wicked game . negan

56; wounded

"Help me – help me move him," she said, slipping her arms under his large figure. She would never be able to lift him on her own. "Please, dad."

When she looked up at him with pink, stinging eyes, begging for his help, she could almost see him shuffle a bit closer.

"Why are you doing this?" His breaths were jagged. "I thought you- I thought you wanted this..."

His hands covered his eyes, rubbing his face. She focused only on him. Not the eyes of Rosita, burning holes through her with all the animosity she could conjure. Not Daryl, utterly confused and upset. Not Michonne, even as she stepped forward, appearing almost sympathetic.

He trembled and jerked his gun toward the idle body. "No. No. You're gonna regret this, Vada. I swear you'll regret this. We all want him dead. We need him dead."

"I need him alive!" With a hard swallow, low on time, she raised her gun and averted it to Dwight. "Help me carry him to the car. Now. I'll kill you, I swear to god."

His eyes widened and shot down to the limp man. He was likely thinking of all the things he would do to him if he lived.

"Now."

"Vada-" her father interrupted.

"I said now."

"I can't let you do this," Rick snarled, his lip curling inward. The shock had settled. He was mad. He was mad as Negan, he was mad at Vada.

"I can't let him die." She cocked her gun at Dwight. "Pick him up. By his shoulders. Be fucking gentle."

This time he listened, stepping forward tentatively and slipping his hands under the broad shoulders. Rick's car was parked behind the trees. If only she'd seen them. A quick glimpse before Negan stepped out of the house. Then she wouldn't have his blood all over her hands.

She led them toward the idle car. Negan was heavy, but she didn't think she could let go; even when every muscle in her body strained and turned into jello.

"Vad-"

"Drive to the sanctuary. Dwight, passenger side."

"This is bullshit," Rosita seethed, shooting forward. She looked as if she were gonna hit her, but stopped just in front of them. She merely ignored her and got into the vehicle, with Negan's head over her lap and the rest of his body occupying the back seat.

Rick turned to the rest of them. "Take the other car. Go home."

"You can't be serious," Rosita said, shooting daggers into the back seat. Vada stared forward, blankly, her hands still clasped to the wound on his chest. The crimson that soaked his shirt, her hands, that now spotted the back seat of the car. He would live. As long as she felt the faint beat on his wrist, on his neck, he would live.

"I said go."

She kept her gaze on his face. His beautiful, sculptured face, more ashen than usual, perspiring at the base of his roots and the bridge of his nose. She wiped the hair that stuck to his face and the sweat that hung above his lip. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then to his lips. She shivered at how cold he was.

Rick saw this, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. He started the engine and jerked the car forward until it was speeding down the narrow road.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Rick was in shock, his whole body frozen into his seat as he glanced into the rearview mirror every few moments. Dwight was docile and gave directions as her father swiveled each corner.

She was dejected, with no simpler way to put it; pessimistic and disconnected. The numbness was wearing off. She could feel the blood seep through her hands, the tears stream down her cheeks, and the could feel the pain that surged through her body. It was a profound kind of sadness, like she'd already lost the one thing that meant most to her. The one thing that gave her feeling in a desolate world.