliver. He glances at me quickly with a puzzled look on his face, just as confused as I am about how this woman managed to follow us for so long without us noticing.
Finally, Lance stands up and stows his book and fountain pen away in his breast pocket. "They'll all do just nicely," he says to his officers. "Let's go ahead and take them back with us. I feel comfortable enough to make the trip with them, so long as we keep a close eye on her."
"Why me?" Princess demands.
Lance doesn't answer, just heads for the freight door.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with!" Eugene barks. "We're not going anywhere with you. We didn't come here to see you. Let me talk to Stephanie or you can all just God-damn shoot us! Understand?"
Lance stops, clenching his jaw. He turns to us. "You can't be serious! I mean, honestly…" He purses his lips and sighs. "Okay. Jesus. You want to see Stephanie? Good news. We're all going to where Stephanie is!"
Angrily, Lance buttons up his ironed, grey, blazer coat.
"We're going to take you back with us," he says curtly. "You can either come with us or you can refuse and I'll have a few of these fine gentlemen shoot you."
"Why can't you just let us go?" Oliver argues.
"Will you at all?" Kelly asks, their face twisted up anxiously.
"We shall discuss this later," Lance says. "But for now, whether you like it or not, you're part of something bigger than what you currently realise. Bigger than you might ever realise. You're not part of a dead world anymore, people."
"We weren't before!" Yumiko shouts.
"We have our own people to think about," Oliver says. "Our own families."
"And they're a part of this now, too. You'll start to see that in due course." Lance tuts and waves a hand impatiently. "Think it through, okay? There are no wrong answers. I'm going to go and pack up my shit. You come with us, or you die."
He turns away.
"Hey, you can't do this!" Magna shouts, and jumps forward to grab him. But in the same second, an officer swings the butt of his rifle through her stomach. Magna collapses to the ground with a wheeze. Yumiko and I rush to help her. All the officers aim their guns.
Lance pulls up his collar. He doesn't even turn around.
He glances to Frost and says, "Watch them."
This 'Commonwealth' that Lance had mentioned is much further away from Charleston than I anticipated. Lance says at one point that we won't even arrive by the morning, which means we'll have less than a whole day until we'll need to leave again to get back to the Sanctuary on time. If these people want to keep us any longer, if they really use their power to stop us from leaving, Negan is going to come looking...
Eugene was right: Lance doesn't know who he's dealing with.
As we walk, the streets ahead are empty. The evening sun is hidden behind a thick overcast, and there's a strong chill in the air. Behind a horse-drawn carriage, the nine of us are kept herded into three rows — Oliver, Princess, and Magna, Yumiko, Connie, and I, and Eugene, Kelly, and Luke. Our horses are being ridden by other officers alongside the carriage. More officers surround us, with another small fleet leading the way ahead of the carriage. One officer is driving the carriage, with Lance sitting beside him slumped over his seat-arm and snoring.
"Hey," an officer whispers in Magna's direction, in front of me. She looks in about as bad a state of anxiety as the rest of us. "Don't worry, okay?"
She frowns at him.
I can't see the officer's eyes behind his dark visor, but see the lower side of his face, half smiling. He says to Magna, "Lance is kind of a prick, but you'll see his kind are essential to how we run things. You're going to like what we've built, though. I've only been here a couple years myself. Once you get how it all works, it's great."
Magna grimaces. "'His kind'?"
The officer nods. "I swear," he says. "We're not marching you to your death or anything. We're here to protect you. Don't let the gear fool you."
"Or the kidnap," Yumiko gripes, and even without the sight of the officer's upper face, I see his smile fade awkwardly. We keep walking, eyes ahead, no noise except the dull, crowded patter of hooves and footsteps, until—
"FULL STOP!" someone shouts ahead.
All the officers stop, kneel, and raise their weapons outward in three loud clatters of their armour. The front row ahead of the carriage moves forward in formation. Growls grow from the distance. I peer over heads to see a cluster of walkers emerging into the street ahead.
"I have contact left! Eyes open!"
"I see six!"
"No, nine!"
"More behind us — five back here!"
"Blades over bullets! Let's try not to wake the baby. We don't need to sweep up vomit as well as the dead. Move in!"
It's only then that I notice Lance hasn't woken up yet, despite the shouting. The officer driving the carriage elbows him gently. "Uh, sir? Sir?"
I see through shoulders the officers dicing up the cluster ahead.
"Red alert!" someone shouts. "It's a swarm!"
"Is this the Magenta swarm?!"
"Can't be! That's supposed to be two clicks north!"
"We got a spotter who fucked up then. We'll deal with that later. Weapons hot! Head shots only! Make every round count."
Bullets begin to spray. Lance stirs from his sleep.
"What the—" He notices the walkers and groans, turning his head away. "Oh, how disgusting. Tell me when it's over."
"Yes, sir," says the driver.
Firepower cracks through the streets ahead. The noise shakes the ground.
"Should we do something?" Princess asks nobody in particular, glancing once at the duffel bag sitting behind Lance, filled with all our weapons.
"Let'em get ate," Kelly growls, signing it as well.
"Just stay ready," Magna says and signs, too.
"Seems like they know what they're doing," Oliver admits with a disappointed sigh, peering through the thinning officer crowd around them as their gunshots slow, until a few moments later, the gunfire ends completely and the last walker-growl stops and the officers reform around us.
Once more, we get walking.
"You can look now, sir," the driver says once we're a ways away from the dead walkers, leaving a team of officers behind to clean them up.
"Oh, thank you," Lance says, and uncovers his face. He gives a little shiver.
Oliver and I give each other confused looks.
Sunset passes and still we all walk on through the night. We don't get tired, though. We're all too busy learning about the Commonwealth from some of the officers around us, who, taking advantage of an asleep Lance, seem to be trying to pass the time with conversation amongst themselves. One guy's wondering which restaurant he wants to go to for dinner with his wife and daughter later, and another talks about how he wants to discuss with Rabbi Osofsky at the synagogue about organising his son's bar mitzvah next year. Another guy's talking about how he pre-ordered a cake from the bakery on 6th street to surprise his mother on her birthday, and there's even one guy talking about an upcoming date he's excited for over the weekend at one of the bars in the city.
Oliver and I keep glancing at each other, our anxiety increasing. How big is this place? What with its own choice of restaurants and bars, a synagogue with its own Rabbi, and a bakery. Not one mention of a storehouse, or a mess hall and kitchen where everyone eats together or helps prepare food with the head cook, or even a community-wide laundry rota.
Eugene was wrong.
We all were.
It wasn't them who underestimated us, but the other way around.
Who are these people?
At some point near dawn, I swear I see a large glowing light in the distance, but the sun's rising too quickly to be sure. For miles, I notice, too, every tree's been cut down, leaving anything taller than four feet just a severed stump, like a tree graveyard.
Soon we're approaching the crest of a small hill, and the officers suddenly stop chatting, because, I realise, Lance is waking up. He stretches his arms out and turns around to look down on us, his quiff askew after the past several hours' asleep.
He yawns. "Won't be long now."
I squint as a cloud moves aside overhead, casting a bright ray of sunlight into my eye. It's so warm that I shiver from the shock of it. As we come down the hill, Magna stops suddenly, causing me to bump into the back of her. Luke bumps into the back of me, too. We see what she's seen, though.
A city.
A literal city.
Stretching for what looks like miles, with streets stretched up and over the next few hills in the distance, and within them, tiny dots of moving figures, moving life, waking up early to start the day. There's a stadium, and several cul-de-sacs, and playing fields, and parks, and mazes of streets winding in and out of wooden and stone buildings. Surrounding the city, further than I can even see, is a tall wall made of tree trunks and steel beams, explaining the cut down forest for the last few miles.
An officer nudges Magna to keep up with everyone, allowing Luke and I to follow. I keep my eye on the city. I have to shut my mouth. I frown when I noticed Lance grinning at us all.
"Yeah," he says smugly, "pretty cool, huh? The stadium is for concerts and football games."
"You guys have concerts?" Princess blurts out.
Lance nods. "We've got quite a few popular musicians in the Commonwealth. No-one who was famous before or anything, but it's not a Kingdom of the blind one-eyed man kind of situation either. No offence."
I narrow my eye at him.
"What I mean is, they're actually very talented," Lance explains, with another one of his little shivers. "You'll be impressed."
Yumiko, beside Connie, signs Lance's words for her to understand. For a moment, we all frown at the city, taking it all in.
"Football," Eugene murmurs.
"This time of year, yeah. We've also got baseball, basketball, and soccer. Leagues aren't very big, though. But that's a whole beggars and choosers kind of thing."
"Always hated soccer," Kelly says.
"Me, too," Oliver says, catching my glance.
Lance chuckles. "You won't when the whole city gets together to watch a game. It becomes more than the sport. It becomes a community thing. Helps bring us all together."
Oliver regards him, but doesn't say anything.
"How many p…p..." I gulp back the clog in my throat, the word 'people' too difficult, and try again without it. "How many of you inside?"
"Inside all of the Commonwealth?" Lance asks me.
I nod.
Lance throws his head back in thought. "Uhh. Around fifty thousand at this point."
Oliver almost chokes on his own gasp. I swear, or try to, but the first letter of 'Fuck!' gets stuck between my teeth. I'm not really aware of much except how fast my brain is grinding as we're led down the hill. My heart is pounding. I have so many questions. How do they control against inner outbreaks, when someone dies unexpectedly and nobody's around to put them down? How do they feed so many people? How do they control their waste? Do they control other communities? Like us? How do they redirect hordes attracted from outside? This place is clearly big enough to create light pollution. I can remembering the glow I saw earlier.
The city is still a ways off, but signifying our approach to it is a large billboard off to the side of the road. I assume it must be some kind of noticeboard, but soon I realise it's filled mostly with pictures.
Pictures of people.
"What's that?" Princess asks, noticing, too.
"Oh," Lance says, "that's our Wall of the Lost. Lot of people in the area got separated from loved ones on their way to finding the Commonwealth, so there's been a few reunions here and there. It's caused a lot of our people to hold out hope for a few more."
The idea tugs painfully at my ribcage, then quickly dies when I realise everyone I've ever lost would have just come home already, if they'd had the chance.
"Go on," Lance says, mistaking my curiosity for hope, "give it a peek. We can wait."
"Guys," Eugene says, "we don't need to take detours."
"Oh, let them have their fun," Lance tells him. "City's still waking up anyway. Stephanie will still be there."
Eugene stays behind while the other eight of us are allowed out of our ring of officers. The wall is much bigger than I was expecting up close. If I was looking for a sign left behind by anybody specific it would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
'I'm looking for my mom — see me at the cafe on 5th St.'
'If you've met my brothers, ask for Miss. Gbeho at the admissions office.'
'Information wanted about my husband, notify Mrs. Aquino at the Vincent Apartments.'
'Do you know my family? Come to Basement Floor, 1 Riverbank Street.'
This pit opens up in my chest, like all the pain from losing all the people I ever cared about is hitting me all over again, like I haven't spent the last nine years trying to find some sense of acceptance with it all.
I feel Oliver's hand press flat on my back.
I look at him.
"Come on," he says.
While the other six wander along the board idly, the two of us head back towards the convoy, where Lance and his officers wait for us.
"Board's pretty much pointless after all these years," Lance explains. "We keep it up because people like it. I think the faded weather-beaten photos are the saddest. Then there's the really dedicated people who wrap the photos in plastic to protect them. It's as heart-warming as it is tragic."
"When's the last time someone was reunited?" Yumiko asks, coming over, too, with Magna and Princess, leaving just Kelly, Connie, and Luke over there.
"Ah, six or seven years now," Lance answers. "But every now and then someone thinks they met someone posted on the wall — tells a story about someone's wife, or dad. People appreciate it."
Luke and Connie are coming back now. Connie notices Kelly hasn't left the wall yet, so goes back to collect them.
"We've all lost people," Yumiko says, "but that..."
"It's overwhelming," Magna says for her.
"It's so sad," Princess says.
Lance cranes his neck to one side to see Connie and Kelly, who are both looking at the wall again now. "What's taking them so long?"
"Kel?" Yumiko calls out.
"Erm..." they say. "Carl? Oliver? Eugene? You should come see this..."
The three of us perk up. We look at each other, confused, then quickly weave through the officers to meet them. Kelly is pointing at a small, pinned-up, water-colour painting. It's one of the old ones, with withered fold marks, preserved only by a layer of thick laminated plastic. Left by someone dedicated, as Lance had put it.
Kelly and Connie step aside so Oliver and I can see it properly.
I squint at it.
My chest seizes up.
Oliver's breath shakes.
The painting is mine.
I painted it.
I painted it ten years ago at the prison.
It's my painting of Michonne's rainbow cat.
Written on it, in familiar handwriting, reads:
'To my family,
I can't come and find you.
But perhaps some day you'll find your way to me.
Commonwealth High Court, on Main St.'
Notes:
Yumiko's surname in this fic is Ostuka instead of Okumura because that was my original head-cannon for her surname almost a year ago, and I figured I'd keep it here cause it's a good way to set her arc aside from the my other fic's acr.
I loved writing the next chapter so it probably won't be very long until I upload it.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 23: III: An Interrupted Hearing
Summary:
POSTING TWICE BECAUSE I SKIPPED A CHAPTER HERE BY ACCIDENT... don't forget to read it first if you haven't already.
Official introductions are taking place between the group and the Commonwealth's officials. Carl searches for a moment to slip away and find some answers.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I still dream of Orgonon
I wake up crying
You're making rain
And you're just in reach
When you and sleep escape me
You're like my yo-yo
That glowed in the dark
What made it special
Made it dangerous
So I bury it
And forget
But every time it rains
You're here in my head
Like the sun coming out
Ooh, I just know that something good is gonna happen
I don't know when
But just saying it could even make it happen
On top of the world, looking over the edge
You could see them coming
You looked too small
In their big, black car
To be a threat to the men in power
I hid my yo-yo
In the garden
I can't hide you
From the government
Oh, God, Daddy
I won't forget…
~ Grimes ~
"Guys?" Kelly whispers to us. "Are... you okay?"
I realise I'm crying. I grasp for Oliver's hand, but he doesn't take it. Instead he does something I'm not expecting at all. He smacks my back between my shoulders and then grips me by my arm so that I can't turn around to face him.
"Stop, Carl," he says sharply, "now..."
I look at the poster again, distraught. "It's... It's… It's..."
"It is," he hisses. "I know. Pull yourself together. Quickly."
"Oliver, she..."
"Don't," he says quickly. "We need to be careful. We need to be smart. We've never been this close to answers before. We don't know what the deal is here."
I know he's right. There must be a serious reason as to why Michonne hasn't come to find us, or at the very least left the Commonwealth. The best chance we have to find her at this place is to keep as quiet about our involvement with her as possible.
I sniff, composing myself, pushing away the feeling like I might be dreaming. I glance nervously at Kelly and Connie, who are both watching us anxiously.
"Lance," Oliver warns us.
I wipe my face.
"What's going on here?" Lance asks, annoyed as he reaches us.
Kelly shrugs their shoulders. "We just—"
"Nothing," Oliver answers. "It was nothing."
"But—"
Connie takes Kelly's shoulder, signing something to them with a pointed look in her eyes.
"Oh. Right," Kelly says, "yeah, sorry. Guess I was just mistaken then. Bummer."
Oliver nods. I turn to Lance. His eyes flare at us, wanting to know what's going on, but I just shrug disinterestedly. Lance watches me suspiciously, and grimaces — at my eye again, of all things. He turns to leave back towards the carriage, but suddenly turns back to us again. He points a finger at my face.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm not trying to be rude, but is there any way I could ask you to cover up that wound? I'm afraid I've got rather a weak stomach with the likes of… fleshy things."
I blink, taken off guard.
"Dude, what is your problem?" Oliver asks him.
"No problem," Lance answers, waving his hands. "Just a request. I respect its declination, however. Come along."
Oliver scowls as Lance walks away. The four of us go back to the carriage, too, where the others are waiting. As we get going again at a steady pace, Yumiko says, "Lance?"
He turns in his seat. "Yes?"
"It was rude, what you just said."
Lance sighs. "I'll add it to my list of discrepancies, shall I? You can make a thorough report against me to your case worker once we get back. How about that?"
He turns back around.
Yumiko grimaces at the rest of us. "Bloody wanker."
"Heard that…"
"Don't care."
Inside the Commonwealth's walls, we pass the stadium. The windows are so clean. Even the walls look like they've been repainted recently. The hedges are trimmed neatly and the grass is mowed and the asphalt streets are smooth and weedless. Not one crack in sight. There are people in the streets, too, and patrolling officers, all barely paying us any attention. More noises are heard in the distance as we walk through the city, until we turn a street corner and walk right into a farmers' market.
Booths with signs are set up in two rows along the wide street, with retail stores inside the buildings on each side all selling nice clothes and sparkling jewellery and steaming food and shiny tools. To one side, a man and a young boy are selling real newspapers, tied with string. On the other side of the street, an old woman is selling embroidered scarves.
I can barely shut my mouth.
"Eugene!" someone cries out from a booth, and I spot a short woman with glasses and a smooth, black, bob haircut. She struggles through the thick crowd of shoppers towards us, waving her arms. "Eugene!"
"Stephanie?" he gasps, hopping on the spot. "Are you Stephanie?!"
Eugene shoves an officer out of his way, but is overpowered easily. Lance swears and climbs down from his carriage, shouting at Stephanie to get back.
"I'm sorry," she cries, "they wouldn't let me go to the meet! I was so worried — I'm glad you got here! This place has it's flaws, but… we'll talk after your orientation, okay?"
"She knew we were going to be treated like this?" Magna asks.
It's difficult to feel angry at Stephanie, considering what the typical Savior would do to her if the roles were reversed. Magna and her group's betrayal is much more justified than mine, Oliver's, or Eugene's. Princess, however, looks far more overwhelmed than anything else at the moment.
Stephanie shoulders her way through the last few crowd members, turning a few heads at how loudly she's shouting Eugene's name. Lance rushes forward and snatches her by the elbow.
"I said get back!" he barks in her face. "You know better than this! Your behaviour is outrageous!"
She slaps her hand free. "I promised they'd meet me! They're very cautious people! I want them to trust us!"
"You are not qualified to build that kind of bond," Lance yells back. "We've been over this! We forgave your unauthorised radio usage too quickly, I think. Perhaps another more appropriate punishment should be reinstated?"
Terror washes Stephanie's face. Her chin shakes. "No. No, sir, please. I'm sorry!"
Lance glares down at her. Stephanie's eyes glue to the ground. The rest of us scowl at them.
"Alright then," Lance says, getting back in his carriage. "I believe you're supposed to be at work at this hour. Don't make me change your employment assignment. You definitely won't like where you're placed."
Stephanie hurries away. The rest of us are moved on quickly along the street. Oliver looks at me, worried. I clench my jaw.
"What are we going to do?" he whispers to me. "How are we going to find her?"
"I'll think of s...s-omething," I whisper back.
He and I scan silently for Main Street as we go through the city, but don't see it by the time we arrive to a large building that used to be a bank, but now is the Commonwealth's city hall. We enter it through two, huge, varnished, wooden, front doors that swing open with a slow creak at Lance's push. Immediately before us stands a small, old man wearing a suede, magenta blazer and a colourful, floral tie, who turns to us and opens his arms widely. His laugh lines are deep around his mouth, and his white hair is receding and clipped short against his scalp.
"It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Commonwealth," he exclaims excitedly. "My name is Maxwell Hawkins. It's always great to learn of more communities out in the world. Brings us all hope."
People are working in the bank foyer booths behind his back, getting on with paperwork and making what I'm amazed to see are phone calls, until I realise they're just fancy looking portable intercoms.
Realising he's losing our attention, Maxwell tilts his head to the side to catch our eyes one at a time. He, like Lance, double takes and shivers at the sight of me. "Oh! Erm…" He clears his throat and avoids looking at me, which makes Lance give me an obnoxious 'I told you so' look, which I glare at him for. Maxwell moves on eventually, and asks, "May I ask which one of you contacted us first?"
Eugene steps forward. "Um, I did..."
Maxwell bows his head. "And what was your profession before The Sky Fell?"
Eugene squints.
"Before the what?" Yumiko asks.
"Before The Sky Fell," Maxwell repeats, while Kelly signs to their cousin. "Before the dead came back to life. Before the Outbreak. Before the Apocalypse. Armageddon. Dooms Day, if you will. Different people have different names for it. Like the living dead for instance. Some call them empties, monsters, shells, roamers, has beens. We had one peculiar woman who decided to name them zombies." He chortles. "Wherever in the world did she create that name, I wonder!?"
Maxwell smiles at us all, expecting us to be laughing with him, but when we don't he looks at Eugene, clearing his throat.
"Anyway… your former occupation, sir?"
"Oh, right," Eugene says. "My occupation. I was a high school science teacher."
Maxwell tuts. "That simply won't do..." He moves on quickly, not even regarding Eugene with an explanation as he steps around him to Princess. He looks her up and down, doubtfully. "What about you, madam?"
"Oh, all kinds of stuff," Princess says. "I worked at a bar, a coffee shop, a record store, lots of retail. For a while I—"
"That's enough," Maxwell says. "And you, madam?"
Magna narrows her eyes. "Waiter..."
With a groan, Maxwell turns to Oliver and I, and tuts instantly, then tuts again when he looks at Kelly, too, waving his hands in dismissal and ultimately skipping all three of us entirely.
He looks expectantly to Luke instead. "What about you, sir?" he asks him, while I exchange a long glance with Kelly and Oliver, glad that they both, too, look just as offended and confused as I feel.
"Oh, you're not gonna like me, either, then," Luke says, chuckling awkwardly, "I was a high school teacher, too. Music—"
He isn't given another moment. Maxwell moans in contempt and turns, exasperate, to Yumiko and Connie.
"Please, ladies," he says dramatically, "tell me your past career. And it better be more impressive than an a bartender, a teacher, or a bleeding schoolchild!"
Yumiko glares at him.
Connie signs a long, angry sentence, her lip curled.
"What in the world was that?" Maxwell asks her, blinking in confusion.
"She said that you're a rude group of people, and that you in particular are a very rude little man," Yumiko translates, which Maxwell seems not to take personally at all. Yumiko crosses her arms. "But if you must know, Connie was a journalist, and I was a lawyer."
Maxwell throws his hands up disappointedly. "Well, that's just brilliant," he complains sarcastically. "A mute columnist and a… er... hold on..." His left eyebrow hops across his forehead. "Did you say lawyer?"
Yumiko crosses her arms. "Yes. Why?"
"Public defender?" he asks her, a curious curl in his tone.
"Private practice," Yumiko says, begrudgingly. "I'd just made partner when the… Sky Fell."
"Well," he cheers, "that works!"
She narrows her eyes at him. "What works? You insulting my friends? Which, by the way, I would like a full apology for... Hey! Where are you going?"
Maxwell turns away from her and begins to make his way across the wide, black-and-white, chequered foyer floor. Yumiko looks back at us, exasperated.
"Please," Maxwell calls out to her. "Come with me, madam!"
Yumiko looks beside herself with rage. Not seeming to notice, Maxwell opens a door to show a portion of another room. Inside it, I just make out the shadowed silhouette of a woman sitting at a large desk in front of a window, and two officers standing to attention either side of her.
"This is Yumiko," Maxwell tells the woman sitting at the desk. "She was a lawyer, with her own private practice!"
"Excellent," says the woman. "Yumiko, welcome. I am Pamela Milton, Governor of the Commonwealth."
The last Governor I met pops into my mind, and an uneasy chill tugs at my gut. Oliver must be thinking the same thing because I catch him scratch absently at the thick old scar on his temple.
"Please," Governor Milton adds to Yumiko, "come in and have a seat..."
Yumiko doesn't budge. "What about my friends?"
"Just yourself should do," the Governor answers. "Your friends will be seated outside until we're finished with your orientation."
After a moments hesitation, Yumiko turns to us. "Sit tight, everyone. I'm going to sort all of this out — get to the bottom of it — or something..." She nods to us, looking lost, and with no other way of comforting or encouraging her, we all nod back.
"See you soon," Magna says, softly.
Yumiko smiles nervously at her, kisses her once on the cheek, then turns and disappears inside the office.
At Maxwell's request, eight cushioned chairs are brought out on a wheeler by a janitor, who doesn't make eye contact with any of us. As our seats are set down, we all thank them out loud or by sign, which the janitor seems shocked by, and I guess I realise why when they hand Lance his chair and Lance shoos them away as he sits down. The janitor hurries away along the corridor and disappears into another corridor.
We all sit for a long time against the wall in total silence, twiddling our thumbs and glancing around awkwardly. I try to think of a way to go and find Michonne without too many questions, but come up pretty dry.
"What are we doing?" Eugene asks after several minutes.
Lance rolls his eyes. "You're waiting. Depending on how this meeting goes, you'll either be free to explore this community, or you'll be discharged. So just sit tight."
I don't like the way Lance says the word 'discharged', but I do find hope in the prospect of exploring this place. Only so much can go wrong in one orientation, right? Yumiko is sensible. I think I trust her well enough by now. We'll be out of here in no time.
Just then a small group of officers round the corner towards the foyer with their guns on their shoulders and their armour flecked with blood and guts, carrying their helmets in their hands. It's odd to see their faces, tired-looking and bored.
"I'm going to shower for a week," one says to the others as they pass by, rubbing his neck.
"I'm going to shower for an hour and then sleep for a week," another replies.
"Mercer is going to shit when he hears he missed out on the Magenta swarm," another says. "He loves killing the big groups."
"Welcome back, gentlemen," Lance says to them. "Good to see you all made it in one piece."
"Was touch and go for a bit," one tells him, "but we pulled it off. We're an oiled machine."
Lance nods proudly. "Mercer has trained you well. Now, get some well-earned rest."
"Yes, sir. Moving as fast as I can."
Behind Lance and the officers' backs, Oliver looks at me and makes a side-ways fisting motion against his mouth, poking his tongue against the inside of his opposite cheek in rhythm, his eyes rolling. I try to ignore him. Princess, however, sees his mocking oral re-enactment, too, and snickers, causing Lance to turn around. Oliver stops and pretends to itch his chin.
Lance frowns. "We were camped out waiting for you all for three days," he tells us, "we went to a lot of effort to bring you and your people back here... I hope it's worth it."
Oliver watches him nervously.
"If you want us to thank you for kidnapping us," Kelly says and signs, "you're singing to the wrong choir."
"Yeah, this doesn't seem like a fair deal to me," Princess says to Lance. "I don't want to get 'dispatched'. I don't think these guys do, either. Do you?"
We all look at her, not responding, considering we don't know her, but not really needing to anyway because she's right. Princess turns back to Lance and shakes her head.
"Yeah, no, man," she tells him. "I don't think they want to be dispatched, either. I like my life, no matter how lonely it is sometimes."
"That wasn't…" Lance grimaces at her, like she'd said something dirty rather than depressing. "Look, I said so before: I seriously doubt we'll have to kill you all, in any case."
Eugene scoffs. Princess sighs. Oliver puts his head in his hand and starts thumping his forehead with his prosthetic. I take it in my hand and pull it down to his knee to stop him. Magna, Kelly, Connie, and Luke seem to be taking this quite well, for whatever reason. Perhaps they're just trying to be optimistic. I guess to them, anything's better than living under Negan's thumb.
It's been almost an hour, and Pamela's office door is still firmly shut. I'm going crazy with impatience, crazy with not knowing, crazy with being so close, yet still so confused and lost...
I stand up.
I can't sit still anymore.
I can't wait any longer.
"I have to g-g… I have to leave."
Lance scoffs. "Oh, you do, do you? What for?"
"Bathroom," I say on the spot.
"Oh. Well, that's no problem. Just down the hall, there. Second on the left, through the changing rooms. You'll find it."
I nod. Oliver is flaring his eyes at me, trying to get my attention. I ignore him and head off quickly. In the changing rooms, the officers are changing out of their armour and into their day clothes, chatting to one another outside their lockers, or across steaming wet-rooms. Some double take at me as I pass through. I try not to catch any of their eyes, or other body parts.
I don't have much of a wandering eye at the best of times —it's something Negan's always thought strange of me, and has regularly tried to encourage out of me over the years. He's offered me second and third husbands, and even a few wives, but I've always politely declined— still, though, it's difficult not to notice naked bodies when they're around every corner without warning; sweaty and surprisingly toned bodies, at that...
I shake my head, facing the floor.
With great relief, I find the bathroom. There's a guy in here, clothed, thankfully, and using a urinal. I take note of the window above his head. He frowns at me for looking in his direction. I turn away, and go to a urinal on the other side of the room. I can't go, though. I don't need to. Luckily, though, the officer leaves soon enough.
Alone, finally, I dash quickly to the window. Climbing on top of the urinal is a risk worth taking at this point. The window pulls up easily. I lean out to see a back alley, shaded by the tall buildings either side. People are walking at either end along the streets. I lean back into the bathroom. There's a baseball cap left on the sink, so I snatch it, put it on my head, and climb outside.
Gravel cracks under my boots as I land a few feet down in the alleyway. I walk in one direction and come out on a side of the building I don't recognise. I keep my head down, hiding my eye as well as I can under my cap as I mingle through the crowd of Commonwealthers. I get a few streets before I stop to ask an old woman outside a grocery store which way Main Street is. I have to stand in an awkward, anti-social position to prevent her from seeing my face.
"A few blocks that way, honey," she says, "Main Street is on the left."
I have to glance in her direction to see which way her arm is pointing.
"Oh, my!" she gasps, dropping the bag she's carrying.
"Thank you," I say, dodging falling cabbages and apples. I walk away quickly, casting a meek, "Sorry," over my shoulder.
I find the courthouse in minutes.
My heart is pumping in my face.
I can barely breathe.
Two officers guard the entrance, thick, black, police batons clipped to their hips. No machine guns, at least. I realise I don't even know if Michonne is inside. What would she be doing in a courthouse, of all places? Perhaps this is just where you go to find someone you recognised on the poster? Though, if that was the case, all the posters would have said to come here. She must be in there regularly for her to put it as a finding place on her poster.
I wait outside for a minute to come up with a plan. This place seems so strange, like something out of a nostalgic dream. I get to thinking things must work around here similarly to how things used to work before the Turn. I've forgotten most of life back then, but I try anyway to think of old jobs people used to do that could get them just about anywhere if they had the right information. Glenn's old job comes to mind. I mean, I already have the cap on my head, just no pizza box.
I see a crinkled envelope sticking out of a trash can.
I get an idea.
Taking a steep breath, I approach the officers at the courthouse door, empty envelope in hand.
"Whoa, Jesus, look at your face."
I force a polite expression, something close to a smile, but not quite. "I have a m...m-essage, for M...M-ichonne."
One of them laughs. "For who?"
I don't repeat myself because I know they both understood me.
"What's wrong? C...c...cat… g… g… got… got y...your t...t...tongue!"
"Easy, Barns." The other officer shoves him, snickering a little as he asks me, "Ms. Hawthorn's busy right now, pal. Who's the message from?"
My heart leaps a little bit. "Pamela."
"Pamela who?"
I hesitate, knowing I'll stutter over the words Governor and Milton, but without another choice, I push through. "Pamela M...M...M—"
They both burst into laughter.
"Alright, alright," an officer says, "hand it over and I'll have it sent to her office."
"N...n-o," I say, "I should talk to her in p...p-erson. It's... erm… confidential."
The first officer scoffs. "Sure it is. Because the Governor tells all the mail-men confidential information. Get out of here, now. Before I kick your lying ass."
I grit my teeth, but I know intimidation isn't going to work here, like it does back home, and I know sneaking into a courthouse is going to be much harder than sneaking out of a locker room bathroom, so I decide the best option is just the truth.
"Please," I say, hoping I sound earnest, like Oliver does so easily. "I just arrived here today." I glance past their heads into the court house. "She's f...f-amily."
Again, they both laugh at me.
"Family?" the second officer sneers. "By the looks of your pasty white ass, I find that hard to believe."
More laughter, so loud some people on the streets are watching us now.
"Are you stupid? We said get out of here!" the first officer shouts, stepping forward and snatching the envelope out of my hand. "The fuck? It's open already, and empty! Go on. I told you already to get out of here, ugly freak!"
He shoves me hard. I catch the brunt of it in my shoulder but manage not to fall back onto my ass. I glare at him, and I decide right here and now: fuck the truth.
They both bristle, unnerved suddenly. They may be bigger than me but by the looks on their faces they don't seem used to civilians standing up for themselves. I decide to use this to my advantage. As I back away, I catch the relief in their faces. They even begin to leer nervously behind my back, mocking my stutter and bending against each other in fits of giggles — I don't miss the opening. In an instant, I spin on my heel and sprint towards the doors. The officers barely have a second to react before I've shoved through them so hard that they both slam against the door frames, their armour clacking against the varnished wood. They collapse to the floor. Before they can get back onto their feet, I run through the largest of three doors in the foyer which leads me into a wide corridor, with a big rug on the floor, chairs along the walls, and a large door at the very end.
On the other side of it, I hear voices talking.
And I can hear Michonne's voice among them.
I really, totally hear her.
"Order!" she calls out distantly. "Order in the court!"
I can hear the officer shouting, coming after me.
Desperate, I run along the corridor towards the door.
And I cry out, "Michonne!"
The double doors slam open loudly as I hit them shoulder-first and I find myself standing at the foot of a huge courtroom. Every face in the room twists around to me. People fill rows and rows of benches in the middle of the room, a walking-aisle split down the centre, and more folks are sitting in the jury box off to one side, and there's even people sitting at the defendant tables, all gasping or covering their mouths in shock at my entry.
But I'm not really looking at any of them.
My eye is fixed on the judge, and her plaque, that reads:
Honourable Judge M. Hawthorne
High Court of the Commonwealth
Her face scrunches up in anger, like she doesn't recognise my voice or my face, like I just happen to be some crazy, hairless, one-eyed lunatic in a tatty baseball cap barging in on her courtroom, and not Carl Grimes, her son, more or less, who she hasn't seen in almost a whole decade.
Unlike me, she looks almost the same as I remember her, except that her dreadlocks are cut short, just to her shoulders. "What are you doing barging into my court room?!" she shouts at me. "We're in the middle of a formal hearing!"
I take off my hat — figuring that if all else fails, my missing eye will place me.
And it does.
Michonne's eyes widen. She stands up against her podium so quickly that her chair falls and hits the floor behind her. She drops her judge's hammer, causing it to bang loudly against the floor. Her chin shakes. And in the tiniest squeak of a voice, she says my name.
"Carl?"
I open my mouth to call her name, but that's when the two officers crash full-pelt into the back of me. I hit the floor so violently that I can feel my teeth go through my bottom lip. Warm blood gushes instantly, filling my nose and mouth. The officers beat me. I've never been trampled by a horse before, but I can't see these batons feeling far off. All I can do is curl up and try to protect my head. The pain is unbelievable. Bright, like a wild fire.
"STOP!"
I barely stay conscious long enough to be aware of Michonne's presence as she shoves the officers off of me. She grabs me in her arms and I'm so happy and in so much pain that I'm laughing and crying and bleeding all at once, and she's laughing and crying, too, and being bled on. She holds my face against hers, our foreheads pressing wetly.
"Michonne?" I ask, my speech easy, but all thick from my busted lip. "It's really you?"
"It's me, baby. I'm here."
Baby? Since when has she ever been called me baby? I laugh again. She asks me if I can get up, and after some failed attempts, I manage to, even if I have to clutch a throbbing spot on my side that definitely feels like a broken rib or two. Michonne shouts furiously at the officers, who seem just as terrified of her as they should be, and then she explains to the courtroom that she's having a family emergency and must postpone the rest of the hearing and all of today's other hearings, also, before she walks me out of the room.
"Let's get you to the hospital," she tells me.
"N...n-o, I'm fine." I wince. I can feel my lip swelling so much it's hard to speak at all now. "You have to come w...w-ith me."
"Come with you? Come with me," she says, with this amazed look on her face. She clutches her forehead. "I have... so much I need to explain."
"Please," I insist, "I left the others at the city hall. We n...n-eed to get back to them."
"What?" Michonne blinks at me, her eyebrows crinkling together. "The others?"
And every time it rains
You're here in my head
Like the sun coming out
Look, your son's coming out
Ooh, I just know that something good is gon na happen
I don't know when
But just saying it could even make it happen
Ooh, just saying it could even make it happen
We're cloudbusting, Daddy
The sun's coming out
Your son's coming out…
Notes:
Song was 'Cloudbusting' by Kate Bush. Fucking great song. Damn. Watch the music video though, cause it's great.
Maybe this story just doesn't want Carl to be able to speak…
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 24: III: Meanwhile in City Hall
Summary:
The Commonwealth begins to show its true colours. Oliver realises Carl has, yet again, not stayed in the house.
Notes:
Lance is going to be much more placid in this fic than what he is in the show. I'm following the comic more right now but that's probably going to change when the show sheds some light on the whole CRM/missing Rick arc that I think should help our lads find the rest of their family one day.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ de Luca ~
Only a few minutes pass after Carl leaves before Pamela's office door finally opens. The light shines across the floor and startles us. Lance, by this point, has undone his tie and is wearing it draped over his shoulders, flipping idly through his little notebook. He puts it away quickly and looks up, scrambling to re-do his tie.
Yumiko comes out of the office first, followed by the Governor. She's a slim, smartly-dressed woman with short, straight, greying-blonde hair, wearing a matching set of pearls around her neck and in her earlobes. I try to gauge Yumiko's feelings from her face, but can't tell much other than the obvious. She's nervous.
"Ms. Otsuka is going to talk to you in her own time," Pamela explains. "She'll explain everything to you that I just explained to her." Pamela checks her watch. "I've got another appointment. When Ms. Otsuka done, your weapons will be returned to you and you will be free to explore the Commonwealth."
Kelly clutches their fist to their mouth excitedly. Magna, Connie, and Luke lean into each others' shoulders. Princess claps. I just sigh and silently curse Carl under my breath — I know he's not really gone to the toilet. I know he's snuck out to find Michonne. I could see it written across his face. If only he'd not been so impulsive and stayed put, then we could've gone together. If he's not back soon people are going to realise...
"Will I get to speak to Stephanie?" Eugene asks.
Lance growls a sigh. "I already told you—"
"It's alright, Mr. Hornsby," the Governor says, raising a palm calmly. "But it seems we have underestimated their group. They consist of several communities run by one primary settlement, spanning from Virginia to Maryland, with their own trading contract between each other that's held up well over the best part of the past decade..."
"Err," I say, "it's not exactly—"
She raises her palm to interrupt me, then gives Lance a small nod that he reciprocates. "Yumiko has suggested we enter that trading contract, too."
"She has?!" Eugene asks. "She… really is not in a position—"
"Certainly, ma'am," Lance answers the Governor, giving her a polite smile.
Pamela nods again, but this time to Yumiko. "So it's decided. You can all meet Stephanie, too, once you have your weapons back."
Eugene smiles, like he can't help it. I grip my hair in my hand. Negan's going to be furious. Entering him into a trading contract he didn't oversee? Tangling with a group too big to control? I can almost feel the crunch of his bat across my skull.
I feel sick.
I feel lost.
I feel like I've found a single torn page, but have yet to read the rest of the novel.
Just then, some officers who had gone to the changing room earlier begin filtering out again, regarding Pamela politely as they go. I search for Carl among them, but don't see him.
"Dammit," I hiss, unsurprised.
"I'll leave you to explain," Pamela says to Yumiko, when the officers disperse outside, "and when you're done Lance will bring you to me at—"
We all jump when the heavy, front doors smack hard against the marble pillars either side of them, leaving a black mark, before swinging shut loudly behind a young man.
"Fucking hell!" he shouts, glaring at the floor with his shirt untucked and his pale, blonde hair slicked back behind his ears.
Pamela spins around. "Sebastian? What happened this time?"
"I'll tell you what fucking happened," he hisses at her, stomping his way through the foyer. "That idiot Mercer was all up in my shit and he fucking blew his cover. Asshole has no fucking clue how to hang back and give me my space. I was with someone. I barely made it to second base!"
Pamela steps back, disgruntled. "I'm sure he had a very good reason if he—"
"Bullshit!" Sebastian bellows, then turns on the spot and storms away, back towards the front door. "I knew you'd fucking take his side!"
"Sebastian, wait!" Pamela calls out. "I'm not taking anyone's side here! I'm just…" He's gone already so she gives up. She rubs her mouth. "Jesus..."
I blink, wondering how old Sebastian is. He looks somewhere in the late-teen-early-twenties mark, but certainly doesn't act like it. Pamela stands there staring after him, flustered, then finally turns back to the rest of us.
"This is so embarrassing," she moans. "I'm sorry you had to see this. My son can be quite excitable. He's just very... passionate about his privacy, and his girls..."
She stops, because we're all looking behind her now, at another officer who's just entered the building, covered in blood and walker guts. He slips through the massive doors quietly, which is odd, because he's got to be almost seven feet tall. He bends his head as not to bash the door frame. His hair is styled in a short, Mohawk afro. He frowns.
"Mercer!" Pamela gasps. "Please, tell me what happened..."
The huge man, Mercer, is silent for a moment, then says in a smooth, low voice, "I'm sorry, Governor. I told your son not to stray too far, but he wouldn't listen. I can only do so much when he insists that I cover him alone so far outside of the city. There were too many of them."
"Too many?" Pamela yelps, prodding him in his armoured chest, which she has to raise her arm to reach. Mercer doesn't move, just watches her, and waits for her to keep talking. "Are you telling me he was in actual danger?! Why would you allow that?! You're the best of the best, aren't you? Why do you think I have you personally heading up my son's security detail? This is… This—"
Her hair's falling in her face. She seems to remember, again, that she has an audience, because she brushes herself neat again, straightens her blouse, and stands up straight. She points an arm to her right, towards the changing room corridor.
"We will discuss this at length later. Go get cleaned up."
"Yes, ma'am," Mercer says evenly, and walks away.
Pamela turns to us. "I really am sorry. Things don't tend to get so heated around here."
"No problem," Luke says awkwardly.
Pamela puffs her hair out of her face. She looks at us all and frowns. "Weren't there supposed to be nine of you? I only count eight."
I stand up before I think twice. "He went to the bathroom… err… I'll go check on him!"
She doesn't seem to hear me for a few seconds, her thoughts elsewhere, then she jumps at nothing and waves her hand, "Yes, yes, alright, go."
"Err… down the hall through the changing rooms, right?" I ask Lance. He nods, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as I go.
I find the changing rooms, which seem empty after all the officers left, but I know it isn't because I can hear Mercer's voice coming from deeper in, complaining, by the sounds of it.
"The kid's pathetic, George," he grumbles, "but not as pathetic as me, breaking my fucking back out there, just to have him cry on home to his mommy and fuck me over like that."
"Hey," George, I guess, says, "don't blame yourself. It's his mom who's the most pathetic in this whole shitty situation. When you're willing to make a move, you just say the word. We're all waiting on you."
Mercer laughs. "I don't even know that we'd have to make a move, really. Just kind of sit back and let these fucking dumbasses get themselves killed. We wouldn't even have to get our hands dirty."
"Even better," George says, "then we could finally start making a real change around here, get our priorities in order, feed the poor fuckers who can't—"
"Shh!" Mercer says.
I try to back away slowly.
My boot scuffs a tile.
"What was that?" George asks.
I'm too lost in the maze of lockers and shower rooms to figure out which way I came in, and I'm too late in realising what I've walked in on to turn around and hide. Mercer and George lean around the corner of their lockers to see me, alarmed frowns on their faces.
"Err… is the… bathroom… around here?"
George tries to step towards me, his fists clenched, but Mercer snatches him by his shirt chest.
"George, back off," he says, calmly. "Let me handle this."
"It's none of my business," I say, hoping my voice sounds level. "I'm just looking for my husband. Don't mind me."
Mercer walks towards me. I back up just as quickly but he's so towering that I almost start climbing the lockers. He stops less than an inch from my face, nose-to-nose. I'm not a short man by any means but against him I feel like one. I have to look up.
"I'm Mercer," he says.
"M-hm… oh… err, Oliver. I'm—"
"Oliver. I heard you the first time." Mercer raises his hand to shake. I raise my prosthetic. Mercer considers it, carefully, then, slowly, shakes it. "You're new here."
I nod.
"Look, Oliver," Mercer says. I catch George glaring at me through the gap under Mercer's armpit. "You seem like a rational person. We're rational people, too. I know you heard some of the things we were saying but it's all out of context. I run our military here. And you, not knowing how we live or anything, I see how what we just said could sound… bad. But it was just a couple guys blowing off steam."
I watch him, frowning.
"I love our Governor," Mercer tells me. "I'm thankful for the way of life she's provided for us. Her son is a fucking asshole, and he will drive you crazy if you spend any amount of time with him..."
His eyes scan me up and down, lingering longest on my amputation and the scars on my temple and mouth.
"Looking at you, though," he says, "I don't think he'll have much reason to be around you. Don't look like you know your way around a silver spoon, if you catch my drift. So… we cool?"
I nod. "Yes. Cool. Totally cool."
"Cool," Mercer says, the crease between his eyebrows relaxing, "right, George?"
"Yeah," George says with a serious face, "cool."
"Great," Mercer says. "Be seeing you, Oliver. Bathroom's that way."
"Yeah, and I think your peeping husband's still in there," George adds as I hurry off, dazed and avoiding their eyes, and I'm starting to realise how similar life is like for these people here as it is for me and Carl back at the Sanctuary. If I know anything, it means this place has weaknesses. The people are frustrated with their leader. Perhaps not as frustrated as people back home are with Negan, but something similar. It's hard to gauge, though. Not without more information. Still, Carl and I are going to need all the information we can get if we want to stand a chance at cooling Negan's anger off when he finally learns about all the shit we've got ourselves messed up with without him.
I find the bathroom, but it's empty, even the cubicles. The window is open though, and perfectly sized to fit a fully grown idiot through. I throw my arms up, curse in Italian, then storm back out of the bathroom. It's no use lying. There isn't a lie that will get any of us into any less trouble than the truth anyway.
Pamela is gone when I arrive back to the foyer. Though, as expected, Lance looks extremely bothered, and not just because of me, either, but because Yumiko and Eugene are arguing.
"But don't you see? This place isn't all that different from back home," Yumiko defends herself. "Pamela talks almost exactly the same way about things as Negan does. 'Safety, security', 'putting things back together', 'separating leaders from followers', 'how we're all supposed to be some type of engine piece to be put in the right place', 'working like a machine'. Sound familiar? She even says that she's put the dead back in their place, for Christ sake. I just figured... she and Negan could work something out. Perhaps things can change, for the better."
"You're in way over your head, Yumiko!" Eugene shouts. "You people have never even properly met Negan! He's bashed in skulls for missteps much less than this!"
"I hope that's a figure of speech," Lance interjects, looking queasy again.
"Not now!" Magna shouts at him.
Yumiko shakes her head. "There's nothing I can do. Pamela's got her own plans whether I agree to them or not. We were already told before: This is bigger than us."
They turn to look at me when they hear my footsteps. Lance claps his hands in gratitude, and begins to pull on his gloves as he says, "Ah! Brilliant. You're back. Let's go and get you back your weapons and then find the Governor. Wait… where is the other one?"
"Err..."
"Well?" Lance almost cries. "Eer, what?"
"So, I went to find him… and the thing is… he's—"
The city hall's main doors open.
And my whole world stops.
Because in walks Carl and Michonne.
Carl is battered black and blue, bleeding, and barely standing on his own if it weren't for Michonne taking under his arm. She's wearing a fancy robe, under it a suit and tie. I run to them both. I grab them so roughly that they both stumble against me. I have to lug Carl's arm over mine. He gasps from the pain. Michonne grips my shoulder tightly. I hug her. Her smell is so familiar, so nostalgic. I feel sixteen again.
"Michonne!" I gasp. "Oh my God. We weren't sure. We were going to wait to find you. Carl, we were going to wait. You look like you've been run over by a truck, man. What happened to you?!"
"Small run in with the law inside my courtroom." Michonne grimaces angrily. "Luckily, though, I know their names. They'll be reported, and demoted, if I have any say in the matter, which I do." Michonne lets go of us. She turns to the rest of our group. The moment she spots Eugene, he begins backing away but she's too quick. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
Eugene stumbles to the floor and covers his face in terror. Michonne stops short of punching him, out of breath. She grimaces and steps away. "You're not even worth it..."
She turns to Carl and I again, and her face softens in an instant.
"What on Earth is going on?!" Lance shouts. "I've had it up to here with this nonsense! Madam. Hawthorn, how the hell do you know these people?"
She shakes her head. "They're my family."
Lance huffs loudly and throws his hands up.
"These two are, at least," Michonne says, gesturing to Carl and I. She grimaces at Eugene.
"Michonne," I say. "What are you doing here? What happened to you?"
"It's a long story." She takes a breath. "And I will explain it. Carl, Oliver... I will. But first, I need you both to come with me."
She comes over and takes us each by the hand.
Tears run down her cheeks as she says, "I need you to meet someone..."
Notes:
Guess who the someone isssssssss!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 25: III: Come Meet Your Brother
Summary:
Michonne reveals the reason she couldn’t come back to Virginia in all this time. A plan is formed against Negan and the Saviors.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Michonne doesn’t explain anything with the others around, and instead arranges for me, Oliver, and herself to travel to her place where we can speak privately while the others go ahead to collect their weapons and meet Stephanie. Oliver and I promise to meet them once we’re done.
The three of us head to Michonne’s place.
My injuries aren’t so bad, so long as someone stays under my arm to help me walk and I don’t move my mouth at all. In any case, it’s difficult to feel sorry for myself right now at all. The bruises and broken ribs and busted lip are all worth seeing Michonne again, even if I’m confused out of my mind as to how it happened.
She takes us to a suburb not much different to the old Alexandria we once knew, where the houses are all big and handsome with grassy yards, double-garages, big balconies, hedgerows, and neat, tall trees lining the streets along the side-walks. Her house is a few minutes’ walk in. It has a basketball hoop above its garage doors.
Michonne puts her hand gently on my back while I grip Oliver’s arm and climb the steps to the front door — it’s painted yellow, just like it was back home, once.
The bright colour reminds me of something else, too.
“Your poster, m...m-y drawing. I didn’t realise you’d kept it. All this time.”
“Of course I did. I always had it in my pocket, since the day you gave it to me.”
I laugh, giddy. Tears well so I look away.
“We thought you were thrown off the roof,” Oliver says, for me.
“I almost was,” Michonne explains, a key in her hand now. “But it wasn’t me who fell. It was the Scavenger I was posted with. She almost killed me. I barely survived by the time Jadis found me.”
She stops talking there, a look on her face like she’s already said too much.
“The helicopter,” Oliver says. “With the symbol — three white circles.”
Michonne frowns at him sharply. “How do you know about that? Come on. Get inside, quickly—”
Both Oliver and I startle when we see a figure move through the window in Michonne’s front door.
“Right. You live with someone,” Oliver recalls. “One of the others?”
Michonne winces. “No. Not one of the others. He’s… I... had a messenger send my babysitter to bring him home from school a little while ago, after you showed up...”
“Send who home from school?” Oliver asks.
And suddenly it’s not my stutter stopping me from speaking but something else. Some emotion I don’t know. But out of nowhere I’m overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to press pause here, just for a moment, until my brain can catch up.
Babysitter?
Michonne turns to the front door with her key, looking around anxiously before she lets herself in. Oliver follows her inside, while I stand rigid on the porch, unable to move at all.
“Come inside, man...” Oliver says.
Slowly, I do. Michonne’s living room is large, with natural light from lots of windows. The place is well decorated, with lots of abstract paintings on the walls and a pretty green rug on the floor in the sitting area, where there are two L-shaped couches and a round glass coffee table. In the next room, I see part of a kitchen with biscuit jars on the counter and a small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
A teenage girl comes down the stairs. Michonne talks with her and hands her some money, and the girl leaves after a friendly wave to us, shutting the front door behind her.
Quickly, after a small, awkward glance at Oliver and I, Michonne pulls off her robe and heads upstairs without us. I step over to the stairs, peering up, where I can see part of a child’s bedroom at the top of the staircase with space-themed wallpaper. I can see just the corner of a poster that I still recognise from an old comic book, Invincible, that I used to like. I open my mouth to speak but can’t. I hug myself. Oliver comes to me, slipping his hand under my elbow. He’s shaking harder than I am.
“Come meet your brother,” we hear Michonne say from inside.
“Mom, we talked about this,” a young boy’s voice replies, chuckling, “your jokes aren’t funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” Michonne says, and her voice breaks. “Not right now...”
“Mom?”
“Your brother’s here,” she says. “He found us, like I said he would. I want you to come and meet him. Would you like that?”
There is a pause.
A long one.
Michonne leaves the bedroom.
And her son leaves behind her.
As they come down the stairs, Oliver and I step back. The boy looks at us. His hair, which is in the shape of a wide circle around his head, is the same deep, dark, brown colour as Michonne’s hair. His nose is wide like hers, too, and his eyes — so warm. The shade of his skin is close to hers, too, if not a few shades paler. The rest of him, though? The rest of him is my father. Our dad. Even at eight years old, I can see my father in him as clearly as I can see him in myself some days. Dad’s right there, in the boy’s jawline, in his face-shape, in his mouth and forehead, and even in the way he stands and shuffles his feet and tenses his eyebrows up.
I cover my mouth.
The boy casts Michonne an uneasy, awkward glance.
He asks her, “What happened to his face?”
I touch my fingertips to my eye socket, reflexively.
“He meant your bruises,” Michonne explains to me. “He knows how you lost your eye — I told him.”
I blink at her. “Oh...”
Michonne pulls the conversation back on track. “The officers, sweetie,” she tells the boy, “at the courthouse, where he found me. It’s why I had you come home early.”
He gives an understanding nod, then moves away from the stairs because she does. Michonne puts her hand over his shoulder when he tucks himself against her side. Oliver and I watch them. I gulp.
“This is why you couldn’t come back for us?” Oliver asks. “He is?”
Michonne’s eyebrow arch. She nods.
“This is Rick. Jr,” she tells us. “But everyone calls him RJ. RJ, this is Carl and Oliver.”
RJ nods shyly to us both. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Oliver and I say at the same time.
I swallow and say it again, “Hi, RJ.”
RJ looks at Michonne. “Mom?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Can I go play outside?”
She seems to realise this might be best, by the earthquake happening on my face. “Sure. But be back soon, though. We have things to do.”
RJ grabs a basketball from the closet and then jogs across the living room to the front door, looking back curiously at me once before he disappears outside. We hear his ball bounce across the driveway, hitting the garage wall a few times. I have to wipe my face.
“Carl,” Michonne says, gently.
“He looks like...”
“I know,” she says. “Genetics do that, huh.”
I choke out a laugh, finding it hard to breathe. Michonne crosses the room and holds me. We both cry for a few minutes. I see Oliver over her shoulder, watching us and processing quietly on his own.
“Look at you,” Michonne tells me, then turns to look at Oliver, too. She hiccups. “You’re both all grown up. Carl, you sound just like your father now.”
I’m so flattered that I have to look at the floor. Oliver bites his thumb. He wipes his cheeks quickly.
“Here,” Michonne says, grabbing a box of tissues off the TV stand for us. “Come sit for a minute.”
Oliver and I sit on one of the couches, sharing the tissue box. Michonne sits on the coffee table opposite us, pushing a few comic books aside. She beams at me, reaching out and touching my head.
“What did you do to your beautiful hair?”
I laugh. I wipe my face.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say. “I can’t believe you have another s...s-on? I have a brother. How is this real?”
“I don’t know,” Michonne says, stroking my cheek, “I’m just… going to focus on enjoying it.”
“How long have you been here?” Oliver asks her.
“Since three or four months after leaving Virginia. I didn’t realise I was pregnant until I started to show. I just thought all the symptoms were stress related. They moved me here after that.”
“Who is ‘they’? Isn’t the Commonwealth the people who took you? Is Tara around? Aaron?”
“No,” Michonne says, wincing. “Oliver...”
“So, another group, working with the Commonwealth? Did they separate you from the others and send you here? That must mean this community and the helicopter people work together, right?”
She shakes her head. “Oliver, please.”
“What happened to them? Daryl, Aaron, Scott, Barb, Francis, Nora, Anna? Where are they now? We’ve been searching for clues ever since, but we’ve never found anything until today. Anything at all. This is the closest we’ve ever—”
Michonne winces, and bursts out, “I don’t know where they are, or what happened to them! Alright?”
Oliver shuts his mouth, scalded.
“Just… stop, please...” she says sternly. “I... can’t talk about this. It was dangerous enough mentioning the helicopter out in the open like that earlier, alright? There are certain things… dangerous things... I am sorry. I can tell you everything else, about this place, about RJ, about my life here, but I can’t tell you about the people who took me or the rest. You shouldn’t even know anything about any of it anyway.”
“Well we do know.”
“Which puts you at risk. Do you understand that?” She watches us sternly, but her eyes soften curiously, and she asks, “How do you know about it, anyway?”
“Carol told us what she saw,” Oliver answers.
“Of course.” Michonne holds her mouth. She smiles and winces at the same time. “They escaped okay? They’re safe?”
It takes Oliver and I a moment to answer.
“No,” I say, “they’re n..n-ot safe. None of us are. We haven’t been s...s...”
I fizzle out like a clogged pipe.
Oliver puts his hand on my thigh.
Michonne watches us. “What happened to you?”
“Things have been… bad,” Oliver explains. “Negan didn’t only take over Alexandria and trade you and the others to those helicopter people. He kidnapped us, and Judith. He imprisoned Carol. We’ve been living at the Sanctuary for almost nine years now...”
Michonne’s chin shakes.
“That’s not all,” Oliver admits. “Hilltop, Kingdom, and Oceanside... Dwight tipped them off about Negan learning of the alliance. They formed a Coalition, tried to rescue us. Most of them died. The King. Jesus. Natalia. Enid. The rest of them ran. Negan’s been hunting them ever since. They had to leave Virginia. They’re all long gone now, living in some secret community far away. They couldn't tell us where. Same way you can’t tell us where you were, or where the rest of our people might be...”
She shakes her head, like she understands this is difficult for us to swallow.
“The only people we have left in Virginia are us two, Judith, Carol, and some Alexandrians, like Gabriel, Eric, and Tobin,” Oliver explains. “Dwight was executed last year.”
Michonne sits there, taking it all in.
Oliver sighs. “Carol got set free last year for helping Negan win a turf war against another group. But she’s not really free, is she? Not with us still trapped under Negan’s thumb. And we can’t leave because he’ll only hunt us down. We don’t have anywhere to run like the Coalition did.”
Michonne wipes her face. “You made it here.”
“He knows we came. He knows we made it to Charleston, at least.”
She takes a few more moments.
She tries to keep her voice level as she asks, “And… Rick?”
Oliver swallows, both of us not realising she didn’t know already.
I clench my jaw. “Negan murdered him.”
Michonne goes very still then. She keeps her eyes on the floor. They drip. “Tara said she thought she saw… I didn’t want to believe it… But I knew. I knew he was gone. But… all these years… a small part of me hoped… I don’t know… that maybe we’d managed to win. That maybe somehow in the end... Rick had saved you all.”
It’s a common dream.
More common than she realises.
“I’m so stupid,” she says. “So naive...”
“Rick wasn’t as invincible as we all thought he was,” Oliver says, gently, “he was only a man, after all.”
“And he didn’t die for n...n-othing,” I say, firmly. “Negan didn’t manage to keep us all apart forever. We’ve found you. We can still find the others, too, if you’d just help us—”
“No!” she barks, standing up suddenly. “You don’t know what these people are capable of. The people who took me. You don’t know.”
Oliver and I watch her, anxiously.
“I’m sorry,” Michonne says, and begins to pace the living room. “I’m a different person now to who you knew me as before. I’m not as unshakable as I used to be. I’m terrified. Only the terror doesn’t come when something scary happens, like it used to, like it should... now, it lives in me, in my skin, in my bones. All I’ve had to keep myself going is RJ and what this place provides for us, so long as I keep doing my job at the courthouse.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “W...w-e get it. We really do.”
She comes back to sit on the coffee table, shaking her head at the floor. “I can only imagine what Negan has put you both through...”
“Don’t worry about that,” I say. “We w...w-anna know about you. Do you like it here, at the Commonwealth?”
“It’s a good place to raise RJ,” she answers. She looks at us. “I wanted to bring him back to Virginia. I did. I could have snuck out of here, easily. But my first son, Andre… I can’t let that happen again. The risk was too great. I have to protect RJ from what’s outside this place. I have to protect myself from that.”
I watch it, the fear. It bleeds out of her.
“It’s probably a good thing,” Oliver says consolingly. “Negan… he owns everything. The land, the communities, the people.”
“Does he treat you... well?” she asks us nervously.
“He doesn’t make us kill for him,” Oliver says, “and he’s kept us and Judith safe all these years. Even Carol, to some extent, so... yeah, for the most part. He’s a bad person. He uses us against each other all the time, but… well, people are never just good or just bad, are they? We’ve all done things to survive.”
Michonne watches him. She squeezes our hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“We don’t blame you,” I say. “You didn’t cause any of this. It wasn’t your fault. It was Negan’s.”
Michonne and RJ lead the way across the Commonwealth to meet the others. Michonne considers dropping RJ off back to school on the way, it still being the morning and all, but he begs us to keep him around.
“Just for today...”
Michonne allows it. RJ tells us he’s part of a swim club in school, and likes to cook, and hopes one day he can be a chef at his own restaurant in the city. Michonne goes on to explain that children his age are going to have the opportunity to grow their careers from scratch, unlike all the rest of the citizens, who all have jobs here based on what jobs they had before the outbreak.
Since she was a lawyer before, like Yumiko, Michonne worked as one until about five years ago, when she was promoted to a court judge. She explains how this place, how civilisation, is a machine, where all the parts, in theory, go in the right places for things to work. She says it’s not a perfect system, she says that it is in fact a system that makes a lot of the lower class citizens suffer terribly, but she says that even for the folks who are hungry and cold at night here, they feel safer here than they do outside the walls.
Oliver and I look at each other, sceptically, both of us thinking the same thing — this place just sounds like a bigger Sanctuary.
Soon after that, we arrive to a large armoury in an industrial part of the city where everyone is waiting with their returned belongings and weapons. Eugene has his hand-gun and knife back, Yumiko her bow, Magna her throwing knives, Connie and Kelly their sling-shots, Luke his flanged mace, and Princess a long, shiny, steel spear. Stephanie is there, too, along with a few officers, Lance, and Pamela.
Oliver and I are given back our guns and hunting knives and duffel bag, but not our walkie-talkies. When we ask for them, we’re told they were confiscated for security reasons — something we’ll need to deal with at some point.
“Ah, Madam. Hawthorn, and little RJ,” the Governor says. “Good to see you both. What a delightful family reunion. I came as soon as I heard.”
Michonne keeps a stern face, and asks, “Am I right in expecting the two guards who attacked my son to be relieved of their duties?”
“Now, now, Madam. Hawthorn,” Pamela says, “as I understand it, they were only doing their jobs.”
“They beat my son without even attempting to restrain him first. It’s malpractice, it’s an abuse of power, and it isn’t the first time it has happened around here.”
Pamela crosses her arms. “Well I heard a very different story. I even saw the security footage. Your son attacked the guards first, then, while they were still on the ground, broke into the courthouse and, as I understand it, barged in on a formal hearing. The court is already months behind schedule, isn’t it? I can’t imagine you and the other legal firms will be faring very well on progress reports at this rate? Why, if things get any worse, we’ll have to cut funding. Which won’t be any good for your little boy, will it? His medicine is expensive, as I recall…”
I see the waves of fear in Michonne’s face again, but she does well to harden them to stone. She puts her arm around RJ’s shoulders protectively, looking furious.
“So, if we should be punishing anyone,” Pamela says dryly, glancing at me, “it should be him...”
Michonne glares at her, but doesn’t say anything else.
“Now,” Pamela says, twisting on her heel to face the others, “Stephanie, if you’re willing, I would appreciate it if you could show your new friends to the Whitmore Motel. I had Maxwell reserve some rooms for them there. Carl, I assume you’ll be staying with Madam. Hawthorn for the time being? I hope that’s okay.”
I nod, still watching Michonne and RJ.
“Governor Milton,” Stephanie says, only glancing at Pamela’s face once, for a moment, before returning her gaze to the pebbles. “I’d be happy to show them around the city, too, after Whitmore, if they’re up for it?”
“Splendid idea.” Pamela turns to Yumiko. “Ms. Otsuka, Maxwell, here, will give you your keys to your new abode. It’s a spacious, studio apartment with a view over the city, hot water on demand, and its own private terrace.”
Oliver and I look at each other, neither of us surprised that she’s choosing to stay here. The rest of them will, too, I suspect. It’s what I’d do if I could.
Yumiko clutches the shiny set of keys and stutters, “Thank you… but… what about my friends? Why do I get my own apartment but they get a motel?”
“Oh, they’ll have to sort out their own accommodation if they’re going to expect to live here,” Pamela explains. “You’re a lawyer now. Your income is clear. Your friends will need to be organised into their own job roles, at which point their income will be finalised, too, and they’ll be able to choose a suitable living situation accordingly.”
“What if I let them come and live with me?” Yumiko asks.
Pamela laughs like it’s a joke until she realises it’s not. She clears her throat. “Well, I can’t exactly stop you, but good luck fitting yourselves all in comfortably.”
“You’d be surprised,” Luke chuckles. “We’ve slept in smaller places.”
Pamela barely regards him. Yumiko notices this, and her eyebrows crease. She nods to Pamela politely. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Magna says, much more sourly. “We appreciate the hospitality.”
“Well then,” Pamela says happily, as if she hasn’t heard her, “if everything is in order, I’ll get back to work. There’s a lot to prepare before our trip. Until then, please enjoy all the Commonwealth has to offer.”
She and Lance walk away, escorted by the guards.
I turn to the others, too many questions in my head, but the first I land on is, “Trip?”
Eugene crosses his arms angrily. “We’re about to be in a monumental world of trouble.”
“She wants to come back with you three to tour Sanctuary territory, personally,” Yumiko explains. “With a convoy of her officers.”
“Are you crazy?!” Oliver hisses.
“I couldn’t talk her out of it. I tried, but… her mind’s made up.”
I go out of my mind worrying about my sister, and what Negan will do to her if he sees us bringing home an entire fleet of officers with us. It’s hard to even be angry at Yumiko or her group for leaving us to deal with it. If I were them, I would do the same thing — in their eyes, I’m sure we deserve it.
“When do we leave?” I ask, trying to sound calm.
“A week.”
“Thing is we can’t wait that long,” Eugene says, “we have to head on home by the next sun-up or sooner, otherwise we won’t make it within the bounds of our schedule. And we want to stay well within those bounds, or Negan’s coming here looking for us himself. You have to understand, he sees you two as his own. He won’t let anything hinder him from protecting you...”
“He’s right,” I say, uncomfortably.
“Well Pamela obviously plans for this all to go as smoothly as possible,” Michonne says. “Maybe I can talk to her. Convince her to let you three go ahead of her or something.”
Yumiko nods, hopefully. “Can’t hurt to try.”
“Real courteous of you, you know,” Eugene hisses at her, “setting your lives up all nice and cushy here, out of Negan’s reach, all while leaving us to clean up your mess on our own. We never should have let you come with us! You do realise you’re serving us up to him on a shining silver platter for what you’ve done!”
“Eugene,” Magna hisses. “Back off!”
“Come on, Euge,” Yumiko says, softer, signing as she speaks. “You literally came here on a conquest to colonise these people. You can’t blame me for your own misguided entitlement. Actions have consequences. Even for Saviors.”
“Well, I...” Eugene casts Stephanie an embarrassed look, to which she cocks her eyebrow unhappily. Eugene looks at Yumiko again, grimacing. “I resent that accusation!”
“You bit off more than you can chew, and now you’re having to pay the price,” Kelly says, folding their arms. “Miko had nothing more to do with it than the rest of us. You heard her. Pamela does what she wants.”
“Yeah, man,” Luke says, “don’t let this be the hill you die on. It’s a bad look.”
Eugene looks like he might burst with steam. His cheeks shine red.
“It’s true,” Oliver tells him. “I know you wanted us to come here to give them something different to a Career Day, but we all knew it was probably only gonna wind up with the same result when things eventually got back to Negan. We fucked up. What we’ve been doing for years has finally bit us in the ass.”
“Why are you so calm?” Eugene asks him.
Oliver shrugs. “Because maybe it’ll bite Negan in the ass, too.”
We all look at him.
Eugene blinks, outraged. “Talking like that will only get us all killed, you know? He is too powerful.”
“Enough, Eugene!” Oliver barks. “I know you want him gone as much as the rest of us. Well that can happen. Pamela is in control now. She’s got more officers than Negan’s Saviors and settlers combined. Thousands more. Maybe... if she manages to take over things back home... it could be a real chance for things to finally start changing, for the better.”
Eugene doesn’t disagree, but he is trembling.
“It’s not all that perfect here,” Stephanie warns. “You should know that. Carl looks like he got the brunt of some of it himself already, and it’s only your first morning.”
“Trust us,” I say through my swollen lip, “it’s better than back home.”
Stephanie watches me, doubtfully. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough anyway. Him and the Governor are gonna meet each other one way or another. And soon.”
Michonne gets an odd look on her face then. She suggests we get going to see the newly assigned places for everyone quickly. While Stephanie leads the way, Michonne walks a little behind everyone else with RJ, Oliver, and I.
Quietly, she says, “Stephanie gave me an idea. Maybe, we do wait the full week — let Negan come here?”
I shake my head, but can’t get the words out.
“He could hurt Judith or Carol if we disobey his orders,” Oliver says for me.
“But he has no reason to think you’ll be disobeying him,” Michonne points out, checking nobody is eavesdropping from ahead. “As far as he’ll be concerned, you’re just being kept here, for whatever reason, and he’s just coming here to rescue you, right?”
Oliver and I look at each other, realising she’s right. I clear my throat when Eugene glances back at us. Michonne stays quiet, walks slower, casting RJ a small smile, until finally she can keep talking.
“Maybe we tell Pamela that Negan’s going to use force against her,” she says, “whether she wants him to or not. Her officers are good, but the Commonwealth has never been in a real battle before, let alone a war. She’s going to want to hear us out if she knows there’s going to be a fight. When Negan comes looking, Pamela will have the advantage either way, especially with us guiding her. Her numbers guarantee a win against the Saviors. I know it. Maybe she can even bring Negan back here, like Lance did the rest of you…”
Michonne has to swallow, suddenly overwhelmed. She grips RJ’s hand tightly to her stomach.
And she says, “Maybe Negan can finally be brought to justice for his crimes.”
Notes:
Wanted for so long to have a little nod to Michonne’s convo to Carl once about how she likes to try to make kids laugh even if she’s not very good at it.
Also I have this really great vision of all the Saviors on trial at the Sanctuary for all their crimes but obviously as I wrote towards that point things went sideways and the story got all sorts of messy but it’s been so fun so I look forward to seeing what you all think!
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 26: III: Know Your Place
Summary:
An unpleasant incident occurs. The group discusses the customs in which the Commonwealth functions, Princess is beginning to grow on them all, and Michonne comes up with an idea that could potentially change everything.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Oliver, Michonne, and I keep our plan to ourselves. Even RJ has enough loyalty to promise he won’t mention anything he heard to anyone.
Michonne thinks she can contact Pamela tomorrow. So much has already happened just this morning that it’s difficult to believe it’s barely noon yet as we head to Whitmore Motel with the others.
Oliver, always better with kids than me, talks to RJ about his favourite comic heroes on the way. RJ reveals to him that he doesn’t really like Invincible all that much, and prefers cyberpunk comics, but keeps the poster up in his room because Michonne told him the series used to be my favourite.
“Helps him feel close to you,” Michonne says to me.
“Mom...” RJ complains, his face turning a deep plum colour.
She grins at us. I smile back. We watch RJ and Oliver chat for a few minutes as we cross the street.
“Michonne?” I whisper.
“M-hm.”
“What did Pamela mean earlier? About RJ’s medication?”
Michonne sighs, angrily. She looks at me, forcing a smile. “He’s asthmatic. Like Oliver. Only he suffers much worse...” This is a hard concept to picture in my head, which sends a nasty chill down my spine. “He takes three types of inhalers and two separate pills everyday. Otherwise, though, he lives a normal life.”
“And the medicine’s expensive here?”
She nods. “The pills, especially. They wouldn’t exist without this place. So, yeah, it’s expensive. But I make enough at the courthouse. He’ll be fine. He will.” She says that part more to herself.
I think of the old, outdated inhalers we have stored at the Sanctuary for Oliver, and the herbal remedies Negan has the workers manufacture to help with Oliver’s breathing. The same probably wouldn’t be enough to keep RJ well enough, especially if his condition is as bad as Michonne says.
I take her hand and squeeze it. We do what we have to do to protect the people we love. I get that more than she realises, I think.
“You’re married,” she says, lifting my hand to see the gold ring on my finger.
I smile, shrugging. “Not under God, but yeah.”
Michonne frowns, confused.
“We read our vows to each other out of some book Oliver found. No priest. No church. No witnesses. But it was all we had. It was nice.”
Michonne smiles. “Well maybe we can change that, have a real ceremony one day, right here?”
I get butterflies, a sharp excitement rising through my stomach and up into my chest. I look at her, grinning. “I’d like that...”
A young man I don’t recognise is talking to the others ahead in the street, his arms open, and a huge grin on his face.
“New people, right?” he cheers. “I love new people! Good to see you all again!”
They must’ve met him while I was looking for Michonne earlier. He makes a little motion with his hands like he wants them to create a space for himself to stand in, prompting Stephanie and Eugene to step aside for him. He puts a hand to his chest and cocks an eyebrow. As Michonne, Olivsre, RJ and I approach, I don’t fail to notice the guy’s eyes lingering on Connie, Yumiko, Magna, and Princess. Neither do they, by the way a few of them cross their arms over their chests.
“Terribly sorry,” he says. “When I saw you earlier, I was in a bit of a mood. I’m pretty great at making bad first impressions.” He turns instantly to Princess and snatches her by her hand. “And what is your name?”
She widens her eyes. “Uh… Princess?”
He kisses her glove. “Nice to meet you, Princess. I’m Governor Milton’s son, Sebastian. Why don’t I take you on a private tour?”
Princess laughs, then stops when she realises he’s serious. “Oh, thanks, but I’m good...” She gives a little tug of her hand, but isn’t let go of, so yanks. Sebastian stumbles a step. Princess has to resit her glove. “Definitely good…”
Sebastian grimaces. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Princess retorts sarcastically, “you’re excused.”
Sebastian chuckles dryly, glaring at her. “I know you’re new here, Princess, but I promise you, I make a much better ally than an enemy.”
“Yeah?” Princess asks, squaring up, jaw tight. “Well so do I...”
We don’t know Princess well at all, so none of us step in until Sebastian reaches for her again, this time grabbing her around the waist and twisting her against him roughly. In the short second she has to yell at him to let her go, he laughs, “You’re a feisty little girl, huh? You like this?” into her ear as he snakes his hand across her breast — Oliver shoves him off her.
“Back off, verme!”
“Que carajo!” Princess shouts, too, so outraged that she points her spear at Sebastian’s throat. Yumiko, Magna, and Kelly start shouting insults at Sebastian, too. Stephanie lets out a yelp and hides her face in Eugene’s shoulder.
“What the hell?!” Sebastian yells, looking at a few officers passing by. “Do something!”
The officers jump, realising who he is, I guess, and unclip their batons.
“Step away from him and put your spear on the ground!” one shouts at Princess.
“But the pendejo assaulted me!”
“Final warning, ma’am!”
Princess rolls her eyes and turns around to them. “You guys are gonna make me put my googles down, aren’t you?”
“Princess, no!” Michonne yells, pulling RJ behind herself.
Princess just shrugs. “Too late...”
Her goggles descend.
The first officer steps in, and before anyone can do anything to defuse the situation, Princess smacks him hard in the chest with the flat side of her spear. He jolts backwards and hits the ground with a grunt, clutching his middle. Sebastian tries to grab her but doesn’t even touch her before she says, “Sit down,” and shoves the handle-end of her spear against the centre of his sternum. The force of it throws him off his feet and he lands on his ass in a hedge.
“On your left!” Luke shouts.
Princess doesn’t even need to turn around. She ducks, then swings her spear handle against the charging officer’s calf and he spins in the air and lands flat on his face, stunned. Two more officers come running along the street then. One swings down on her, but she blocks his baton with her spear handle and then does this extraordinary thing with her body that I don’t quite know how to describe — her hips stay exactly still while her top half swings to the left and her leg swings the opposite way, through the officer’s shoulders, sending him flying round onto his hands and knees.
“Princess, please!” Yumiko shouts.
The last officer is too flustered to do much of anything, and just rubs his helmet in shock and confusion as Princess turns and swings her spear handle across his torso. He hurtles backwards, tripping over the previous officer, and they both crumple to a heap against the hedge Sebastian is still struggling to climb out of.
Oliver, Luke, Magna, and Kelly cheer. Yumiko, Eugene, and Stephanie look horrified. RJ bursts into a fit of laughter. I, too, find it difficult to keep my face still. Michonne is just looking up and down the street, anticipating more officers.
Princess gives a dramatic sigh to the groaning officers, raises her goggles once more on top of her head, and tuts. “You guys are wimps,” she says. “Seriously... I think your armour just slows you—”
Something silver glints past my head and hits Princess’ spear clean out of her fist. She stumbles back from the jolt of it, then turns to see who intervened. The rest of us all swivel around on the spot, too, any laughter dead. RJ lets out an audible gasp. Michonne grabs him and pulls him behind herself again.
“Mercer!” she gasps.
He approaches from the street, face deadpan, baton in hand.
“Don’t move,” he says to us in a low grumble.
“Arrest them!” Sebastian screams, clamouring messily from the hedge covered in leaves and twigs. “All of them!”
“Hmm.” Mercer glances down at him — down, because he’s a foot or more taller than us all. “Even the ones I saw standing around doing nothing?”
“I’m so sorry,” Michonne says, “this is all just a misunderstanding. I’m Judge Hawthorn. Sebastian, he assaulted this young woman and she defended herself. I saw the whole th—”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sebastian cries, swatting leaves off his sleeves. “I didn’t do shit!”
“I’m sorry, Sebastian!” Stephanie cries, rushing forward to help brush the dirt off him. “Let me—”
“Don’t touch me!” he bellows, and in one motion throws his palm across her cheek, sending her reeling into the side-walk. He points at Mercer. “That is what assault looks like!”
“Stephanie!” Eugene shouts, rushing to her. As he helps her to her feet, he glowers at Sebastian. “Why I ought’a...”
“No, don’t, please,” Stephanie sobs, clutching her jaw.
“Ought to what?” Sebastian growls. “I’m the Goddamn Governor’s son. One more word out of any of you and I’ll have you all banished. I mean you, too, Mercer! Everyone back the fuck off!”
We all do, picking up on the genuine fear in Stephanie, Michonne, and RJ’s faces.
Sebastian grins, raising his chin. “At least some of you are smart enough to understand the importance of knowing your place.”
It’s easy to understand what he means by this. It means that he believes we all owe him something, everything, perhaps. It means he sees his mother and himself as a source of security that he can abuse at his own will, and I get this strange feeling that I’m looking at the man Negan’s always wanted me to become, wanted Oliver to become, maybe the man Negan thinks we have become, and I close my hands to fists.
Sebastian turns away from us, pushing his grease-slicked hair out of his face.
Mercer breaks the tense silence. “Your mother lets you get away with a lot,” he says in a rational voice, “but you know she wouldn’t want you running around slapping our citizens for no reason.”
“No reason?” Sebastian asks in an accusing tone. “I did it to make a point. Like this...”
And Mercer doesn’t even flinch as Sebastian smacks him across the face, too. His head simply jolts to one side, his lip curls, and he looks back at Sebastian, slowly. It’s a disturbing sight to see this huge person allow something so humiliating to happen to him. He doesn’t even show any shock. He just stares down at Sebastian with one deep crease between his thick black eyebrows.
Sebastian hesitates a second then. He steps back and clears his throat. “And I… think that point’s been made… so... I’m going to leave.”
“I think that would be best,” Mercer replies, “for you...”
Sebastian walks away down the street. The officers are picking themselves up from the ground now, grunting in pain. A few other officers are appearing up and down the street now, too, but Mercer waves them away. Princess watches him dubiously, rubbing her neck. Mercer turns to us all. His eyes linger on Oliver for a beat longer than everyone else.
“The Commonwealth has more than a few bad apples,” he explains, “but thankfully, it’s a large city. You can go weeks without seeing that asshole. And, outside of here, I think we all know there’s a whole lot that can happen to you that’s worse than being slapped.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Luke grumbles, watching Eugene hug Stephanie’s shaking shoulders.
“Never said it did.” Mercer shrugs. “It’s just… one of the sacrifices we make.” He turns his head to look at Oliver again. “So now I think you understand the need to ‘blow off steam’ from time to time.”
Oliver watches him, then nods.
It feels good to get away from the officers.
Stephanie takes us an hour through the city, to a much louder area, with a nice, bustling, alive-feeling like back at the farmer’s market we’d passed a few hours ago. Now that people are fully awake and mobile, I get to see a bit of the ‘machine’ everyone keeps talking about. There’s a grocery store with customers and retailers, a library, and some sort of loud, warehouse-looking building that seemed to be manufacturing carriage parts. One street smells of cigarettes and food spices. A particular restaurant smells so enchanting that Oliver has to let go of my hand and tug on Princess’ sleeve to stop her from wandering in through the front door.
As we walk together, Princess bumps Oliver’s shoulder.
“Gracias,” she says, “for before. It’s been… a long time since I had anybody around to watch my back, or in this case, my boob.”
Oliver shrugs. “What are friends for?”
Princess beams at him, then jogs ahead to catch up with Yumiko and ask her what she’s going to do about decorating her new place.
Soon we finally arrive to Whitmore, a two storey block of motel-rooms. After being given their keys, Connie, Kelly, Magna, Luke, Eugene, and Princess head up to two dimly lit rooms with two single beds and a couch crammed inside. No bathroom or kitchen, just a bucket, stove, and kettle.
“Welcome to the new world,” Princess says, meeting some of us on the cat-walk outside, “where systematic oppression, classism, abuse of privilege, and most definitely racism still exists...”
Silently agreeing, we all frown in on the two rooms together, where Connie, Kelly, Magna, Luke, and Eugene are still looking around.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Stephanie says, “my place isn’t much better. Anywhere makes a home after long enough.”
“You know what? No,” Yumiko says angrily, motioning the others to come outside. “As Maxwell so impolitely likes to put it: That simply won’t do!”
We all watch her, either amused or confused. Yumiko smiles back, twiddling her own pair of shiny, silver keys in her hand.
“Who’s up for a sleepover?”
Stephanie and Michonne lead the way to Yumiko’s new address. We’re all growing tired now, after being awake all night and half the day, and we’re relieved it isn’t too far away, in a tall apartment block. We find her apartment inside. The place is much like Pamela described, a nice open studio room with just about enough space to fit us all inside. There’s a kitchen in one corner, a living space in another corner, a half wall and sleeping area in the third corner, and a bathroom.
“Wow,” Stephanie says, looking at a painting on the wall of a dancing woman.
“Better than your place, I’m guessing,” Magna says, glumly.
She nods.
Yumiko goes to the living room and skims through the DVDs. Magna and Connie admire the furniture. Princess, Kelly, and Luke are busy opening all the cupboards in the kitchen, which are filled with mugs and bowls and plates and cutlery and a little food. Stephanie and Eugene are looking at the ornaments on the coffee table. Michonne, RJ, Oliver, and I stand near the door, watching them all.
From a cupboard, Princess pulls out a large champagne bottle. “A drink anyone?”
After a half hour, all twelve of us are crammed either on the couch or on the floor around the coffee table. I’m a lot drunker than I think I should be after only two small glasses —I’d drank Oliver’s as he hasn’t drank since the day Dwight was executed— I guess it’s because I’m exhausted and running on an empty stomach.
Yumiko is working on fixing that, though, searching around her new kitchen for something to make with the help of Luke and Michonne.
Princess, sitting on the floor, looks like she’s having more fun than she’s had in her whole life. She apologises at one point for her behaviour with Sebastian, and says that her people-skills are a little rusty. She thanks us all for including her in all this, despite barely knowing her, especially considering it wasn’t even our choice to meet her in the first place.
Suddenly I think of all the other strangers I’ve ever met, and I flinch.
“Why were you alone so long?” I ask her, trying not to sound suspicious. “In Pittsburgh.”
She pulls an awkward face, like she might be embarrassed, and explains, “I never was great at making friends. People tend not to stick around, after long enough. I get it. I come on pretty strong. I’m pretty childish, and annoying. And then people became less and less common in general and eventually nobody was left at all. I got used to it. For the most part, I like my own company. When I turned up to the city last year I figured somebody else would show up eventually, but then days turned into months, and it was so... empty, and then I realised, it wasn’t all that different from before all this anyway.”
She looks at us all, and shrugs.
“One time somebody told me, ‘you’re hard to love’.” She shakes her head, smiling. “And I know it’s true… I don’t want it to be, but it is.”
We watch her.
“I have an all too familiar sense of how you feel,” Eugene says to her from across the coffee table, sitting on the floor beside Stephanie. “I’ve made poor decisions, lied to folk — the inevitable alternative meant... being left alone. No-one wants that.”
Princess nods, appreciatively.
Connie signs something to her.
Kelly translates, “She says, ‘Everybody deserves to be loved, including you’.”
“You’re nice people,” Princess says. “I’m glad I met you all.”
Finally, Yumiko and Luke carry over two full trays and hand us all a bowl of ramen each, a pair of chopsticks or a fork, and a mug of black, sugary coffee. We all eat without talking, filling the room with slurping and the occasional groan of pleasure.
“Oliver?” Michonne says after we finish our meal, helping me and Kelly clean up. “What was that earlier, with Mercer, about blowing off steam?”
“Oh, right,” Oliver says, sipping from his coffee mug. “I don’t know what to make of it yet, but I overheard him and one of his buddies talking about how they wanted the Governor’s whole family dead, or, at least how easy it’d be to let them die… something like that. I walked right in on them. Thought Mercer was gonna break my neck and mash my body in a locker for it.”
We all stare at him, our minds whirring, but it’s Stephanie who speaks first.
“He said he was blowing off steam, so he was blowing off steam. If anything, Mercer likes the way things are. You hear about it all the time. His whole life revolves around protecting Sebastian, and killing the infected.”
We wait for her to go on.
“Aside from incidents like today,” she says, “which are few and far between, the upper class doesn’t cause any trouble, especially not with the lower class like us — I mean, not you two, Ms. Otsuka and Madam. Hawthorn. Obviously.”
Michonne purses her lips.
Yumiko looks uncomfortable, too. “It’s really that black and white? I’m a lawyer so I’m upper class now? And you were all middle or lower class, or children, so you have to be treated like dogs and barely even given the time of day?”
“It is that simple here,” Stephanie explains. “You and Madam. Hawthorn are assets, Ms. Otsuka. The rest of us are expendable. It’s how it is. It’s why this place works.”
Magna sighs through her teeth. “Glad I didn’t tell them I did time for murdering my niece’s rapist.”
We all look at her in surprise.
Michonne narrows her eyes. “Knew I recognised that tattoo…”
Magna shrugs and looks at the five dots beside her thumb. She takes Yumiko’s hand. “It’s how we met. Miko was my lawyer.”
“Well, I assume you served your time,” Michonne says. “So you don’t have to worry about Pamela.”
Magna seems to appreciate this.
“Should’ve told that witch I was a straight-A student or something,” Kelly says. “Maybe it would’ve gotten us something better than a bucket to wash in.”
Stephanie chews her lip awkwardly. “Once a year you can apply to change work assignments, if you want a better income, try to work your way up the ladder. I guess the Governor gave you that dingy motel because, well... you’re not exactly paying yet.”
“Oh, yeah, our bad.” Kelly laughs. “We didn’t realise that after spending almost a decade fighting for our lives that we’d be expected to pay for our stay here, after our lives were threatened, after we were insulted, after one of us was beaten half to death.”
“I’m just saying,” Stephanie says, “it’s not all that different from what we had before. I mean, just be glad we don’t pay taxes… yet. See, you, Oliver, and Carl wouldn’t understand all that because you were only children when the sky fell and the old world died.”
I can’t disagree. I was never aware of my parent’s financial situation, or our class as a family. I can only guess that not being aware of it is probably a sign of my past privilege. My home was big and comfortable. Not like the homes in Alexandria, obviously, but big enough to always have places to play. Mom was a housewife, Dad was a police officer, and we didn’t buy a lot of fancy or material things, sure, but I remember we always had enough food on the table to never know hunger, and clean clothes on our backs, warm beds to sleep in, and enough money to buy fun things every now and then like a new comic book or a rented movie.
Oliver, as quiet as me, seems to feel something similar.
Kelly, on the other hand, stands up, their face all twisted in anger.
“What are you talking about?!” they tell Stephanie, signing it, too. “Of course I understand! My parents were poor as shit. Our whole family was. Sometimes there were weeks when we had to live off peanut-butter sandwiches ‘cause it was the only way we’d get to pay rent that month. My dad —he worked hard, his whole life, and you know what happened to him one time? He was coming home from his second job one night, and some cops beat him half to death for a crime he didn’t commit. Cops swore he was the right guy, said ‘he looked the type’. Dad only didn’t serve time because one random old lady at the last minute comes forward with security footage outside her apartment showing the original crime. My dad looked nothing like the real perpetrator. All the cop had to say was ‘we got lucky’. And five years later, we hear the same guy was fired for murdering a black kid for ‘acting suspicious’. Turns out, kid was autistic, and didn’t respond quickly enough to the cop’s demands.”
Stephanie shakes her head. “Look at who you’re talking to, Kelly,” she says, gesturing to herself and Michonne. “You don’t need to tell us about the unfair disadvantages of our people, before or after the sky fell!”
“Then why do I have to explain this to you at all?” Kelly argues. “Nobody is looking out for us here. That stupid ladder you’re spouting on about? It was and is... rigged. You can climb as long as you want, as hard as you can... you ain’t getting nowhere. Sebastian said it best, right? It’s important we know our place.”
“It sounds… bad,” Michonne admits. “We can’t defend it—”
“We can,” Stephanie argues. “A class system, well…”
“It’s unavoidable,” Eugene says.
“Don’t speak for her!” Kelly hisses, slumping in their seat again.
Eugene purses his lips, then looks at Stephanie, waiting.
“It is unavoidable,” she admits. “As we get closer and closer to rebuilding civilisation, these customs are —I hate to say it, but— an inescapable part of life.”
Yumiko sighs at us all. “It’s better than back in Virginia. It’s better than being barely more than a slave... or manipulated into being a Savior.”
“That may be true,” Oliver says, “but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still try to build something better. The Commonwealth isn’t as good as it can get. It can’t be.” And I can see how much he needs it to be true, too. For the last nine years, it’s the only hope he’s held on to.
Yumiko sighs.
“It’s no use speculating,” Eugene says. “Carl... Oliver... we need to get out of here, by tomorrow, or our necks are on the line. Your sister,” he adds to me.
I glance at Michonne, who nods, telling me with her eyes to go with it, so I do.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Yeah,” Oliver, too.
“I’ll talk to Pamela in the morning,” Michonne says, to placate Eugene.
“Thank you,” he says bitterly. “And you, Michonne, should prepare for if Negan finds out you and your son are here.”
“Why? Are you gonna tell him?” Michonne growls, through her teeth.
Eugene gulps, then shakes her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Just worry about yourself. I can take care of my family just fine.”
Connie yawns then.
It sets the rest of us off, too.
“It’s barely the afternoon,” Stephanie chuckles.
“We were up all night,” Princess explains.
“You should all get some rest,” Michonne says. “Thank you for the food, Ms. Otsuka, and the drink.”
“Oh, call me Yumiko.”
Michonne smiles. “Then call me Michonne.”
Yumiko nods to her. “Okay. Looking forward to working with you, Michonne.”
“You, too. Maybe we can all meet up again, later tonight, after you’re all rested?”
Yumiko smiles. “I’d love that.” She turns to her friends. So, you all staying?”
Connie, Kelly, Magna, and Luke nod gratefully.
“Princess, Euge… you guys can stay, too, if you like?” Yumiko offers.
“Thank you,” Princess says, and her eyes begin to water.
Eugene hesitates. “I...”
“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to stay at mine,” Stephanie says. “I have to get back to work, but my bed will be empty all afternoon if you want it? And I’ve got a couch-bed, if you want to stay longer?”
Eugene looks both thrilled and a little disappointed at the same time. “Thank you kindly.”
“Later, guys,” Oliver says as the six of us leave.
Out on the street, Michonne, Oliver, RJ, and I head one way while Eugene and Stephanie head the other. Once they’re out of earshot, Michonne sighs exasperatedly.
“I do not miss that...” The curse word forms, but she stops just in time, remembering RJ is listening. “...man.”
Oliver and I give her sympathetic looks.
Michonne shakes her head, clearing it. “It’s no use going round in circles about this. It’s clear, for now at least, that the only choice we have is for the Commonwealth to take control of the Saviors. We need Negan here, on trial, and Judith, Carol, and the rest of the communities back in Virginia freed. We can figure out what to do about improving the way of life here after that’s done.”
“Agreed,” Oliver says. “I think as soon as we capture or kill all the Saviors who show up with Negan, and get him back here, Carl and I should use one of Negan’s trucks to drive back to Virginia as soon as possible. It’s the best chance we have to get Judith and Carol somewhere safe, in case any Saviors back home start getting ideas about where Negan’s gone.”
“Do you think they’ll just let you into the Sanctuary?” Michonne asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “That part will be easy. It’ll be explaining why we’re alone that will make people suspicious.”
“Then Mercer and the officers will follow you in the other trucks,” Michonne says. “Say he’s in one of them. They won’t be able to tell from far away right? Nor will any patrols in the area while you drive there, right? You can get Judith out before any music starts. You can go find Carol, too, at her cottage? And get folks at Alexandria involved, too, right?”
Oliver and I nod.
“I think so,” one of us or both say.
“What do w...w-e do about Eugene?” I ask.
“Distract him. I’ll think of something for you all to do tomorrow, to buy me more time with Pamela.”
“We aren’t talking to her with you?”
“Trust me,” Michonne says, “she won’t hear a word from either of you. I have to do it alone. I’ll get her to figure out a plan to take down Negan when he arrives in four days. Eugene will come around, once he realises Negan’s going down.”
“He will,” Oliver says. “He’s not loyal to him. He’s only afraid of him.”
Michonne nods and takes a breath.
Oliver and I take a moment to let our plan sink in, too.
Then RJ takes my hand as we cross a road, which practically threatens to turn the air in my lungs to helium. I swear I only don’t float away by chance. Michonne exchanges a grin with me while RJ’s not looking.
“Mom?” RJ asks at one point close to their home.
“Yes, baby...”
“What’s taxes?”
Notes:
If you couldn’t tell, Stephanie is actually just Stephanie from the comics. No spy secret identity. No working with Lance. Just Eugene’s soulmate.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 27: III: The Artichoke
Summary:
The gang is invited to a formal dinner to the best restaurant in the city, food fit for kings — with heavily classist undertones.
Notes:
My favourite chapter ever, ever. Basically just pretty twinkly stuff and fluff, because we all deserve it before shit hits the fan. Also I’ve been spelling Michonne’s surname wrong for the last three chapters, my bad…
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Michonne allows us to use her bed for the rest of the day, which, honestly, is the best sleep I’ve had since I was a teenager. Oliver and I sleep so well that we’re not aware at all that she and RJ are still here in the house at all, going about their Friday evening together as normal. We sleep until the sun has set across the city.
The soft sound of a shower running wakes me.
Reaching out, I feel an empty space beside me where Oliver had been, still warm. I get out of bed, wearing just my boxers because I can’t seem to find my clothes, or Oliver’s, so I leave the room in search. Michonne and RJ must be out, because they don’t answer me when I call out for them across the house.
I find a note on the fridge:
‘Gone to the laundromat
back in an hour.’
It explains the lack of our clothes. Across the room, steam is trickling out of the bathroom through the thin gap under the door. I can tell Oliver is inside because he’s singing, his voice sweet and soft…
‘Al di là, del bene piu prezioso, ci sei tu,
Al di là, del sogno piu ambizioso, ci sei tu,
Where you walk flowers bloom,
When you smile all the gloom turns to sunshine,
And my heart opens wide,
When you're gone it fades inside and seems to have died...’
Smiling to myself, I knock and step into the bathroom when Oliver tells me I can. I watch him standing there all soapy under the shower flow with the glass doors fogged with steam and water droplets. I get an aching urge to draw him, which hasn’t happened in years.
“I missed showers, man,” he tells me.
“I can tell. This is the second one you’ve had today.”
He laughs. “All decade, actually...”
He kicks the glass door gently so it opens, and gestures me to join him. I’m clean, since we both showered when we got here, but I pull off my boxers eagerly anyway. Oliver stands out of the flow to let me under. The hot water is as magical as it was hours ago. While I’m distracted, Oliver kisses me between my shoulders, trailing his hand around my midriff, and then he steps out of the shower. I turn to grab him, but he’s too quick.
“Come back.”
He smirks at me, something deliberate about the way he bends over to pick up his towel. I blow out through my cheeks, suffering. He catches me staring and laughs.
“Control yourself,” he tells me in a commanding tone, and with a little shiver, I turn back to the shower, only stealing occasional glances back at him as he dries himself. At some point he says, “I heard already that you were peeping in the locker room.”
“Was not!”
“Calm down. I already know you’re secretly a pervert anyway. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
I laugh, scrubbing with a bar of soap that smells like flowers. “In my defence, those officers are… unusually toned.”
“Unusually toned?”
“Yeah. These guys must eat really well. Well enough to actually bulk up, at least. Unlike us.”
Oliver laughs. “I guess we are pretty scrawny compared to most of the people around here.”
“We’re a little shorter, too. Have you noticed?”
He frowns, realising the effects of our long-term malnutrition. He begins to brush his teeth at the sink with a spare toothbrush Michonne offered us to share. I get out a few minutes later.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I like our height. And our scrawniness.”
Oliver smirks. He rinses his mouth and passes the toothbrush to me, but it’s difficult to brush my teeth when he settles down on his knees at my feet. He tugs my towel, letting it come loose and fall to the bathmat, and then, gazing up at me —his eyes all big and confident— he begins to eat me whole from the waist up…
Later, when we’ve changed into a pair of spare underwear each that we brought in our duffel bag, we find a few cardigans and baggy sweatpants that fit us from Michonne’s wardrobe to wear while we wait for her and RJ to return.
Michonne has a cat, we realise, because it climbs in through the open window while Oliver and I are sitting quietly on the couch together. It’s a handsome, tuxedo cat with big, yellow eyes and four little white paws. It stops to look at us, then wearily goes over to its food bowl in the corner of the kitchen. Oliver coaxes it over eventually. It meows and rubs itself under our ankles.
We look around at the sound of the door unlocking.
RJ bounds inside the house, followed by Michonne carrying a few paper bags.
“Ah, you’ve met Beau.”
“Oh,” Oliver moans, “do not tell me that is short for rainbow.”
“It’s not,” Michonne says, and points at him, “but it should be.”
I laugh. Oliver grins at the cat, already in love. Michonne cocks her eyebrow then, finding it funny that we’ve had to wear her clothes. She hands me the bag with mine and Oliver’s newly cleaned clothes inside, then passes me a different bag as well. I look inside to see some dress shirts, new pants, ties, and smart shoes. I give her a confused look.
“These, too,” Michonne says, passing Oliver and I a razor each, along with a can of shaving cream, some aftershave, and a little bottle of cologne. “You’ll need it all, for tonight.”
“What’s happening tonight?” Oliver asks.
Michonne hands us a small rectangular card. “Was in my mail slot when I left.”
Oliver and I read it.
‘Il Carciofo
Madam. Hawthorne & +3
Ms. Otsuka reservation, balcony table
Oct 29th – 8pm
A carriage will arrive to pick you up at 7:30pm
Signed: Governor. P Milton’
“Il Carciofo?” Oliver asks with an Italian accent. “We’re dining out?”
“We are,” Michonne says uncomfortably. “It’s… actually the best restaurant in the city. We’ve never been there before.”
“Mom doesn’t like it there,” RJ says, when he sees the questioning look on my face. “Even though she could go whenever she wanted, ‘cause she’s a judge.”
“And why don’t I like it there?” Michonne asks him.
“Because you think it’s a waste of food,” RJ answers in a tone like she’s explained this before, “which should go to other people in the city who need it more.”
“That’s right.” Michonne purses her lips, a crease between her eyebrows.
“If you don’t want to go, then wh...wh-y are we?” I ask.
“Because the Governor invited us,” Michonne answers. “And we can’t say no to someone like her...”
We have thirty minutes, so Oliver and I shave in the bathroom while Michonne gets ready upstairs in her room. When we’re done, Oliver and I change into our new smart clothes. When we come out again, Michonne is waiting for us in the living room dressed in a long, black dress, with an embroidered shawl over her shoulders, and makeup on her eyes and lips. She does mine and Oliver’s ties for us, then folds Oliver’s sleeve for him to make it look smart above the base of his prosthetic.
RJ comes downstairs wearing a collar-shirt, sweater, and khaki pants. Michonne grins at him and tucks his shirt in, to his embarrassment.
“I would offer you some make-up for your bruises, Carl, but I don’t have anything in your shade.”
“It’s fine.” I smile, licking the cut on my lip. “Least the swelling’s down.”
Suddenly, Oliver and I wince at a loud bell.
“It’s just the front door,” RJ says.
I clear my throat, embarrassed. Oliver sneers, elbowing me.
RJ answers the door, rushing these before MIchonne has the chance. “Hello?” he says in a formal voice. “Hawthorne residence…” — Oliver and I look at Michonne and she grins back proudly, mouthing, “He thinks he’s grown,” to us.
“Madam. Hawthorne’s carriage is here,” a voice I don’t recognise says from outside. “When you’re ready.”
“One minute, thank you,” RJ says and shuts the door.
“Alright,” Michonne says, and gestures for RJ to get his shoes on. “Ready?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
We leave the house.
“Later, Beau,” RJ calls back while Michonne shuts and locks the door behind us.
Downstairs, out in the street, the night is warm, unlike the chill it’s been over the last few days. The night’s sky is clear, too, but less stars than normal, perhaps even less than under the smog-cloud back at the Sanctuary, considering this place’s light pollution. It’s a relief the last few days of fall-rain have let up.
An officer is waiting for us outside. He motions us to follow him. A few passers-by watch us curiously as we’re led to a large carriage parked around the corner, pulled by four, large, grey Shires and driven by an elderly woman wrapped in scarves, who nods to us. The four of us climb into the carriage. Eugene and Stephanie are already inside. I guess we were all given an invitation. Muted greetings are exchanged as we all sit down. The carriage moves off with clopping hives and rattling wheels.
We’re driven to Yumiko’s flat. The light is on upstairs and I can see figures moving through the balcony doors. The officer jumps off the carriage-back and rings Yumiko’s doorbell.
After a moment, the light in her apartment goes out and then a minute later Yumiko, Kelly, Connie, Magna, Luke, and Princess come outside. They’re brought over to the carriage. We greet them.
“Wow,” Princess says, “you guys look great. We’re underdressed.”
“Nobody can blame you,” Stephanie says.
“We’re not worried,” Kelly says, bitterly. “Maxwell delivered our invite, told us himself we couldn’t refuse, given how ‘grateful’ we are for the Commonwealth’s hospitality.” They roll their eyes.
“Well, the good thing is Pamela probably won’t even be there,” Michonne points out.
“She won’t?” Magna asks.
Michonne gives an indifferent shrug.
Connie signs something.
“Rich people are weird,” Luke agrees.
Yumiko shows us her invite, similar to ours, except it says, ‘Ms. Otsuka & +5’. “She didn’t even write their names.” She pockets the invite again and explains that Maxwell also delivered other things, including an ID card with her name, date of birth, gender, and job role. “It’s all happening very fast.”
“It is,” Michonne says, “we’ve been waiting for someone like you for a while. Pamela’s had the whole apartment ready and waiting for over a year now.”
Magna’s lip curls. “That’s disgusting. A whole, empty apartment, for that long? When there’s a family of four in our block sharing one room?”
Michonne nods. “And there are more empty places just like it all over the city. I’ve sent her letters concerning this all before, and spoken to her in person, but she’s always found a way to brush me off.”
“People like me,” Yumiko says absently, “‘assets’.”
“They’re trying to rebuild civilisation, after all,” Magna says in a bored tone.
“I’m getting sick of that word,” Kelly moans.
I feel the same way. The word has a weight to it now, like something looming.
Oliver clears his throat. “What else did Maxwell give you?”
“A job contract that I still need to sign,” Yumiko answers, “and a letter explaining where I’ll be working, my team, the judges, yourself included,” she adds to Michonne, “and the other practices. Uh, there was a map, an outlay of the Commonwealth’s customs and rules and general schedules in better detail... along with a list of ‘special privileges’ I get at my tier of employment…” She bites her thumb, looking uncomfortable. “Oh, and I was given some money in the letter, too. An advance, I suppose.”
“So,” Eugene asks, “what are these special privileges?”
Yumiko shrugs. “Not totally sure yet.”
“It’s for things the Commonwealth deem ‘valuable’,” Michonne explains, “like VIP access to communal sports games, clubs, or events, bookings at fancy restaurants, expensive theatre tickets, free carriage rides across the city... skipping waiting lists for rare ingredients or items... or medical treatments.”
“And everyone else has to pay for those?” Oliver asks, eyebrows arched. “For medical treatment? And carriage rides?”
Yumiko sighs. I look past RJ to the street passing by, pedestrian side-walks lit by small, dim, solar-lamps, a carriage parked beside a curb, its horse asleep with a rested hoof and its driver smoking nearby, pigeons crooning on rooftops, and a few twinkling stars in the sky.
I notice that our carriage doesn’t travel more than one street at a time without spotting at least a pair of officers patrolling together.
When Oliver notices this, too, he asks about it, and Luke says and signs, “Well, we actually read in Miko’s community pamphlet that most of the guards inside the city are trainees. The more experienced guards run missions outside to keep the area clear.”
Princess chuckles. “That explains why it was so easy to kick their butts before.”
Connie signs and Kelly translates out loud: “Watching that was the most fun I’ve had in days. I wish I’d had popcorn—” Connie spots a camera store as we pass it by. “—or a camera!”
Princess laughs, looking thrilled. “Well, thank you.” She signs ‘thank you’ to Connie at the same time. “I do try.”
We sit in the carriage for a while longer, watching the city scenery go by. We’re approaching a part of the Commonwealth that looks a lot more extravagant than anywhere we’ve seen yet, with elaborately shaped hedges, paved picnic areas, swept streets, and tall, pre-Turn looking buildings. There are less pedestrians, too, but any we do see are wearing silk evening gowns or suit-jackets.
“We’re here,” Stephanie says airily, her mouth open.
I turn to the other window to see the restaurant. It’s a large, two-storey, white-brick building, with black, glossy, window frames and a plaque that reads, ‘Il Carciofo’ in cursive above the door. The door itself is large and painted white in the centre of three, large, glass archways, lit by symmetrical dripping candles with brass basins under them to catch the wax.
The twelve of us get out of the carriage. Through the windows, the restaurant seems to glow a warm candlelight-gold colour from the inside out. Light twinkles off the white, marble floors and walls, and even spreads faintly across the side-walk outside. The sheer beauty of it all puts a lump in my throat.
I’ve never seen anything like this.
A clerk spots us from inside and meets us at the door, wearing a black suit and her hair tied back in a neat bun. A small broach of a glass artichoke is pinned to her collar. She looks at us all, puzzled. Her nose wrinkles when she notices my face and Oliver’s amputation. He puts it behind his back. Because of this, I take his hook in my hand and hold it at our sides.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asks Michonne, spotting how she fits in here the most out of us all.
“We have a reservation.”
The clerk cocks an eyebrow a tiny bit. “For... all of you?”
Forcing a smile, Michonne pulls Pamela’s invite out from her purse. Yumiko and Eugene, too. The clerk takes them all, makes a small hum, and then hands back our invitations, smiling now and offering us a polite bow.
“Right this way...”
She quickly retrieves twelve folded pieces of paper, which I guess are menus, from a desk by the door, tucks them under her arm, and then leads the way through the restaurant. We all follow while the officer who brought us here goes back to the carriage.
The clerk casts a hand over her shoulder. “Ms. Otsuka, you and your guests are going to be seated upstairs on the terrace. It’s the best table in all the Commonwealth. The view is perfect on nights like tonight...”
I stop listening after a moment. I realise I was wrong before — the restaurant doesn’t have two floors, but instead just has an unusually tall ceiling, decorated only by the huge, crystal chandelier hanging in the centre, in the shape of a giant, glistening artichoke.
I almost trip from staring up at it for so long. Oliver chuckles at me.
“Questo è il carciofo…” he whispers, pointing up.
“This is the — what?” I ask, not understanding the last word.
“The restaurant’s name,” Oliver mumbles, “it’s ‘the artichoke’.”
I huff, surprised I didn’t realise sooner.
The clerk clears her throat impatiently because it isn’t only Oliver and I who are distracted, but quickly smiles when we all turn our attention to her again. She holds an arm out in the direction of the staircase at the other side of the room. “This way...”
I take Oliver’s hand this time, instead of his hook. We all go up the stairs. There’s a half-way floor on the way up that has a small landing over the kitchen with two doors, one for the women’s restroom and the other for the men’s —I notice Kelly roll their eyes to Connie when they see this— then, after the turn, up the other half of stairs, we’re able to get out through another glass door to the outdoor balcony area. A few other diners are out here. The clerk wasn’t lying about the view. We can see what looks like all of the Commonwealth from where we stand…
All the twinkling lights and the view of the clear, starry, night sky above it stuns us all for a moment.
Some of us cover our mouths, others gasp.
Oliver squeezes my hand.
Thankfully, Michonne was right, and Pamela isn’t joining us tonight.
We all take our seats around a large table beside the balcony, and the clerk sets our menus in front of us. Cutlery and napkins are already laid out in front of our seats, all in particular places. Some other waiters pour us each a glass of sparkling water from a jug that they eventually leave in the middle of the table. They fill our smaller of two wine glasses with white wine — Oliver declines his on being filled at all— then they leave two bottles in an ice bucket on a stand next to the table for us to refill ourselves. I don’t know why we’ll need more than one wine glass, let alone so many sets of knives, forks, and spoons. Another two bottles of wine are brought over to our table. Red this time, which, I guess, is what the bigger wine glass is for.
“A toast!” Luke says, raising his newly filled glass of wine.
We all raise our glasses —Oliver’s, of course, water— even Magna and Kelly. RJ pours his glass of orange juice into one of Michonne’s clean wine glasses, with her permission, and raises it with a thrilled giggle.
Luke takes a breath, grins, and then declares, “To Yumiko’s new job... and this bomb-ass food we are all about to eat!”
We cheer, clinking our glasses to whoever we can reach, and then we all drink and gradually fall into a broad discussion over what we’re going to choose on the menu. Three courses is a lot of food. It’s pretty overwhelming to realise we’re all expected to eat it in one go. People begin musing over the bruschetta, the ossobuco, the gnocchi, the risotto, the rabbit pappardelle, and even the pepperoni pizza. Magna and Kelly, however, decide not to pick anything more than a salad for their mains.
“Are you sure?” Yumiko asks them both.
Magna crosses her arms defensively. “Doesn’t feel right.”
“That food could go to anyone else in this city,” Kelly seconds, “anyone who needs it. Ain’t nothing any more special about us than them.”
Stephanie scoffs and says, “Amen to that. I live off pasta and butter most days. Consider me as one of those people in need, please! And in any case, you all seem to have skinny enough asses to deserve this all, too, from what I can see…” She cranes her neck, glancing obviously at Kelly’s butt.
Kelly chuckles at this, even though they try not to. Even Magna seems to relax her shoulders a little. Connie notices, and seizes the opportunity to lean over and point to part of the menu, signing something.
“Look, that’s right!” Yumiko says. “They have ice cream. You’re not even going to eat the evil people’s ice cream?”
Kelly and Magna give them sceptical glances, but despite themselves, sidle their chairs a little closer to Connie’s menu to read what she’s pointing to.
“Three flavours...” Magna mumbles. “Hmm...”
The mood at the table lifts, and with that, Michonne catches the attention of a hovering waiter who carefully writes down all our orders in a little flip-book.
“Thank you,” Yumiko says when the waiter is finished while another waiter goes around the table to rearrange our cutlery according to our orders.
“Your starters will be with you soon.”
As the waiters leave across the dining area and disappear through the glass door inside the restaurant, I look around our table, watching the others chat and enjoy themselves.
“I never thought I’d get to eat at a place like this,” Stephanie says. “Look at that view...”
“I know,” Michonne says. “Governor Milton is definitely trying her best to impress you, Yumiko.”
It’s at this point that Yumiko seems to find herself exceedingly thirsty. She pours herself another wine glass, emptying the bottle, and finishes the new glass in moments. Instantly, another waiter appears and offers her another bottle — “Ooh. Yes, please. Thank you.”
“So,” Eugene says to Michonne and Stephanie, in a forced, civil voice, “have you two met each other before? Erm, seen each other around?”
Michonne and Stephanie shake their heads. Michonne seems to only be acknowledging him at all because she doesn’t want to be rude.
“You both have lived here for so long and haven’t ever met?” Yumiko asks.
“It’s a big city,” Michonne says. “Too big to know everyone.”
The food arrives. It’s magical, despite the context lying beneath it all. Just the starter is about as much as I’d usually eat in a day —which is more than most even at the Sanctuary— so by the time I’m half way through my main course, I’m already full. Oliver and I can barely even touch our dessert when it’s served, but when we’re told the food will go to waste if we don’t eat it we force ourselves through until our stomachs hurt. Oliver, looking very green, has to rush off to the toilet at one point, and comes back several minutes later looking guilty. I rub his back discreetly while he recovers quietly in his seat beside me. Magna and Kelly, who had enough forethought to share their desert, slurp up the last of their melted ice cream happily.
We all stay at Il Carciofo until almost eleven PM, recovering from our food fatigue. After that, we’re all dropped off home. Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Luke, and Princessleave the carriage first at Yumiko’s new apartment —all of them helping to lug a very drunk Yumiko up the steps and into the elevator— then Michonne, Oliver, RJ, and I to Michonne’s place.
“Remember to speak to the Governor in the morning,” Eugene reminds Michonne as we all climb out of the carriage. “About us leaving. We can’t wait. We have to leave by sunset tomorrow, latest...”
Michonne nods to him, grinding her teeth, and as the carriage drives off with Eugene and Stephanie inside, Michonne turns to us and rolls her eyes. “Have I said I’m sick of him yet?”
RJ giggles. I put my arm over his shoulder and smile, a little tipsy. We go inside. Beau meows happily as he hurries over to greet us. Oliver and I are going to sleep on Michonne’s couch for the night. It’s much more comfortable than the single bed back home, even if it’s about the same amount of space. Once we’re all ready for bed, Michonne hugs us both goodnight, one at a time, tightly. RJ bumps our fists —a trick Oliver taught him over dinner— then carries Beau upstairs to his bedroom.
“Night,” Michonne says to us. “I’ll talk to Pamela in the morning.”
Oliver and I nod.
“We’ll take care of RJ,” I say.
“Thank you.”
“Night, Michonne,” Oliver says.
She holds our hands tenderly and only lets go at the last possible moment as she steps away and disappears upstairs. Oliver and I stand there in the living room on our own for several seconds, breathing it all in, this whole crazier than crazy day, until I take his hand and gently pull him to the couch.
Notes:
Damn. Four and a half chapters for ONE day.
The cat, Beau, because Mich’s rainbow cat needed a full arc, plus I felt bad for not including Scab or her kittens. Or Bean, for that matter. Fun fact: I called the cat Beau BEFORE I realised it was short for rainbow. This is what I mean when I say I have no real control over what happens in these chapters. I wanted Oliver to have two hands until death. I want Carl to have a full flowing head of hair. I wanted Enid to live. But it just WASN’T ALLOWED here. Wish writing original fiction was as easy.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 28: III: What He Did
Summary:
Oliver and Carl are forced to confront Eugene over his long history of betrayal.
Notes:
Life sucks. I had to delay organising top surgery because I'm fucking broke. Uploading a chapter to cope. Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Saturday morning, Oliver and I wake up to find Michonne already gone.
She left a letter on the fridge:
‘Big surprise for you all today.
Should keep Eugene distracted.
Meet everyone at Yumiko’s, 11AM. She’ll take it from there.
Love, M x
PS. Make sure RJ showers and brushes his teeth before you go.
& no candy for breakfast, even if he says it’s allowed. (it isn’t!)’
We get ready and meet everyone at Yumiko’s for the surprise, which turns out to be a football game — best seats in the whole stadium. Eugene is over the moon, and sees it as a perfect way to end our stay here, and neither of us are going to correct him.
It’s been so long since I played any sports that I don’t remember the rules well, but still, being here in person among the cheering, chattering crowd, watching the shoving, knocking, and sprinting players, it has a magic to it, just like Lance said it would. I bring RJ up onto my shoulders and he swings around a big, foam, pointing hand for his favourite team.
“This is so great!” Princess cries, howling and raising her arms after a touch-down.
“Okay,” Kelly says, signing to Connie, “I’ll admit, this is kinda cool.”
“Yeah,” Magna admits.
Yumiko laughs. Luke and Connie smile at them. Eugene and Stephanie begin shouting down at the players, who are all suddenly piling on top of each other to get the ball. Luke smacks Oliver’s back and they cheer. RJ sings along to the winning team’s anthem, hugging my head to keep balanced and blocking my view with his foam hand.
Michonne still isn’t back by the time the football game is over in the afternoon.
Stephanie goes home while Princess, Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, and Luke go back to Yumiko’s, and Eugene, RJ, Oliver, and I head to the city hall. Inside, the receptionist at the foyer desk tells us Pamela is in a meeting.
“Yes,” Eugene says, “we know. As a matter of fact, the meeting concerns us. And the issue with that is that we need to be getting going somewhere within the next few hours. So, is there any way we can go and speak to them now, before our time runs out?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“It’s been hours. Do you know when they’ll be done?”
“No.”
“Then I think we’ll just wait here.”
“Sir, you can’t do that. The seating area is for those with scheduled appointments. You’ll all have to wait outside. Excuse me…” As the receptionist gets on with some paperwork, the three of us look at each other, anxiously.
We go outside.
“We probably shouldn’t wait around here too long,” RJ says.
“Why not?” Oliver asks him.
RJ glances at a pair of officers coming down the street on patrol.
“They don’t like loiterers…” he whispers.
I take a steep breath, rubbing at the bruises on my ribs.
“Come on,” Oliver says, “let’s go back to your mom’s and wait there.”
“I need to pack,” Eugene says. “You two should start on it, too. I’ll meet you at Michonne’s. If she’s not back before sundown, we’ll just need to get our horses and go.”
“Eugene...”
“Don’t worry. I talked to Stephanie. People are allowed to come and go as they please, and the horses are ours, so they should have no reason to stop us, especially since by the time Pamela finds out, she’ll understand why we’d have needed to leave.”
We nod as Eugene goes, then head our own way.
RJ glances up at me. “You aren’t telling Eugene you’re not leaving today.”
“We’re not. Thank you f…f-or not saying anything,” I tell him.
Oliver nudges RJ to get his attention. “Eugene doesn’t have the full picture in his head,” he tells him. “We need to stay here. He’s afraid to, is all.”
“Of Negan?”
Oliver and I look at each other.
“Yeah,” I say.
RJ looks up at me. “Because he killed our dad…”
“Yeah,” I say again. “Let’s get back...”
Michonne gets back an hour later dressed in a formal suit. Oliver and I stand up instantly to face her. She sets her keys on the side. She turns to look at us.
“Pamela agreed.”
“She did?” I ask.
Michonne nods.
Oliver laughs nervously, grabbing my hand. Michonne gestures for us to take seats on the couch. RJ joins us. Michonne stands on the other side of the coffee table, thinking for a few moments with her fingertips pressed to her lips.
Eventually, she explains, “She’s organising a large troop to wait at the station to ambush the Saviors when they arrive. They’re most likely going to get here on Wednesday earliest, if they’re driving, like you said they would, but she’s having a small rotation of troops out there twenty-four-seven from now on, and then upping it to full-sized squadrons by Monday. Patrols are going to increase around the nearby areas from today, too, to keep an eye out.”
“How can Carl and I help?” Oliver asks.
Michonne shakes her head, hesitantly. “She’s keeping it just to Mercer and his best officers for now.”
“What?” Oliver blurts.
“But w...w-e are Saviors,” I second. “Or, I mean, we know how they work. You said it yourself, the Commonwealth’s never fought in a war. We should at least be involved in planning one.”
“I was angry about it, too,” Michonne says, “I explained your experience with them, but Pamela insisted on the two of you not interfering, in any way. She thinks you’ll only complicate things.”
“Complicate things?” I ask. “Things are already complicated.”
“She thinks we’ll make it too personal.”
“It is personal,” Oliver insists. “Negan’s only coming here for us.”
Michonne gives us a knowing look.
“We just have to sit tight,” she says, “their plan should work. They’ll wait for Negan, capture him and the Saviors, bring as many of them in alive as they can, and then you both can take one of their trucks back to get—”
She looks at the door when we hear a dull thump outside it.
“What was that?”
I shrug, not bothered about it, until suddenly I remember—
“Eugene...”
Oliver rushes to the front door and opens it. Michonne and I go to it, too, and look out across the street to see Eugene rushing away.
“Eugene!” Michonne shouts.
He startles and spins on the spot.
He glares.
He turns and breaks into a run.
His horse, Peach Pit, is hitched to a nearby post with Eugene’s duffel tied to its rump. Eugene mounts up messily, then trots off along the street, almost losing balance as he squints back at us. He and the horse disappear out of sight into the next block.
“Shit!” I hiss, slapping the door frame. “He heard us. He’s going back to warn Negan.”
“Get your gun, man,” Oliver barks at me, already running around the house and yanking on his boots.
“It’s Eugene,” I say, almost laughing. “We’re not gonna shoot him.”
“He’ll tell Negan everything!” Oliver shouts at me, pushing my Colt Python in its holster into my hands. “About Michonne, and RJ. And you know who’ll pay the price for it if we’re not there to…”
Judith...
“We can’t take any chances,” Oliver hisses.
I watch him and I nod. “Let’s go.”
Since the Commonwealth has no cars, our only chance to catch up with Eugene is to find Puddin’ and Cauliflower. The Commonwealth has several stables, but luckily we find all seven of ours waiting for us at the same one we left them at yesterday, closest to the entrance we used to get into the city.
The stable hands don’t argue when Michonne shows them her ID card, her authority overriding theirs. They even tell us Eugene came by here an hour ago for his horse, and they let him take it without question because he showed them a piece of card paper with Pamela’s signature. He must’ve forged it from her invitation to the dinner party.
Oliver and I saddle Cauliflower and Puddin’ as fast as we’re able.
“Be careful,” Michonne says, pulling RJ close to her as we bring our horses out of their stalls. “I’ll get word to Pamela about what’s happened as soon as I can, so she can get a hold of Mercer and he can notify his officers of what’s going on. They’ll find him if you two don’t.”
She hugs us, quickly. I hug RJ, too.
“See you soon, big guy,” I tell him.
He smiles. “Later, Carl.”
And Oliver and I go.
There are less officers in the city than normal so we ride out through the walls much easier than we’re expecting without too many questions, using Michonne’s authority whenever anyone does get suspicious — talk of our arrival seems to have spread, what with it involving a reunion with one of the Commonwealth’s most prominent judges and all, and there are only so many places where two guys with a missing eye and arm can show up at the same time just by coincidence.
We squeeze our horses into a gallop the moment we’re through the final city checkpoint gate.
Our only idea of where to start looking is the route towards the train yard, which was in the next town over — a few hours walk away from Commonwealth if our memory serves. Much quicker if we keep this pace up. We realise Eugene has taken back-roads to get there when we find tracks veering off across an open driveway. We know it’s him, too, because Savior horses have distinct shoeprints if you know what to look for, with thick, triangular nails that leave marks along the edge of each hoofprint. Negan has always been a man of accountability after all, if anything else.
Eugene must have a map. It’s obvious he’s trying to give the train yard a wide berth to avoid Mercer and his officers.
It doesn’t take us long to find him riding along a dusty, overgrown street near an old warehouse.
“Eugene!” Oliver shouts.
Eugene startles, yanking his reins hard enough that Peach Pit twists on the spot. Eugene kicks him on, but is so inexperienced on horseback that he doesn’t manage to steer the gelding at all in his panic and has to cling to Peach Pit’s neck so as not to fall.
The horse neighs loudly. Oliver and I hurry our horses over but before we get there we hear the growling coming from a street nearby. Three walkers push open an old burned library door and stumble out into the street. Peach Pit rears, then bolts for us. Eugene can’t cling on and falls to the ground violently.
Oliver and I can’t cut Peach Pit off. The horse barges right between Cauliflower and Puddin’, causing them to twist around and kick out at each other. We manage to bring them back under control, but there’s nothing we can do as we watch Peach Pit gallop around the corner, his hoof-beats fading into the distance. Oliver dismounts Puddin’ quickly, throws me his reins, and draws his knife.
“Stay with the horses, and him ,” he says, grimacing down at Eugene, who is still lying on the ground a few feet away, face down and unconscious. “I’ll deal with the geeks.”
I dismount, careful to pull Cauliflower and Puddin’ behind me as I approach Eugene, making sure the horses don’t step on him accidentally. I shake his shoulders, but he doesn’t respond. I can feel his breath on my fingers, though. I take his gun and put it in my saddlebag.
I stand again to watch Oliver. He kicks one walker through the knee, and as it collapses, Oliver drives his knife through the second incoming walker’s eyeball. He uses its dead weight to block the third walker and knock it down, then quickly puts his knife through its temple. The first walker crawls towards him, snarling. As Oliver heads over to meet it, he glances at me.
“Carl, behind you!”
I twist around to see Eugene, standing up now, with two fingers pushed deep inside his mouth. It’s the last thing in the world to expect a fully grown man to purposefully vomit on you as a means to escape your capture. It comes as such a shock that all I can do is stand here and cover my face from the projectile blast of all the food Eugene has in his stomach from last night’s feast. By the time I get done gagging, he’s already high-tailed it through the warehouse gate. Oliver, distracted, has to kick the last walker off his shoe and stab it through the head. Quickly, he runs past me, for Eugene. He draws his gun. He fires three shots in Eugene’s direction before I wrestle his arm down.
Oliver glares at me, his eyes flaring. “We can’t let him get away!”
“We can’t kill him either!”
Oliver grimaces, then snatches Puddin’s’ reins out of my hand and pulls the horse after him towards the warehouse gates. Shaking vomit off my arms, I follow him, ignoring the shameful pit in my gut as I pull Cauliflower after me.
We can’t see through the fences because they’re tall and made of sheet metal.
“Eugene!” Oliver shouts. “Come out. You have nowhere to go! No gun, no horse! Even if you tried to make it back to Virginia now, you’d never make it on time, or in one piece! Not on your own!”
There are a few beats of silence.
Finally, Eugene yells, “You shot at me!”
Oliver looks at me, briefly. With a small moment of hesitation, he asks, “Did I get you?”
“Negative,” Eugene admits wanly. “But not through a lack of tryin’...”
Oliver peeks through the gate. He steps into the courtyard with Puddin’. I pull the gate open fully to see Eugene in the middle of attempting to bury himself beneath the ashes of a pile of burned bodies. This must be where the officers come to bury walkers they find in the area or something.
“Come on, Euge,” Oliver says breathlessly, “you only have one option left. Us. Okay?”
“And what if your option, your plan to defeat Negan, doesn’t work?”
I shake my head. “It has to.”
Eugene grinds his teeth. He’s shaking. Oliver snatches a rope from his saddle bag. He unravels it, cuts some off, and then wraps it aggressively around Eugene’s wrists. Clove hitch. I taught him that — Shane taught me.
We head back towards the Commonwealth on foot. Oliver and I lead our horses while Eugene walks a few feet ahead, his head down and his hands tied behind him.
He glances back briefly at some point.
“I know, after this long, it’s not as readily apparent as it used to be,” he says, “but you should both know that even after all these years, I have no genuine loyalty to the Saviors. I’m loyal only to my continued survival.”
Oliver scoffs. “Really? We never noticed. ”
Eugene glances back, then looks forward again. “I can’t help but suspect that the reason I am being taken alive is that… despite… what completely warranted bad blood exists between us, you both still harbour a vestigial nostalgia for our Earth-while comradery. And in light of that, I’m willing to go back to just shutting my grub-flap.”
Little late for that, I think to myself, trying not to smell the puke soaked into my shirt.
“I’ve given you your space for all these years until such a time came when it was appropriate to break the ice,” Eugene goes on, “which was when I came to your door requesting you to accompany me on my journey here. And, I think it’s safe to say we can thank each other for that. I have met Stephanie and you have been reunited with Michonne again, and your brother.”
“Eugene!” Oliver shouts. “You said you were willing to shut up, so please… shut the fuck up …”
I give Oliver a levelling look, and he calms down. He glares at the back of Eugene’s head as he continues on ahead.
“You helped us. Fine,” Oliver says to him. “But you never cared about us. And all you ever did was let us down… You’re a parasite . You have been from day one.”
“Well technically, that relationship would better be described as symbiotic as oppose to parasitic as there was mutual benefit involved for all—”
“Fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Oliver asks him. “How can you talk about everything we’ve been through like it was some science experiment? We weren’t just people who kept each other around to survive, Eugene. We weren’t even just friends. We were family… And you just turned on us, like we meant nothing to you…”
Eugene looks round as he walks, his eyebrows creasing — he’s actually surprised by the hurt on our faces.
“I tried to foil Negan’s plans that day,” he says defensively. “I gave Sasha the poison so she would reanimate and take him out from that coffin—”
Eugene trails off because Oliver and I stop in our tracks.
“It was her plan,” he says shakily, “to help you. And it failed.”
“You?” Oliver asks, very quietly, his eyes growing damp. “You killed her?”
Eugene clenches his jaw. “Negan was planning to kill her himself and make you all watch. Sasha took the pills that she asked for, willingly. So, yes, technically, I supplied the means for her suicide. But she was a dead woman walking and she knew it. That’s why she asked for my help.”
“And that’s why you helped her,” Oliver growls, “because you had nothing to lose. You were playing both sides. Don’t act like it was anything but another selfish decision, because it wasn’t.”
“What about when I told Negan I made that bullet?” Eugene asks me. “That was to save Rosita’s life, if you’ll remember. I didn’t think about myself. I just acted on her behalf. And I fully expected the crack of Negan’s bat to be the last thing I felt, but that didn’t happen. And then I thought they would torture me, but they didn’t.”
We watch him. Oliver grimaces.
Eugene swallows. “Just like both of you, Negan gave me a chance to live. I tried to resist. I tried to rise above my biological imperative, but that is not who I am. And it clearly is not who both of you are, either.”
“We didn’t stay just to protect ourselves! We stayed to protect Judith!” Oliver shouts, throwing out his hand. “And Carol. That’s who we are. You’ve never protected anything in your life except yourself. People have died for you. People have died because of you, Eugene. Just since you joined the Saviors, every bullet you’ve made, every person killed by the Saviours... that’s on you… ”
“That’s not true…”
“You have more skeletons in your closet than anyone I’ve ever met,” Oliver says venomously.
Eugene watches him, and gulps, his face losing colour.
And with the conversation apparently over, Oliver raises his chin, curls his lip, and growls, “ Move... ”
Only that’s not the end of it. Eugene only walks for a few more steps before he stops and shakes his head, angry now. He turns to us and points with his bound hands.
“ Rick’s the one who pushed us all to take the Saviors on, if you’ll remember the night at the Satellite Station. He’s the one who jumped headlong into this shit storm with no thought on the impact it might have. The very same way he deserted you and served you up to those rapists—”
Oliver drops his reins and marches over to him. Before Eugene can run, Oliver draws his gun and pushes its barrel against Eugene’s throat. Eugene staggers back, shutting his eyes and holding his breath.
“Oliver!” I yell, grabbing for Puddin’s reins.
“Shut up!” Oliver shouts back at me, which stuns me. Using his prosthetic, he yanks Eugene by the shirt so that their faces almost touch, digging his Thunder deep under his chin. “You’re selfish. And you’re a coward. And you’re a traitor,” he growls into Eugene’s cheek, shaking with rage. “I may always hate Rick for what he did to me but I still think you’re a fraction of the man he ever was. He made his choice to protect his family. You? You turned your back on the only people who ever even cared about you…”
He pulls away to look Eugene in the eyes, both of them with tears rolling down their cheeks now, and I’m just standing off to the side, hollow all over.
“You think you’re hard to love?” Oliver asks him in a shrill whisper. “ You don’t know the half of it. ”
I try to speak, but my voice fails me.
“Shooting you in the head would actually make the world a better place...”
His finger touches his Thunder’s trigger.
“ S…s-top it! ”
He flinches at my voice.
I sigh, tired of this. “Just… leave it… please…”
Finally, Oliver releases Eugene and steps back, looking pale and guilty. Eugene almost collapses, clutching his chest and catching his breath.
“We don't have to f…f-orget what happened, or what he did,” I say, clenching my teeth, “but we can’t keep repeating cycles we’ve seen before. We know where it leads. Killing just creates m...m-ore killing. Nobody deserves to live that way. Our lives, every life, is worth something…”
Oliver watches me silently, his eyes pouring. He shakes his head, like he wants so badly to believe me but can’t. Eugene stands off to the side, panting.
“Come on,” I say softly to them both.
Eugene starts walking first. As I walk after him, Pudding and Cauliflower’s reins in my hand, Oliver reaches out to touch my free hand but I pull away from him.
“Carl…”
It’s too difficult to look at him, so I keep my eye on the ground. “Let’s just get back. Okay?”
“...Okay.”
Mercer and some of his officers find us before long, after following our tracks and hearing our gunshots. They caught Peach Pit, too. Eugene is taken into custody, then locked in one of Commonwealth’s jail cells where it’s decided is best for him to stay until everything with Negan is over.
Oliver and I go back to Michonne’s place, where not just she but Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Luke, and Princess are waiting for us, and by the look on their faces, they, too, are now in on our plan. Michonne and RJ hug us, relieved we’re alright.
“You found him?” Yumiko asks.
“Yeah,” Oliver says, while I nod. “Somebody should probably let Stephanie know he’s in jail.”
“I’ll do that,” Michonne offers. She goes to the door but at the same time the doorbell rings. Michonne answers it, and at her consent, Mercer enters the house. There’s enough space in Michonne’s front room for all of us, but as he steps inside it suddenly doesn’t feel like it.
“Evening, Mercer,” Michonne says.
“It’s good you’re all here,” he says to us.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. The opposite. Pamela wanted to thank you, Carl and Oliver, for bringing back Eugene. We were so busy with getting the train yard ready that he would have gotten away if it weren’t for you both. You both helped us avoid a complication that we’d all overlooked. Pamela appreciates it must’ve been difficult to hand in your friend like that. She has asked if she could take you up on what you, Michonne, had suggested from the beginning…”
Michonne blinks. I look at Oliver, confused.
“Pamela and I both realise this may be more personal than we’d initially anticipated,” Mercer explains, “and we understand better now how much we’re likely going to need you both on the front-line when Negan and the Saviors arrive. Does that still interest you both?”
“Yes,” Oliver says instantly, “it does.”
I’m quiet, and when everyone looks at me, I push down the hole in my chest and nod, too, without looking at them. I can still feel Oliver’s eyes on me.
“You, too, Madam. Hawthorn,” Mercer adds. “If you’re willing.”
“Oh.” Michonne’s mouth opens, then shuts. “I… I put my sword down years ago. I… don’t have it in me anymore. I have my youngest. He needs me here… I’m sorry.”
I give her a small, accepting smile. After all I had suspected this would be her stance considering what she told us yesterday, how afraid she was all the time, how it eats her up. If only there was a valid reason I could tell everyone the same, except, saying ‘I think I’m a reborn pacifist with a gun phobia and a hint of crippling survivor’s guilt’ doesn’t really cut it these days, as far as I’m aware…
Mercer nods understandingly. “Of course, Ma’am. What about the rest of you? As I understand it, all of you except Princess have dealt with a turf war before?”
“Barely,” Magna says and signs. “It was the Sanctuary that had to deal with the brunt of that drama. And it was over pretty quickly.”
Mercer nods. “Well, the offer’s open, should you take us up on it. Just come to my office in the City Hall, and I’ll sort you out.”
Princess makes a little hum. “I might be interested… in being sorted out, by you...”
Mercer glances at her. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he stops it, quickly, and the colour in his cheeks darken. He clears his throat. “Thank you.” It isn’t clear if he says this to her or us. “Here…”
He withdraws two walkie-talkies from his pocket. They’re mine and Oliver’s, the same ones taken from us at the train yard. We take them back gratefully.
“You should have these back. Keep it on this channel,” Mercer says, tuning them, “we’ll notify you when our lookouts see anything coming, or, if we hear anything on the air from the Saviors, if they’re stupid enough to use them. The Commonwealth’s radio station is going dead after tomorrow night, though, in case they have the same idea. We’re letting our people celebrate Halloween first, what with the low chance of Negan coming before the weekend’s over.”
“When do you want Carl and I out there?” Oliver asks.
“Monday, earliest. You’ll come out for a go-over of the plan, sort the logistics, see if we missed anything. But we’ll have you both out there with us full time Tuesday on, since they’re set to arrive Wednesday morning. But even if they’re early, we’ll spot them with enough time to get you and everyone ready in time. Don’t worry.”
Oliver and I nod. Mercer leaves. For a few minutes it’s quiet. Michonne remembers she needs to go and find Stephanie, so leaves, too. RJ feeds Beau with a can of cat-food from the cupboard, which is the cue for the rest of us to find somewhere around the living room to relax and wait for Michonne to come back.
Connie signs something as she slumps on the couch with Magna and Luke, to which they, Kelly, and Yumiko chuckle to her.
“Yeah,” Yumiko answers. “He did say they’re celebrating Halloween tomorrow.”
And I’ve learned a little sign language by now, so I know what she has to say to that…
“Amazing!”
Notes:
A few scenes from the comic. Title is a reference to the episode Eugene’s capture was copied from, as well as Carl’s letter to Rick from the same episode, which I loosely used a line from here, too, except, in this chapter Carl got to say it while he was alive instead.
You probably can’t tie someone’s hands with a clove hitch that well but I wanted to use the throwback anyway so who cares.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 29: III: Old Haunts
Summary:
The group try to enjoy their remaining time together at the Commonwealth before Negan’s arrival. Despite the impending battle, Carl is still unsure if he will be able to kill again.
Notes:
Hi, so, not sure if people here are aware, but I’m trans, and I’m trying to save up for top surgery, so I started a gofundme. The link is in my bio. Please consider checking it out, sharing, and donating if you can. Thanks a bunch. Back to the story!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
It’s Sunday, and the whole city is celebrating Halloween. There are banners, and children trick-or-treating with their parents, and a huge carnival with games like Mummy Building and Shoot-the-Skeleton, a haunted house, and even a costume competition that Pamela hosts at the end.
Michonne and RJ put a carved pumpkin out on the porch, like all the other houses in the neighbourhood. It unlocks a lot of powerful memories from my childhood that I had forgot until now. Oliver, too.
After the carnival, Oliver, Michonne, and I take RJ out trick-or-treating, until finally we get back to her place in time for everyone to arrive for dinner. We drink wine while Michonne, Oliver, and Luke prepare supper. I help RJ tend to the occasional trick-or-treater at the door. Stephanie is here, too — although she’s a little quiet without Eugene. She admitted earlier that she tried yesterday to talk Eugene out of leaving, and regretted keeping his promise not to tell us. Makes me wonder what she sees in him, but I know it’d only be rude to ask.
“Honey turmeric chicken, with a side of sweetcorn and pea rice,” Michonne announces proudly, setting down all our plates with Luke and my help while RJ and Kelly finish setting the table. “Just like my momma used to make.”
Everyone bristles hungrily, and once we’re all served, we all cheer our drinks —RJ and Oliver with their spiced lemonade— and dig in.
After Michonne puts RJ to bed, the rest of us, still too awake to turn in yet, decide to go out dancing — something that was Princess’ idea: “I saw a club earlier today, with signs saying they were having a Halloween party tonight.”
“How do we sign up?” Kelly asks. Oliver and I wonder the same thing.
Everyone chuckles at them.
“It’s not that sort of club, silly,” Princess says. She puts her arm around Kelly’s shoulders, squeezing them affectionately. “It’s a nightclub. No signing up. You just pay at the door, get a little ink stamp on your wrist, go inside, drink... and dance...”
“Sounds… weird...” Oliver says, soberly.
“Let’s do it!” I say, not soberly at all. Oliver gives me a suspicious look.
“Might as well,” Yumiko says.
“You lot have fun,” Michonne says, “you deserve it.”
“I’m way over my clubbing phase, too,” Stephanie says, waving her hands in a declining way. “I think I’ll just g’on home and get some sleep before work tomorrow.”
“We won’t be out long, either,” Oliver says, more to me than anyone else, “we should be ready tomorrow, too, so we can help Mercer prepare…”
I nod, like I’d already thought of that, even though I hadn’t. In fact, I’ve been trying very hard not to think about the future at all. We say goodnight to Michonne and Stephanie, then the eight of us head out.
“It’s called the Glimpse,” she says, leading the way with her arm linked in Yumiko and Magna’s. “Look out for a sign that looks like an eye.”
“An eye?” Connie signs.
“Yes,” Princess signs back —having picked up on how to— and widens her eyes to express herself jokingly. We laugh.
We find the place soon enough.
We wait in a line of other people, most of them in their mid twenties, and when we reach the door we are made to leave our weapons outside before entry. One of the bouncers compliments my face for how realistic my ‘make-up’ looks. I’m not as embarrassed by this as I usually would be. I just thank him and smirk at the others. Finally, we’re stamped on the back of the hand with an ink cartridge that leaves a dark red mark on our skin in the symbol of an eye, like the sign.
“At least it’s not an ‘A’ ,” Oliver whispers to me.
I snicker, then lose a few moments grimacing off into space over ancient Termite memories until Oliver elbows me to get my attention back.
Inside, a stairwell leads underground into a cramped, dark, musky-smelling, basement area, lit only by blinking, colourful, twirling lights. The music is thunderously loud. I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t even tell people apart, just that there are a lot of them moving and dancing among each other. Some in strange outfits and makeup.
I take Oliver’s hand so I don’t lose him.
Yumiko seems to have the same idea, and takes Magna’s hand, too.
Princess leads the way to the bar, where Yumiko buys us all alcoholic drinks that I don’t hear the name of, except for Oliver, who Yumiko buys a real can of Coca-Cola for. It must be old, but still fizzy by the surprised wince on Oliver’s face when he drinks. He looks thrilled. My drink tastes of fruit and strong liquor.
It’s hopeless to hear each other over the music. Even signing isn’t very clear with all the flashing lights. Careful carrying our drinks, we weave our way through the crowd to another room that has a large, busy, raised, dance floor. As the music shifts to another beat, Princess cries something that looks like, “Oh, I love this song!” and begins to dance. The others join her. Oliver and I follow, too, after we manage to ease up a bit.
I don’t know how to dance, but I still do on account of the alcohol in my system. Oliver does, too, with some encouragement. Maybe it’s how drunk I am, but it feels good to move my body to the music. It’s like we’re inside the sounds, being eaten by it, even my heartbeat is hammering to the base. It’s something I didn’t realise I’ve missed until now. Oliver and I haven’t danced with each other since we were teenagers.
For a while, I’m convinced I’m having the best time of my life. But it’s easy to be brought down to Earth again in such a crowded room where I can’t hear or see well enough to watch my own back, let alone my friends’.
People keep bumping into me, or I keep bumping them.
Someone pushes me out of Oliver’s hand as they dance by, cheering indistinctly.
And I lose sight of him.
“Oliver!”
I lose sight of everyone.
Eventually, I stagger my way to a corner of the club where I put my back to a wall and try to get my bearings. How long have we been here? I think I see a walker at one point and panic as it approaches, but realise I’m wrong when it’s just a guy in Halloween make-up. Another person walks by in a — fake? —skin mask. I think of the Whisperers. I think of Morales’ body slumping to the ground in a bloody heap. I think of the Whisperer-baby, its tiny, bloody body, hissing in my hands, and just when I’m on the brink of bursting into tears, someone grabs me.
I startle, panicked, until Oliver’s voice shouts in my ear, “It’s just me. It’s just me, tesoro.”
Gasping with relief, I wrench him in for a hug, clinging to him drunkenly.
“Let’s go get some fresh air!”
I nod to him, out of breath, my heart thumping in my throat and sweat pouring down my face and collar. Oliver grabs my hand and leads the way, signing that we’re okay to the others when they see us going. We go upstairs together — a different set of stairs we’d come in by, though, because this staircase is narrower. As we stumble outside into a small, gated courtyard and shut the door behind ourselves, the cold air cuts my skin and the music from downstairs quells a little.
I realise we’ve found a smoking area, where there’s a few small crowds of people out here sitting at benches.
“Sorry,” I say to Oliver, feeling dizzy, “it w…w-as loud. And the make-up… on people’s f...f-aces...”
“Freaked me out, too,” Oliver tells me. “We bit off more than we could chew, huh?”
I take his hand, still attempting to catch my breath.
“I thought you were mad at me,” he says, watching our hands.
“Hm?”
“For what I said yesterday. About your dad.”
I shrug uncomfortably. We’ve never spoken about this directly — another unspoken rule between us, especially since my dad died. I always knew how Oliver felt about him. He’s always been too kind to say it out loud.
Until yesterday…
“You didn’t deserve to hear any of it,” he adds.
I look at the ground, letting go of him.
Forcing soberness in my voice, I say firmly, “I understand. Rick —my dad— doesn’t deserve me treating him like some kinda secret martyr.”
Oliver shrugs. “Maybe he does. Who knows? He helped a lot of people. He wasn’t perfect but he always tried to keep us safe. What he did to me — I try not to think about it. I know it didn’t reflect all of him. I would do the same thing to save you or Judith or Carol. It’s just, yesterday, Eugene, he—”
“He was out of line.”
“He was,” Oliver says. He looks me in the eye. “I’m still sorry I said what I said.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
We watch each other.
Softly, we kiss.
We sit for a moment, shoulders pressed.
“Can we leave?” I ask him finally.
“Sure, man,” Oliver says. He scans the courtyard. “I don’t think we can get out this side. We’ll have to go back through.”
I sigh apprehensively.
Oliver kisses my cheek. “It’ll be okay. Just stay close to me.”
Feeling foolish, I nod. I stand up first and lead the way back inside and downstairs. Oliver takes the lead when I hesitate at the base of the stairs, the music booming. We find Luke on the dance floor. Oliver yells into his ear that he and I are leaving, and for the rest of them to have fun. Luke passes the message on to them all for us, and they wave us off as we go.
On our walk back to Michonne’s, Oliver and I hold hands — him guiding me mostly because I’m still pretty drunk and easily distracted by things along the street. It reminds me of that night at the Kingdom, all those years ago, after the first time I smoked weed and we picked clementines in Ezekiel’s garden and Oliver kissed me so gently and sweetly.
Oliver puts his arm around my side.
I smile at him.
“Your breath smells of whiskey,” he says.
I remember his sobriety and turn my head away. “Right. Sorry.”
He touches the nape of my neck, warm and soft. “No. It’s nice…”
Somewhere nearby music is playing from a house party. A tree in a park across the street stands covered in toilet paper and glistening egg shells, with teenagers carrying flashlights running around its trunk wearing extravagant costumes, screaming and laughing at each other, and a few of them making out in the shadows, until a trooper shouts at them from the other side of the park and they all scamper off into the night.
Pulling my arm over Oliver’s shoulders, we leave quickly, hurrying back. We let ourselves into Michonne’s house with a spare key she gave us. She must be asleep because the lights are off, but the pumpkin outside still glows faintly. Oliver and I are careful to keep quiet as we set up for bed on the couch. Oliver brings over Michonne’s radio as we curl up together in our blankets. He turns the volume down and switches through channels until he finds a night-time broadcasts playing live:
“Alright, it’s seven minutes to midnight. You’re listenin’ in live to the Commonwealth Scope, and I am your host, Cosmo Timbers, on graveyard shift. For any of you night-owls among us, this next song’s gonna slow you down on this warm, fall night. No need to count those sheep, sleepyheads, just sit back, breathe... and listen…
‘You mistrusted what will bleed
What will not die, will not leave
The heart was first in that line
Though it was under those conditions
We were free, we were free, we were
Under those conditions
Of pain that would not leave
You were all I ever trusted
You're self-made, self-made, you're self-made
You made it on hard work and risk
Hard work, hard work, hard work
How will I live on without you?
Without your customs of
Working and thinking action through?
These days, these days are obvious to you
Budgetive
How selfish for time to conclude
What would be the day
For leaving to work its charm on you
And I can tell by that look
You were thinking the same thing, too
If this can't last, just what can last?
If this can't last, just what can last?
Then it's lights out after this kiss
Then time can't torment us
This will have to serve
Goodnight lover
Wherever you are...’
And then, as the song ends, the broadcast stops, too, and empty static remains.
“Guess that’s the air going dead,” Oliver says, “like Mercer said it would…”
“I don’t think Pamela’s told the rest of the city about Negan yet,” I theorise.
“Like Ezekiel when he kept the Saviors a secret from the Kingdom, I guess,” Oliver says. “She’s protecting them.”
A line forms between his eyebrows.
He looks at me. Eyes big and twinkling.
And he asks, “You aren’t going to kill any of them, are you?”
And eventually I say, “I don’t know...”
“Even if you have to?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t know the answer.
“You should stay here for the next few days,” Oliver says. “You can stay out of the fight, if you want to.”
“No,” I say, quickly. “No… I’ll be there. I’ll… do what I have to do.”
Oliver pushes out his chin, exaggerating his under-bite.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asks.
“Worry about me, like you’re doing,” I answer, slurring accidentally, “right there, in your face. Looking at me. Go on, look away.”
Oliver sighs but turns his head away obediently.
“Thank you,” I say, and after a few seconds I add, “Okay. You can look at me again now.”
He laughs. I see from the dim streetlamp lights outside that he rolls his eyes. Grinning, I take his cheek gently in my palm and stroke my fingers up and through his hair until his tangles stop me. He lets me kiss him. He smiles, his lips parted and soft, his eyes relaxed and gazing into me.
I whisper to him, “Can I have you?”
“Amore mio… puoi farmi quello che vuoi.”
And in a few minutes, Oliver is lying on his back gripping his pillow over his face while I rest on my front, my shoulders between his legs, my arms wrapped under his hips and around his waist, palming at his navel. His taste and his heat on my tongue — I take it in deeply.
To him and I, this act is sacred.
This act — it is a familiar and a yearning one, like praying.
Suddenly, he whines into his pillow, clamping it tightly over his face to muffle the sound. I brace myself. He shudders, losing everything. I bear it all. Finally, he removes the pillow from his red, sweating face, and I sit up, wiping my mouth.
“Ti, amo,” he pants, swallowing.
I smile at him.
He chuckles at himself.
Sitting up, he kneels across the couch to kiss me, his mouth heavy against mine. When his hand slips into the waistband of my underwear I shiver. He rests into me, settling me against the arm of the couch. His touch is the ground and the ocean and the sky, inevitable and unfaltering, and then, with his fingers, carefully labouring for the inlying, secret places of me. He catches my gasps and my whispers in his mouth, “That’s it, Oliver… God, please… there — yeah…”
And letting go is the closest to paradise I’ve ever known. My whole body lurches, crushing our foreheads, our eyes locked. A true, soul-consuming rapture. He sees it too. He basks in it, like bathing in a sunbeam. And in the same way as always, I tell myself that I could die here. Content. And as the ecstasy slowly and suddenly ebbs, I relax, one muscle at a time, shocked to have survived again this time.
Oliver unwinds his arms from me, gently, then, while I catch my breath, gets up and gathers a paper towel for me. Smiling, he goes to the sink. When he returns a moment later he pulls our blanket off the floor, folding us up beneath it. He tucks his warm, stubbled chin into the back of my neck. He sighs.
“Night, amore.”
“Goodnight, love.”
Notes:
Song was Goodnight Lover by Ohia, and yes, it absolutely is Carl’s death chapter song from the og fic, which I chose because it, too, referenced his own mother’s last words to him, and his last words to Oliver. Foreshadowing? Would I really do that to you again? Anyway, the radio host’s intro to the song was inspired by the start of the song Warm on a Cold Night by HONNE. The guy’s voice is just so… m-mm…
Wasn’t going to write the last scene like that but I figured it was important and symbolic at representing what might be their last time together. Lots of religious references in this chapter, too, for the same reason.
As always,
Happy reading.(really tho I wouldn’t kill him again)
(…or would I?)
(i wouldn’t)PS. Please check out my gofundme for top surgery — link in my bio. Any share or donation is invaluable to me.
Chapter 30: III: A Dead Man Walking
Summary:
Negan faces the truth.
Notes:
CW: Major character death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
~ Grimes ~
Because I could not stop for Death —
He kindly stopped for me —
The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
And Immortality.
In the morning, I wake up with a headache. As I rub my forehead, I notice Michonne sitting across the room at the dining table, drinking from a steaming mug. She looks worried. RJ must be in school already. I vaguely remember waking up briefly to him whispering goodbye to us before he left. Oliver is still asleep beside me, head tucked on my shoulder. I touch my nose to the top of his head and inhale — he smells of the fruit and Aloe Vera soap and hair products in Michonne’s bathroom. I listen to him breathe for a while, until eventually the early morning noises of the city outside and the pigeons crooning on the windowsill wake him up, too.
“Coffee?” Michonne asks us, pretending she wasn’t just anxiously biting her fingernails. She’s dressed in a suit and neckerchief.
I nod in thanks, pretending that there also isn’t a pit in my chest, too.
She pours us each a mug and sets them on the coffee table. Oliver and I drink. It takes Oliver several minutes to find his glasses, eventually locating them down the side of the couch. He bends them into the right shape and resits them on his face, looking relieved that they aren’t broken. I smirk at him.
“I’m off to work,” Michonne says, collecting her things from around the room.
“Want us to pick RJ up from school later?” Oliver offers.
“Yeah, thank you…”
I watch her.
Gently, I say, “We s…s-till have today and tomorrow.”
She takes a steep breath, like she hopes so, too, and with a small, muted nod, she leaves.
After our coffee, Oliver and I shower, shave, and do some chores. We’re quieter around each other than usual. I guess I understand why…
BY noon, we’re called out to the train station to go over the plan with Mercer for when Negan arrives. We’re going to try to bait him — make it look like there’s a campfire burning in the train yard. Once all the trucks and Saviors are in the train station, Mercer will stretch out road-spikes across the exits while his officers close in.
“Spike-strips at the exits won’t be enough,” Oliver suggests, rubbing his newly-shaved chin. “They think something’s gone wrong for us already. They’ll be on edge. They’ll have a truck or two staying back, listening in on their radios, maybe a couple streets or so, maybe more. They’ll be ready to turn tail back home if things go sideways.”
He looks at me, the same people on the front of our minds: Judith and Carol.
He looks at Mercer, gritting his teeth. “They can’t get back before us.”
“Have s…s-pikes ready to be set up here, here, and here, and s…s-quadrons ready with horses here, here, here, and here in case we need to go on a chase.” I point on the map. “That way, even if they try to run, they’ll have nowhere to go.”
Mercer regards this.
He nods. “I’ll make it happen.”
We get back with enough time to pick RJ up from school.
The rest of the day is peaceful, as is Tuesday. I take note of this feeling I seem to be sharing with Oliver during it, like, despite our quietness, we’re somehow closer to each other than we ever have been — holding hands on habit, catching each others’ thoughts and glances across rooms, joining each other for trivial tasks that can easily be done alone like dishwashing and grocery shopping and visiting the laundrette. It’s a little embarrassing, really. We usually try very hard not to seem clingy or possessive of each other. Still, nobody seems to question it. In fact, our friends seem to understand it — after all, we all might be on borrowed time right now.
Finally, the evening comes round, and the time comes for Oliver and I to go out to the train station full-time in anticipation for Negan’s arrival.
The sun sets while we get our things ready and meet Pamela — she’s coming to Virginia with us when the fight is over, but has agreed to give Oliver and I a small head-start to get Judith out of the Sanctuary to safety. For now, however, the Governor is going to wait somewhere safe while the rest of us join Mercer at the station and get things done. Michonne, RJ, Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Luke, Princess, and Stephanie all come by to say goodbye.
“It’s been so long since I was outside the Commonwealth districts,” Michonne tells us, hugging us each for the third or fourth time. “The walkers, are they still — Are there still a lot? Is it still pretty bad?”
“They’re mostly in groups,” Oliver answers, “but they’re so old now. Most of them can barely move, or they’re slow enough to keep ahead of.”
Michonne nods, still looking worried.
“Good luck,” I tell Yumiko. “You’re gonna do great here.”
Oliver hugs her. “We’ll see you soon.”
I fist bump RJ, but he pulls me into a big hug — I guess he and I are close enough for that now. I have to blink back tears at realising this. “Look after your m…m-om, huh?” is what I ask him — my brother.
“Okay,” he says. “Hope you rescue your sister.”
I smile. “Yours, too.”
He grins, then makes a small effort to keep his expression still.
“And yeah, man,” I add, “ we will… ”
At least fifty officers are waiting for us outside Pamela’s mansion. Some of them are on horseback, while the majority are on foot stocking up a carriage driven by another officer and six carriage horses. The carriage, much more lavished than any I have seen around so far, has an extra compartment on top and behind for luggage.
After a short wait, Pamela exits her mansion dressed in strange clothing — a safari helmet, a shoulder-padded khaki jacket, a silk scarf, baggy, old-style, riding breeches, and thick, black, wading boots. Her son, Sebastian, follows her outside, sulking for whatever new reason.
“Alright then,” Pamela declares, clapping her gloved hands, “if we’re all ready...”
An officer approaches her and gives a quick, shallow bow. “We’ve finished doing the final preparations, Governor. Things are loaded and ready to go whenever you are.”
“Good man.”
She turns to her son. “You listen to Lance while I’m gone.”
Sebastian grimaces. “Aw, fuck Lance! I’m not a fucking kid anymore. You don’t have to—”
“Sebastian,” Pamela says, “I’m serious. Have fun. Fuck your girls. Don’t cause any trouble.”
Oliver and I exchange an uncomfortable glance with each other. We look back at Pamela and her son.
“Ew, Mom,” Sebastian groans. “You don’t have to be gross!”
Pamela takes his arm, gently. “I’m your mother. I will always be as gross as I damn well please. Use this time without me as an opportunity to make something of yourself. All you have to do is...”
“All I have to do is apply myself,” Sebastian says over her, rolling his eyes, “I know.”
“I know since you lost your father, things have been tough… and it hasn’t always been easy to see, but this world is a gift. You only have to take your time to find your place in it.”
It might sound profound out of anybody else’s mouth, I think to myself, if only she didn’t seem to hand her son everything on a silver platter.
“Do we have to do this now?” Sebastian asks. “I get it, okay? I’m destined for greatness and I’m not living up to my potential and I’m sorry. That good enough?”
Pamela smiles. “Give your mother a kiss and it can be.”
He kisses her cheek. “Love you, Mom.”
“That much, at least, you’re doing right.”
We all look away when Pamela turns around. The officers get into formation. Pamela climbs into her carriage. Oliver and I wave goodbye to everyone from inside our carriage. As we drive away, along the lamp-lit street, Michonne, RJ, Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Luke, Princess, and Stephanie waves us off, then walk away together, back towards the heart of the city.
It should take Negan around eight hours to drive from Virginia to Charleston’s train station, so long as he goes by a similar route we did, through Pennsylvania. It’ll take him even longer to get his trucks past some of the thickly blocked or wrecked areas, which the rest of us were able to tackle easily enough with our horses.
All night, we wait. Mercer keeps his radio on the whole time, with a team of officers taking shifts to flip through stations for any noise. It’s unlikely they’ll be using the usual channel, considering they know Stephanie used a radio to contact us in the first place, but it’s worth keeping an ear out.
Oliver and I are given our own set of white armour plates to go on over our clothes, along with a polished and loaded machine gun each. While officers patrol the area, Oliver and I try to get some sleep in our carriage. At one point, Oliver whispers to me an old children’s poem that Carol used to read to him and the other children during storytime…
Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn't frighten me at all.
Tough guys fight
All alone at night
No, they don't frighten me at all.
I've got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all.
Finally, a little after six in the morning while we eat hot stew served by one of the chefs, the lookouts spot movement on route.
“Saviors inbound,” an officer reports. “Twelve trucks. Fifteen minutes out. Over.”
“Right on time,” Mercer snarls, an excited curl in his lip.
Twelve trucks means around sixty Saviors, most from the Sanctuary, I bet. They’ll be nothing compared to the three hundred Mercer has here already, not to mention the ten- or eleven-thousand on call at the Commonwealth, even more across other districts if we needed it.
Some officers stoke the burning fire in a nearby train freight — its fire has been going for two days now with a supply of pine-wood that burns fast and smokes a lot— then they go and hide with another squadron somewhere around the station, and we all wait in silence.
From where Oliver, Mercer, and I are waiting with a squadron of forty or so officers, we can see the station entrance and the whole train yard.
Finally, engines rev in the distance.
Several trucks come into view, driving along the long, dusty street, around the river. They turn into the train station or park along the streets outside. A flood of Saviors exit the trucks. While the majority of them begin spreading out across the train station to keep watch or secure the perimeter, we spot Negan, Arat, Justin, and a few others head straight through the station and into the train yard, guns drawn.
“That’s him,” I whisper to Mercer. “Leather jacket…. baseball bat.”
“Roger that,” Mercer purrs.
Negan heads for the freight with the smoke billowing out of it.
“We havin’ a cook-out or somethin’!” he shouts. “Boys — Daddy’s home! Come to rescue your sorry asses. Mr. Porter? You there?”
Justin and Arat climb into the freight to search for him, coughing through the smoke. They climb out, shaking their heads.
“Not here, boss.”
“Something don’t feel right.”
“FRONT LINE, NOW!” Mercer bellows.
Every officer surrounding the train yard moves forward out of cover, closing in on the station with their bladed machine guns raised to their shoulders.
“BY THE OFFICIAL ORDER OF THE GOVERNED COMMONWEALTH MILITARY, ALL SAVIORS MUST STAND DOWN NOW, OR WE OPEN FIRE!”
All the Saviors raise their guns and twist around to face the officers, swearing in shock at the sight of us in our white, shining armour, and the sheer amount of us, outnumbering them — and this is still with most of the rest of the officers taking cover.
“What the fuck?!” Justin shouts.
“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!” Mercer orders. “AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!”
“Not a fucking chance!” Negan growls.
“KNEEL, NOW! OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!”
The stand-off lasts for several, long moments. Even when Mercer gives the signal for the remaining few hundred officers to come forward and show themselves, the Saviors barely even bristle, their nerves steadfast, standing their ground. It’s Negan’s strategy. He calls it his BBM, short for ‘Big Ball Method’.
Mercer looks at me and Oliver. He gestures his head, shrugging. “Plan B, gentlemen. Mr. Grimes?”
I take a deep breath.
“N…N-egan!” I shout.
Negan startles at my voice.
Actually startles.
As if this, me turning on him, is the last thing he expected in a million years.
“It’s over!”
His mouth opens and closes. His eyes scan across the officers, unable to pinpoint where my voice is coming from — he can’t recognise me or Oliver in our armour, either. Still, the betrayal is clear in his face, and of all things, it feels like a massive weight falling on my head. I have to work hard at forcing my machine gun not to shake in my hands. I thought I’d be relieved. Why am I not relieved?
Negan shakes his head.
I think he’ll give up.
Finally…
But he doesn’t do that.
He shouts, “After everything I did for you!?”
I don’t answer him. I’m trembling too hard to even speak.
“STAND DOWN!” Mercer shouts. “FINAL WARNING!”
A static moment passes. Nothing but silence and the whispering breeze, until suddenly, with a shout of fury like a man who’s lost his own mind, Negan swings his hand-gun round and opens fire at the Commonwealth officers. One or two go down like sacks of rocks. Reacting instantaneously, the rest of the Saviors start firing, too. Mercer swears, shocked by Negan’s recklessness, but his officers hold their ground and are ready when he begins ordering commands at them to fight. Gunfire rains from both sides. Negan is hit quickly and drops to the ground, just like that. Arat orders the rest of them to take cover. Saviors fall like flies. Mercer and the officers move in, firing methodically. I only realise I haven’t shot a bullet or even moved when Oliver fires his machine gun, marching ahead.
“Come on, man!” he shouts back at me.
My heart hammers in my throat. I get moving. As we enter the train yard we take cover behind freights and raised platforms. I duck behind a pillar when a spray of bullets comes at us. Rock breaks off over my head, sending dust down over my face. Oliver grunts as a sharp piece of debris hits him in the face, smashing his helmet-visor.
“Oliver!”
“I’m fine!” Bloody, he squints through the shards of his visor at me as more bullets crack overhead. “Keep your fucking head down!”
When the shooter stops to reload, Oliver and I run behind a better cover place, choosing a freight opposite the one we lit the fire inside, still smoking. We see the shooter, Arat. She takes aim again but misses us, her bullets making sparkling embers against the side of our freight. When she stops to reload, Oliver shoots at her, but she ducks out of cover.
“I got your six!” I yell to him, running around the other side of the freight to try and flank her, but find my line of sight blocked by the smoke.
It’s also in this moment that I realise…
Negan isn’t here.
I freeze up.
Fear eats me.
But I saw him.
With my own eye, I saw him.
He went down.
He was lying right there not ten feet away.
Desperately, I look around, searching the train yard. I see the shoulder of Negan’s leather jacket disappear behind a bush, escaping through to the next field over. We’re at the far end of the train yard, while the shoot-out is happening further in. Negan must’ve only slipped past because the officers assumed he was dead.
“He’s running!” I yell.
And as I turn back to look at Oliver —him turning to listen to me, too— Arat comes out of cover and shoots him through the shoulder. He twists and falls, blood spraying. I crawl towards him but before I get close he sits up under the cover of the blockade, clutching his arm, and waves me away with his bloody arm.
“Go!” he shouts, flinching away from more of Arat’s bullets. “I’m alright!”
“Your arm!”
“Get the old man!” he bellows, while more bullets spray. “I’ll be right behind you! I’ll deal with her first!”
“Oliver…”
He winces, clutching his oozing arm. “GO!”
Checking my way is clear, I run after Negan along the train yard and jump across the bush and into the field next door. I see him stumble through a small coverage of trees on the other side of the field, and sprint after him. The gunfire is tapering off behind me in the station with officers shouting commands to the Saviors to give up, and by the sounds of it, they’re listening.
The grass is tall and whips my thighs and tangles against my machine gun as I sprint to the far side of the field. The morning sun beams violently overhead. I can feel the heat of it through my armour. As I come out the other side of the line of trees, I stop dead, panting and taken off guard.
Despite the gunfire and the shouting in the distance.
Despite me running this way.
A tall, brown, white-tailed buck stands ahead of me, its black eyes twinkling right at me, and its huge antlers, like two grown trees atop its head. It stands there in the tall grass, frozen in surprise.
I know this game.
I’ve seen it before.
Felt it.
This moment of utter, indisputable peace.
Before everything goes wrong.
The buck turns his head.
Like a battering ram, something hard blows through my side.
Crying out, I spin on my heels and land on my back, stunned and winded — and I understand for the first time in my life, somehow, how it feels to be hit by a barbed-wire baseball bat. My armour is dented and cracked at the shoulder and chest. My machine gun is snatched out of my arms and thrown aside.
The buck bolts away across the field.
I lift my gaze. Negan stands over me, his bat in hand. He’s bleeding heavily from his stomach, gasping in pain. He bends down to pull off my helmet, to see me. I blink the sun out of my eye to get a proper look at his pale, winced-up face and he does at mine, too.
And he says my name.
For what might just be the first time to my face, he says it.
Says it like he’s lost all control of it.
“Carl...”
And I let out a single laugh, manic, because this is amazing and horrible all at once.
And breathing fast and hard, I scream up at him, “That’s right! That’s ME! CARL FUCKING GRIMES...”
And in this tiny pathetic voice he just mutters, “Why?”
And I glare at him.
And I tell him, “Because… you killed my father. ”
Negan’s mouth twists downward. His eyes are so dark and empty. And he raises his gun to my face. I grit my teeth, knowing it’s over. Knowing that even though this is true that at least I have said the first and only truly honest thing to him in my life since arriving at the Sanctuary, since he stole me away from my own home.
He pulls the trigger.
The empty clack! makes me shudder.
I laugh.
I sob.
Negan doesn’t seem at all surprised that the gun is empty. Did he know it was? He bends over himself, clutching his pouring stomach. I catch my breath, beginning to sit up, my chest heaving.
“It’s over, Negan,” I croak. “Your people are down. Give up already.”
“I’ll get out of it,” he groans, bleeding fast, “I always do.”
“Not this time,” I tell him. “Look at yourself. You’re a dead man walking. That’s all that matters to me.”
And I watch his face as it folds up in what I think is pain. Only, out of nowhere, Negan dissolves into tears. He drops to his knees, his gun falling to the dirt. He holds his face in his hands and cries hard into his palms.
I get up from the ground then, slowly, coughing a few times. And it’s suddenly the strangest and nastiest and most incredible thing in the world to behold him, Negan Smith, kneeling here at my feet. I almost can’t believe it. I reach down slowly and pick up his bat.
Lucille.
I grimace at it, at her, and then, with a hard, under-arm swing, I throw her as far as I can across the grassy, open field. Negan’s eyelids flitter, watching her fly and land with a hollow thump in a far off ditch. He sighs weakly.
“And just so you know,” I say, grimacing down at him as he begins to die, “Maggie lived, and she has a son. And Sherry? She’s alive, too... and so is her baby.”
Negan squints up at me, finding it hard to keep his balance now, and breathing very shallow.
And he says his last words alive to me.
“I’m a daddy?”
And I lean down to shake my head at him, grinning and trembling all at once.
“No,” I growl, “ you’re not... ”
And he looks up at me, tears falling down his pale cheeks.
And his face twitches.
It twitches in the same way it did that moment nine years ago with my dad, when Negan realised he wasn’t ever going to bend to his will, when he realised my dad was never going to kneel — and just like back then, this, now, is the moment Negan decides what he is going to do.
Quicker than I can react.
In one viper motion.
He strikes me through the throat with his knife.
Notes:
I KNOW I PROMISED NOT TO DO THE THING. NOT AGAIN. IT LOOKS LIKE I HAVE, I REALISE THAT. YOU JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME!
Anyway, I still really like the meme from season 8 that’s like:
Rick’s brain: Stab Negan in the throat.
Rick: Why?
Rick’s brain: You gotta…Oh, how the tables have turned — I really enjoyed reversing the scene for Carl and Negan. Felt right, here.
The first poem was Because I Could Not Stop For Death by Emily Dickinson, the second was Life Doesn’t Frighten Me by Maya Angelou - not the full poems, but the bits I thought were most relevant/that Oliver would remember.
Thanks for reading Act Three: The City.
Next is Act Four: The Kinsfolk.
As always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 31: IV: Non Lasciare Che Mio Marito Muoia
Summary:
Oliver is forced to continue on alone with the plan to rescue Judith. Lydia makes a difficult decision.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT FOUR: THE KINSFOLK
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
~ Oliver ~
Thick tears stream down my face as I speed alone along Interstate Seventy-Nine, leaving Charleston’s train yard behind and all the Saviors there either dead or arrested. Negan had bled to death by the time we found him, his bloody knife gripped in his fist... and Carl… he was…
He was lying on the ground…
Clutching his wide-open throat.
And the blood...
Oh, fuck, il sangue...
Caro, Dio, I pray —and I mean, really pray this time— non lasciare che mio marito muoia.
I can’t think about it.
I have to concentrate.
I have to get back to the Sanctuary.
I have to get Judith out of there.
Pamela, Mercer, and Maxwell will be about a half-hour behind me, after they’re done dealing with the remaining Saviors. When I finally arrive back to the Sanctuary, it’s past sunset.
My brain is barely screwed back on. I must look deranged by the spooked looks on the guards’ faces at the first gate. Still, however confused, one of them lets me in nonetheless. Another tries to ask me what’s going on, but I leave them in the dust and drive on up through the walker pen — a rotten Ezekiel, at the end of his chain, takes particular interest in me tonight, and thrashes hard against my window when I accidentally veer too close within his reach. Startled, I swerve, centering the truck in the middle of the track again and shaking my head to focus. I glance anxiously through my wing-mirror, cursing when I see the suspicious guard from a moment ago now following me on foot up the driveway, talking into his radio.
Someone opens the second gate for me and I drive inside quickly, tyres scraping. It’s difficult to act normally when your heart is racing out of your face. I decide doing this as quickly as possible is the best way to survive the next half an hour. Skidding to a stop beside the factory main doors, I jump out of the truck and rush up the porch steps. Unfortunately, Laura and another Saviour that I haven’t met before come outside just as I reach the door, bumping into me. I can hear their radios.
“What’s going on? The Boss back?”
“Nah, just his second fav acting wigged.”
“Check him.”
“Yup. Laur and Jed are on it.”
“De Luca! What the hell happened?” Laura asks over the radio-chatter, squinting at me. Dust billows around us, blown around by my erratic parking. “Where’s Negan and the others at?”
“Behind me,” I lie. “Where’s Judith?”
“Upstairs, with Lydia and the wives,” Laura replies. “What happened to — Hey, de Luca. Wait !”
Barging past her, I head inside through the ground floor. Things seem normal, booths and workstations full and bustling with people minding their own business. I keep my head down as I head towards the stairs, but with Laura and Jed yelling behind me I draw attention. Some, to my exasperation, comes from Alden, Quan, and Brandon.
“Yo, Oliver!” Quan cheers. “You’re back.”
“And covered in blood,” Alden says flatly. “Why’s it always gotta be blood with you two?”
“I’m fine,” I say, barely remembering that I was shot — but also suddenly hyper aware of the fact, too, feeling the painful pang, and seeing the congealed, dry, and wet blood oozing from my bicep and dripping off my prosthetic hook when I glance down at myself. It’s difficult to lift my arm, I realise. I suddenly remember almost crashing several times on the way back here when taking several sharp turns.
“Speaking of,” Alden adds, “where is the other half?”
“He’s coming,” I lie again, gritting my teeth.
“Well, wanna join us for a drink?” Quan asks. “Celebrate your return?”
“Not now, guys.”
“Ah, yes,” Brandon says, “remember boys? Now that he’s a big-shot, right-hand man, Ollie here doesn’t have time for us ‘little folk’ anymore.”
“Fuck off, Brandon,” I hiss.
“Hey, take it easy,” Alden tells us both. “It’s literally been ten seconds and you’re already at each other’s throats.”
“Oh, Lord , no,” Brandon laughs, rounding up on me as I reach the doorway to the stairs, blocking my path, “I wouldn’t dare. No, I bet it feels good having more than just your boy-toy busy all day kissing your ass, huh? Both o’ you flowers just shudder with joy at that kinda thing, don’t you?”
I grasp his head in my palm and crack it hard against the stone door frame.
“Jesus, de Luca!” Laura yells.
“What the hell!?” someone else gasps.
I’m through to the stairwell before any of them help Brandon to his feet again, and then they’re really shouting at me, following me up the stairs. Panicking, I break into a sprint, taking four steps at a time. I get ahead on adrenaline alone and am exhausted by the time I make it up to Negan’s headquarters, limping now. The doormen —one of them a previous guard of Carol’s, DJ— lets me in when I say Negan sent me.
“Judith!” I call out, my voice shaking. “Jude, you here?!”
“Oliver?!”
And her voice is like a hit of euphoria straight to my soul. As she runs into the corridor and leaps into my arms, I feel so relieved that I have to grip the wall so as not to collapse.
“You’re back!” she cries. “Where’s Carl? Daddy was so worried about you.”
“Jude...” I’m shaking so hard I have to put her back on the floor. I’ve stained her dress in blood and I wince, clutching my arm. “Carl — he’s waiting outside. You coming?”
She nods, starting to look worried. With a forced smile I give her my hand and she grips it with both of hers. I’m about to lead us out, but stop when Lydia comes out of the living area to see us, too, crossing her arms over her chest. The rest of the wives start to emerge behind her or from various doors along the corridor.
“Where’s Negan?” Amber asks timidly.
I open my mouth. I shut it when the doors behind me smack open. Laura, Jed, Alden, Quan, Brandon, DJ, and the other guard at the door enter the corridor with confused frowns on their faces.
“What is going on, man?” Jed asks. “Why ain’t the rest of the crew behind you? Where is Negan?”
“He’s coming,” I lie and lie and lie. “I… I have to meet... we have plans… we’re… err...”
I take a step towards them for the door, pulling Judith close to me, but Laura stands in my way. Brandon and Jed draw their guns to their sides.
“Whoa, whoa!” Quan flinches.
“Alright everyone just calm down,” Alden says. “Let’s just talk about this. Alright? I’m sure there’s just been a misunderstanding. Right, Oliver?”
Desperately, I pull Judith behind me, shifting on my feet to keep her out of their firing-lines. I can feel her small fingers gripping my belt loops. Uncertainly, she whispers my name.
“We need to go,” I say, trying to sound firm and assertive.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Laura says. “Not until you tell us what happened.”
“Nothing happened!” I yell, sweat pouring down my face.
“Bull…” Jed growls. “Look at the state of you.”
“Judith, why don’t you come here,” Frankie says, holding out a hand.
“No!” I bark, yanking Judith back to me desperately. “No… she — She has to stay with me! ”
“Oliver,” Alden says, a palm outstretched like he’s trying to calm a wild animal, “look, man, you’re bleeding like crazy and you look like you’re about to pass out, so just calm down and tell us what’s going on. We can’t help you if you won’t talk to us.”
Breathing in heaves, I look around at them all.
I have to take several gulps before I can find the words to speak.
And finally I tell them.
“Negan is dead.”
The single, finite fact ripples through the corridor like the shock-waves of a silent explosion.
“There’s…” I swallow and push on. “There’s another group — a bigger... group. The Saviors who went to get us in Charleston, they’re… in custody… all of them.”
They all blink at me. Laura and Jed lower their guns, shock all over their faces.
“He’s... dead?” Lydia asks. A tear drips down her face.
I nod to her, swallowing hard.
“How did you escape?” Jed asks, his gun starting to lower now, too.
I look at him, feeling like my mouth is suddenly full of gravel.
“ He didn’t, ” Brandon answers. “He’s probably the one who killed him!” He pulls back the hammer on his gun, aiming it at my face. Several people gasp. Someone is shouting.
“No. No, I...” I try, but someone yells, “Get him!” and Jed, Brandon, and DJ are on me, slamming me face first to the ground. Blood splats. My arms are twisted behind my back and I scream. Judith cries out for me as she’s pulled away by Frankie and Belle. Someone’s boot is pressed between my shoulder-blades. I growl through my teeth, seeing white.
“Listen to me! I didn’t come back alone!” I shout out desperately. “There’s a whole squadron! A-hundred of them. Here within the hour! Five or six times that by the end of the day, and more in the days following. They’re coming with their leader and they’re taking over the whole state!”
“You talk a lot of shit for a guy with a bullet three seconds from entering his skull.”
“Get your finger off that trigger, Brandon,” Laura orders.
“Please!” I cry, my lip swelling, and in a messy rush I add: “They only gave me a head start because I wanted to come get Judith, and straighten things out if I could! I wanted to get her away first. Get her safe. But — look, alright? They’re coming. They’re going to negotiate with you… introduce themselves.”
Things must be making sense to them because slowly, I feel DJ let go of me. Jed, too, removes his boot from my spine. Brandon, however, digs his gun barrel into the back of my skull. I grunt, scrunching my eyes shut.
“You’re bluffing.”
“ I swear it! ” I cry, straining to look at him. “It’s out of all our hands! It — It was always going to be! ”
There is a moment of silence again, until Laura’s walkie-talkie pings with static.
“Our boys are coming back, we see their trucks coming along I-seventy. Copy?”
“Copy that,” someone else says.
“Oh, you ‘swear it’?” Laura mocks me. “Lying sack of—” She kicks me in the side and I scream again into the lino floor. Brandon digs his heel into my spine. I don’t have the breath to scream this time.
“Can I shoot him now?” he asks her.
I see Laura glance at him, hesitating.
“Ask them who’s driving! — Ahia! ” Brandon knocks me behind the ear with his barrel. It takes all my energy to hold off from sobbing. “ Please, ” I beg again. “Just — ask who they see through the windows!”
Laura clenches her jaw. She raises the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Who’s driving? Over.”
“What do you mean who’s driving? One of our guys? ‘Who’s driving’, pfft…”
“Just… check,” Laura insists impatiently. “Who do you see inside the trucks? Look close. Tell me when you have a clear answer. Over...”
“Fine... sit tight a sec. Over.”
Several moments pass by. I’m allowed to sit up, but my Thunder and knife are snatched off me, as well as my walkie-talkie. I grip my arm and bend forward into myself, my ribs throbbing.
“Yeah… you’re right… something’s up… they’re not our guys. We don’t see Negan. There’s a lot of them. Getting reports that some of the trucks have trailers attached, filled with even more of them. Dressed up in these weird, jacked, white suits. Looks like they got machine guns. They’re headed for the Sanctuary. What should we do? Set up roadblocks? I can get a flash team together for a Career Day — Give you some time before you can get your guys together for the final line up? Over.”
Laura grips the talkie, thinking hard.
She watches me.
I shake my head to her for a split moment before Brandon punches me across the ear with his fist. This hit feels much more personal than the last few, like it may be a direct response to the door-frame incident downstairs.
Finally, she hits the talkie’s botton and says, “Nothing. Don’t do anything. Let them come. Copy?”
Brandon twists around to glare at her.
Jed grabs her arm. “Laur, what?”
“Let them come to the Sanctuary!” she demands into the talkie, ignoring them. “Do you copy?!”
“...Copy.”
“Are you serious?!”
“What choice do we have?!” she yells in Jed’s face. “Why else would they be coming if they didn’t have the numbers to back themselves up?”
Jed stares at her sternly, fear in his eyes.
“It’s over,” I say, swallowing. “It’s all over.”
Jed grimaces. Laura nods. I look at DJ and Alden and Quan and the few other guards who have accumulated at the main doors, all watching us in silence. The wives are glancing at each other nervously. Lydia and Judith take each other’s hands.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brandon shouts. “Am I really the only guy who sees through this bullshit?!”
He points his gun at my chest again.
“Brandon!” Laura yells.
“If you kill me,” I tell him, flinching behind my hand, “you’ll only make standing down to them harder for yourselves! They’re expecting me and Judith, alive. ”
“He’s right, man,” Quan tells him. “They know Oliver. They trust him by now, clearly. If they show up and he’s dead they’re only going to see it as the start of another war.”
“Shut up!” Brandon raises his gun to my face, right between my eyebrows. “Everyone, stay the fuck back or I will blow his fucking head off!”
“Brandon!” Laura shouts again. “Put the fucking gun down!”
“I’m not gonna do that,” Brandon growls, eyes set dead on mine. “My father died to build the Saviors to what we are now. We can’t just throw it all away! Tell them to stop and turn around, Oliver, or you die… right now.”
“I can’t,” I admit, “it’s out of my hands. I told you. I’m just here for Judith.”
“Fine,” he hisses through his teeth, and after a moment of hesitation he swings his arm in her direction. Judith gasps. The wives rush to shield her. And I just watch, helpless on my knees as Brandon marches backwards towards them. “Get back, ladies! Now!”
They don’t, so he sends several bullets into the wall one after another. It’s not clear which one hits a steel beam and ricochets off and goes straight through Belle’s forehead. Tanya, Sarah, and Frankie cower away, screaming. Lanelle throws herself at Belle’s twitching body, sobbing. Blood pools under her knees quickly.
In this horrified whisper, Brandon curses, realising what he’s done. He startles when he sees the rest of us moving in the corner of his view and reacts quickly to run and shove Lydia and Amber away, snatching Judith by the arm. Judith doesn’t struggle or even scream as Brandon yanks her off her feet to his chest and presses his gun to her cheek. She just shuts her eyes tightly, wincing.
“Don’t,” I mutter, trembling, “ please .”
“Brandon, what the fuck did you do?!” Quan cries, still staring at Belle’s body.
“What the fuck, dude!” DJ says, too.
“You fucking killed her!” Lanelle cries, Belle’s head in her hands, her brains and blood dripping through her fingers.
“ Shut the fuck up! ” Brandon shouts, panicking. He digs his gun deep against Judith’s cheek, forcing her head to the side. I hear the small sizzle of the barrel against her skin. She whimpers. “I’ll… I’ll fucking kill her, too! I will! What more do I have to lose? I’ve killed one of Negan’s wife, might as well kill his daughter, too.” He’s shaking so hard Judith begins to slip. He grips her roughly, squeezing her so tightly that her eyes bulge and she wheezes. Beads of sweat sparkle along her forehead.
“He’s dead,” I say to Brandon. “You don’t have to do this.”
“He’s right. We’re done here, ” Laura demands. “Brandon... it’s over.”
“Tell them to go back!” Brandon bellows at me.
I can’t do that. I really can’t. And Judith’s about to die for it.
For no reason at all.
“Please, man,” I beg. “Please, don’t hurt—”
BLAM!
My whole body flinches. A spray of warm blood smatters the wall. And I watch, trembling and breathless and stunned, as Brandon falls sideways and hits the floor with a heavy thud, dead. His eyes are wide open. Blood gushes out of his nostrils, mouth, and the hole in his temple. Judith staggers forward, one step, then two and three, shock twisting her face up. Brandon’s brain drips off her hair and dress. I rush to catch her as she collapses into my arms. I hold her so tightly that she grunts.
Smoke ripples out the end of Lydia’s gun.
She lowers her arm, tears streaming down her cheeks, chin shaking.
“Thank you,” I tell her breathlessly.
She glares down at me. “I didn’t do it for you...”
The news of Negan’s death and the incarceration of the Saviors in Charleston spreads fast across the factory. A lot of Saviors up and leave into the night immediately — most taking their friends or families with them while some just leave their loved ones without an explanation at all. Regina is among them, I hear. Others begin to bicker and argue amongst themselves. When a few fights break out across the factory, Laura, DJ, and a handful of people on their side —mostly workers on the ground floor— help to talk people down and even manage to keep things relatively peaceful.
I don’t have the patience or the energy to pay attention to much of what exactly is said. Instead I focus on taking Judith to our room and packing everything I can into my duffel. It’s already pretty full of basics from the trip, but I still manage to stuff in our owl and buck sculptures, Judith’s toothbrush, a few sets of her clothes, our hairbrush, some more of my inhalers, some books, and another blanket.
“Anything else?” I ask her. My voice cracks, my throat sore.
Judith remains silent, sitting on the bed with her small, biker, action figure gripped in her fist.
“‘Cause we aren’t coming back here,” I add, feeling sick.
She doesn’t look at me.
Frustrated, I tut and turn to the room. Crouching, I reach under the bed to grab Daryl’s waistcoat. I decide to wear it, to save room. It fits better than I’d expected it to. As I zip up my bag, blood drips onto the fabric. I tut again, realising I need to stitch myself up.
“Come with me to the infirmary?” I ask Judith, reaching out my hand. Thankfully she takes it, if not pretty begrudgingly. Struggling to keep my bag on my good shoulder, I lead the way downstairs.
To my surprise, Dr. Carson is inside his clinic, sitting alone and staring into space. He jumps when he sees me. “What happened?”
I push my bag off my shoulder too quickly and reflexively try to catch it with my prosthetic. Pain shoots up my arm and a wet flow of blood dribbles down my torn sleeve.
“I need to close the wound. Can I use some sutures?”
“Of course. I’ll help.”
He gets set up at a hospital bed.
“You’re not leaving like everyone else?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Maybe. Kinda overwhelmed right now, honestly. I’ve never thought about what I’d do if… Well, nevermind that. Let’s get you stitched up. I’ll think about what to do with my life afterwards.”
He washes his hands and gets started on my arm. Each stitch burns. Judith holds my hand through it all. It’s hard to tell if this is the case only because I haven’t let go of her yet or because she has chosen not to herself. Even so I try not to worry about it because she almost just died. She seems to be taking it pretty well, all things considered, and quietly watches Dr. Carson work.
After he’s done bandaging me up, I feel so faint I have to put my head back on my seat. Quickly, Dr. Carson gives me a glass of water and a handful of sugary biscuits. When I feel better, he helps me to my feet, warning me to take things easy.
I notice he’s put a small, waterproof children’s Band-Aid on the burn on her cheek for her. It’s got little cartoon animals on it.
Dr. Carson looks at me. “What are you going to do now? I forgot to ask.”
“I’m gonna go see my mom.”
He watches me and smiles. “Goodbye, Oliver. Take care.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. For everything.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I… wish we had met under better circumstances.”
With a final, subdued, nod, I take Judith and our things downstairs.
Laura has managed to gather most of the remaining few hundred folks left in the Sanctuary on the ground-floor. It is odd to see her speak to everyone from the heart of the factory market, instead of from where Negan used to stand on the balcony overlooking everyone. Up there now it is just some other residents, gathering in the spaces to listen to her explain.
“The Commonwealth soldiers are on their way, and the safest advice I have for everyone, considering the numbers against us, is for us all to stand down, assess, and let the leader of the Commonwealth do the talking.”
Weary faces look around at each other.
“This isn’t the day to play hero,” she tells them all. “Not without Negan. Whether that’s for better or for worse, the Saviors aren’t the protagonist in this story. Not today…”
It’s clear that Judith and I are in much less danger here now than I had expected, so she and I spend some time sitting outside on the porch. At some point she comes and sits on my lap, wrapping herself around my middle with her Band-Aided cheek on my chest. And suddenly she begins to cry. Not just a small cry either. Judith cries her eyes out. I hold her. I don’t let go. I just rock her in my arms and tell her she’s safe.
“Adesso sei al sicuro…”
Soon the trucks arrive. They drive right on in through the gates because they’ve been left open. Nobody is even on watch anymore. The handful of Saviors hurrying around the courtyard all turn to look, shuffling anxiously on their feet. More come out of the factory when they hear the engines. Someone switches on the floodlights, so that we can have more than just the moonlight to see by.
I stand up, wincing, careful to keep hold of Judith, and watch through the dust and shifting shoulders as the officers exit the trucks and file neatly into the courtyard. They command people back to give themselves more space. The floodlights twinkle off of their armour.
Pamela peeks out of one truck with Mercer and Maxwell leaving the other side, who all have extremely unimpressed looks on their faces as they survey the factory.
Once on the ground, Pamela smiles and opens her arms. “I am Governor Pamela Milton of the Commonwealth,” she calls out to us all. “Pleased to meet you all.”
Scared and puzzled faces look back at her.
“Now,” Pamela says, clapping her hands. “Is there someone whom I may speak to about business?”
Notes:
The title (Oliver’s prayer): “Non lasciare che mio marito muoia” is supposed to translate to “don’t let my husband die” but Google translate is a bitch so please let me know if it’s wrong.
I REALLY enjoyed writing this chapter. All my favourite parts were only added/improved in the last few days though so I’m a little worried they’re just the result of a potential hyper episode I may be having. Would love to hear some feedback. What did you think about Judith’s almost-death scene? What did you think about the deaths that did happen in this chapter (Brandon, Belle, Negan being confirmed dead)? What did you think about Regina and some of the other Saviors running away? Did you like Judith’s little animal-cartoon plaster? Did you like Dr. Carson’s brief little cameo after so long? What do you think is gonna happen next?
Disclaimer: Brandon’s big scene was stripped right from issue 186, swapping places with Dwight.
Also I was recently inspired by the film Moonlight to change the by-chapter pov titles/names to symbolise each stage in the guys’ lives. Act 1, Kid and Kiddo. Act 2 and 3, Grimes and de Luca. Act 4, Carl and Oliver — basically ‘cause of how Negan and the people around them refer(red) to them at the time, and how now it’s just their names because Negan finally called Carl by his name for the first time. Probably too much but I enjoyed the detail.
As always,
Happy reading.