"Dean, I don't-"
"Close the door.", he orders with a wild look in his eyes
You debate on running. He's going to pull the trigger the second you twitch in a way he doesn't like. You hold your hands up as you kick the door closed. You keep your eyes on him, trying not to look at the gun. His hands don't shake and he doesn't blink. You've never seen him this calm with a gun in his hand. Maybe he's been replaying this scenario in his head much in the way you have, plotting and preparing for it. Of course, you didn't plan on being on this end of the gun.
"Over there.", he spits, flicking the gun to the couch.
"You-"
"Over there!", he shouts, becoming red in the face.
You take slow steps to the couch, hands still up, trying not to get yourself killed. Slowly, you sit on the worn, brown leather couch.
My gun. I have to get to the bedroom.
"Simon told me you've been talking to Negan.", he tells you, staring you down with a cold glare.
The gun is still aimed at your head. Do you try to lie? Do you tell the truth? It seems like there's only one ending to this no matter what you try to say.
"Negan came and got me from work.", you explain with a shake in your voice.
"What did he say?", he asks seemingly getting angrier.
I have to lie.
"He asked me if you had said anything about not wanting to lead collections from the communities .", you say as honest sounding as you can muster.
"He came all the way down to your shitty little job and pulled you from work to ask you that? Do I look fucking stupid to you?", he asks taking a step forward and tilting his head.
The barrel of the gun is inches from your face now. You can almost see your reflection in the glint of the steel. You're shaking. You can't breathe.
This is it.
"Dean I swear to god. That's what he asked me. I guess he didn't want anybody to think you couldn't handle it so he asked me in private.", you spew as fast as you can, trying anything to get him to move his finger off of the trigger.
He gives you another hard look. It almost looks as if he's arguing with himself internally. You look at him with pleading eyes, but to no avail, he presses the gun right to your temple.
"No.", he mutters, pulling back the hammer.
You shut your eyes as tightly as you can, tears streaming down your face. Earlier you thought you were ready to face death. You couldn't have been more wrong.
Knock knock knock.
Your eyes fly open and focus on the door. You look back to Dean who is still locked onto you, now just as shaken up as you are.
"Better get that.", you say coldly.
It's now or never. He has to answer.
As soon as he turns his head to look toward the door you throw yourself at him. You both come crashing down to the floor, shattering the glass coffee table on the way. The gun fires right by your head as he falls to the ground. The gun slips from his grip and goes sliding across the glass-covered floor. You attempt to crawl to the gun, glass crunching and piercing through the palms of your hands, ears ringing.
Pain sears through your scalp, and you can hear your hair being ripped out of your head, letting out a cry as he yanks you back. Grabbing you by the throat he gets on top of you, squeezing with so much force you think your head might pop off. You choke, gasping for just a breath of air. Your hands tremble, feeling around for anything to use to get him off of you. Finding a shard of glass you look him in the eye as your drive it into his neck with all the strength you have.
He lets out a blood-curdling scream and lets go of your throat. Gasping, you shove him off of you. You weakly drag yourself to the gun, glass shredding your skin. You hear banging on the door as the ringing subsides like someone is trying to kick it down. Grabbing the gun, you pull yourself to your feet and aim it at Dean. He lays there, blood seeping from his wound, shaking, waiting for you to end it. The pounding on the door only increases. You point the gun at his head, you see his helpless eyes between the sights on the pistol.
"No," you say just as he told you.
You move the aim of the gun from his head to his chest and squeeze the trigger. You watch as his hands leave his neck and now clutch the bullet wound you've left in the middle of his chest. He starts choking, blood coming from his mouth. The door finally caves in and you let the gun fall to the floor, never letting your eyes leave Dean. A smile spreads across your lips as you watch him take his last breath.
-
The blood on your hands is all you focus on.
They put you into a room with a single barred window with nothing but a cot and a bucket. You wheeze with each breath you take. The small shards of glass embedded in your hand glint in the orange rays from the sunset shone in through the window. You haven't seen anyone since they took you from the room and threw you into here. It's been a few hours. You can't remember who came in or who brought you here. The last face you remember is Dean's. You can feel the stickiness of his dried blood on your neck and shirt.
I wonder when they're going to kill me.
As if it was on cue, the door squeaks open. You look up and find Dwight with a look of relief on his face. You couldn't be more relieved to see him. He walks over to the cot and wraps you into a hug, smelling of cigarettes. Pulling back his worried blue eyes scan you, honing in on your neck.
"You okay?", he asks.
"Better than ever.", you tell him in a raspy tone.
It hurts so much to talk.
"How are you here?", you ask.
He sits down beside you on the thin cot.
"Well I have the pleasure of guarding this room.", he explains.
They must not know we're friends.
"It's a mess out there right now. The guys want your head on a stick."
"I'm sure they'll get what they want."
"Negan won't let that happen."
You look at him, brows furrowed in confusion.
"His exact words were: nobody lays a finger on her or I will cut your fucking hand off.", he tells you.
What?
Isn't he mad? I mean I know that he knew what was going on but he's going to let me get away with murder?
"He knew what was going on. He's ruthless but he's not heartless. What Dean did to you was... fucked up. I think everybody knew or suspected things were bad behind closed doors. I know the guys knew about it. I think that's how Negan found out. He must've overheard it.", he explains.
"There's no way I just get to kill Dean and get away with it.", you shake your head.
"If he wanted you dead, you would've been shot as soon as they came in and saw what you did. He wouldn't bother to put you in here and vet the guard to make sure they didn't have any intention to hurt you.", he says simply.
You nod in understanding.
"Is he coming down here?", you ask.
"Right now he's called a meeting for the saviors. I'm sure he's going to want to talk to you sooner rather than later. He's got to put out some fires and take their pitchforks."
This makes you laugh. He also gives you a small chuckle. He finally stands up and looks at the door.
"I better go out here and keep watch. They should be about done with their meeting.", Dwight says looking back at you.
You nod.
"I'm glad you're okay.", he tells you sincerely.
You give him a small smile.
"Thank you for everything, really.", you tell him.
He smiles and walks to the door but before leaving he stops at the door.
"I'm also glad you let him suffer."
He then opens the door and leaves to stand watch. You're now all alone with your thoughts and blood-stained hands to look at. You could lie down and try to sleep but you know it won't happen. Too many thoughts are swirling in your head and you're still a little shaken up. Talking with Dwight helped ease your mind a little bit.
You couldn't ask for a better friend. He's helped you more than he could ever imagine. The world felt more at ease for you now. Sure, all of the saviors wanted you hung, but Dean was gone. No more drunken nights, black eyes, busted lips, or bruises. You wouldn't care if the entire world was coming for your neck as long as it meant Dean was still dead.
What is Negan's deal? I mean I'm grateful and all for him not letting them burn me at the stake, but he's putting himself in a tough spot by not letting them avenge their friend. I'm nothing to him. Why bother? What is he gonna say? He should already know why I did it.
What comes after this?
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