Outcast (A TWD Fanfiction)

Chapter 12: Rising Threat

"When we run from struggle, we are never free. So we turn toward truth and look it in the eye." Manifesto of the Brave and Brokenhearted.

(PAST.)

Ellen didn't get much more sleep that night, still thinking of how easily Randall was able to slip into her room. Still thinking of his knife against her throat. How easily he could have killed her.

Early the next morning, Ellen stretched as she climbed from her bed, taking care not to wake Laura. She threw a tight black tank top on and some khaki cargo pants before heading down to the dining hall to grab some breakfast.

She hungrily devoured some scrambled eggs and melon and sipped on some freshly brewed coffee, watching the men as they followed their daily routines around her.

She watched them come and go, unsure of which ones worked for Randall and which ones were still loyal to Negan. She wondered just how many people Randall had working for him.

Ellen frowned, and remembered what she'd seen when Randall touched her throat.

She saw flashes of his life before, and his hands around the throat of somebody else, one of his comrades.

She started when Negan's voice greeted her, pulling her from her thoughts. "You're up early," he commented.

He sat down across from her at the table. "Got some worms to catch?"

Ellen tried to hide her discomfort and she looked past him, just noticing some of the other Saviors glancing over at her. She felt her heart pounding, feeling a sense of paranoia creeping into her skin.

"Couldn't sleep. And I actually just finished my breakfast," she said abruptly, trying to get up and excusing herself to leave.

"Sit the fuck down."

Wordlessly, Ellen did as instructed. She found herself having a hard time focusing on the man across from her, instead noticing the distinct dirty looks being flashed in her direction.

"What'd he do? You look scared shitless."

Ellen blinked, only just meeting Negan's gaze. "What? Nothing. I'm not scared of shit."

"That's it, I'm going to have a little fucking chat with Randy and get this sorted out."

"No," she hissed, grabbing his arm before he got up to leave. "No."

Negan leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her. "Why? You gonna tell me what the hell is going on?"

Ellen frowned at him. "I can't be seen talking to you. You're putting a target on my back."

Negan chuckled, and Ellen watched his smile flash. "I talk to whoever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want. I can take care of a few bad apples, sweetheart."

"And I can take care of myself," she said firmly.

"I think it's a little more complex than you realize. There're politics here, pieces moving right under your nose. You don't know shit, Negan."

At that, Ellen stood up, stalking past him to confront a man who'd been watching her for a while across the dining hall.

She slammed her fists down on the table in front of the man, causing his coffee to spill. "You got a staring problem?"

The man shrugged and went back to eating his breakfast. "You're dead," he whispered with a fiendish smile.

Ellen growled at him, before swatting his plate away, sending it crashing to the ground. She grabbed his collar and smashed his face into the table.