Chapter 60
Through an Inferno

It happened one day when I was rounding a corner on the same floor of the broken pipe when I just about collided with someone I hadn't expected to see.

"Daryl!"

The moment he'd caught sight of me he switched directions instantly, almost like he was trying to run away. But I wouldn't let him. As I studied the sight, I saw a mop in his hands and a bucket at his feet. It looked as if he had been ordered to clean the mess of water from the broken pipes John had damaged in order to obtain the brief moment of privacy with me.

I wasn't sure where Dwight, his work-driver, was at the moment and I didn't care. There was no one else in the halls with us and I couldn't allow this opportunity to slip away from me.

It was the first I had seen him in over a month. I wanted—no needed to know how he was. "I found you! I thought I wasn't going to see you again." I wondered if he would allow me to embrace him, but he flinched at the sound of my voice so I assumed perhaps he needed some space.

As I stared back at him expectantly, the man himself wouldn't turn to me. His back remained as all I could see of him and I had to lean around to gage his expression as he slumped in defeat.

"Ya shouldn't be talkin' to me." He said wearily.

"I don't care about that." I announced, disregarding any sort of penalty implied by conversing with him. "I want to know about you. I want to know if you're alright."

Daryl seemed to flinch with those words. I saw his grip on the mop handle tighten and his knuckles turn white as he repressed a shiver.

"Don't… don't worry about me. Just think about yourself."

"I'm tired of that. I want to think about you now. I want to help you."

"Why?" The word struggled out of him and as I glanced around his back, I caught a glimpse of his expression and saw it was unhinged, like a hoard of terrible thoughts and memories were attacking him together. "Why do you care what happens to me? Why do you—after what I did to you?"

He was talking about the beating.

"That wasn't you!" I rationalized for him. "You weren't the one that wanted that to happen. You weren't the one that hurt me."

"But I did. I did hurt you. I hurt you so bad. I hit you over and over again, and then I heard it pop right from the socket. You should hate me."

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

His eyes looked back at me and I could see beneath the bags of sleepless nights and stress-filled days that he somehow couldn't grasp how or why I would ever choose to forgive him. "Why? After what I did to you—why don't you hate me?"

"Because you are my uncle, Daryl Dixon." I told him firmly. "You are my family and my responsibility and you get the perks that come along with that. I'm going to take care of you from now on."

From across the hall I saw Dwight rounding the opposite corner. I saw his brow lower in anger as he marched towards us, but I dodged away before he could say a word about reprimanding me or him for the encounter.

John had promised that he would get Daryl out of here. Even if he couldn't help me, I had made him promise to help my uncle. Tonight, he would keep that promise. I wasn't going to let him spend one more day in this place.

I arrived at the mess hall, searching the crowd for where my friend may have been and spotted him sitting down at a table with a bowl of broth. I was just about to approach him when he seemed to sense my presence and his gaze snapped up, pinning me with an expression I'd never seen on him. He looked so fierce and angry. He had never looked at me like that. Not ever.

Skidding to a stop, I remembered I wasn't supposed to approach him, and especially not so out in public. His gaze was certainly enough to go on about that. Feeling defeated, I turned to the line of people waiting their own turn to receive lunch and stood there among them, trying to ignore the curious glances I got from them as the red cloak identified me to all.

In my mind, if I couldn't approach John then perhaps I could hint that I needed to speak to him, and he would have to find a secure place for us to have a conversation. I wasn't going to leave him alone until we'd both found a way to break Daryl out of here. Even if it meant I had to stay here forever, Daryl wasn't going to rot away with me.

I decided to sit two tables from where John sat, keeping my gaze on him even while he'd turned his own down to concentrate solely on his food. With my eyes on him I noticed three Saviors approach him from behind.

It didn't seem as though John was in the talkative mood with any of them, and judging by the completely empty table, it didn't seem as though he'd made many friends since arriving here. They were obviously looking to pick a fight, but the stranger refused to take the bait. Though I could tell from the tenseness he sat with, it was taking all his self-restraint not to tear the men apart.

Even if it'd been years, I still knew how strong John was. Once I had watched him chop wood and had witnessed him tear a whole log in equal halves with nothing but his bare hands. Another time when we were surrounded by a rival pack of wild dogs, he'd fought off the pack singlehandedly with moves I'd never seen anyone possess in my entire life. He looked like a kung fu beast master while doing it.

John was the strongest person alive and these men were three idiots who couldn't tell the cave bear they were kicking.

"So, John, was it?" The savior prodded him. "What's your story?"

"Highwayman." He said plainly with no further elaboration than that.

"How long have you been out on your own?"

"Not long enough."

"You scary as fuck." One of them commented. "How'd you get your eyes that way?"

"Mutation." He muttered, biting into his food.

"Where'd ya get that scar?"

"Birthmark."

I wanted to snort. As much as they tried to bait him, he wouldn't bite, but they sure weren't about to give up.

"You know, I think this freak thinks he's tough shit." One of them leered. His hand stretched out and touched the leather hood of John's trench coat. "I like that coat you got on. Bet I'd look like a real badass with a coat like that. And I don't think you've earned enough points to be wearing something that nice." He shoved John and now I was fully interested along with several others in surrounding tables. "Take it off, asshole."

I knew with one look at the way John's shoulders tensed, the man was in for a world of regret with that move.

"Oh, you poor dumb Savior." I chuckled under my breath. I ate my food like popcorn, watching as John rose slowly to his feet and towered over the man. With that single move, I could tell the man was steadily beginning to regret his mistake.

But it seemed they sure didn't learn fast as one of them pulled a gun. Like a flash of lightning, John moved into action. It was so fast, if I had blinked, I would have missed it all.

John's fist smashed against the man's jaw before he'd even completely withdrawn the weapon. In one punch, the guy nosedived to the floor and didn't get up again. The others moved when their companion fell, but John gripped the sides of the heavy picnic table and toppled it with one heave. Bowls and food flew everywhere and the men on the opposite side of the table were pinned in an instant when John stepped up on it. Before he'd turned it upside-down, John had grabbed his bowl and was now using it as a bludgeoning weapon sailing it straight into the face of one, catching it as it ricochet back, and smashing it over another.

In a single moment, all eyes had turned to John and the tousle. The commotion had sparked new life from the surrounding Saviors. Some of them didn't seem eager to interfere though not for lack of bravery. Entertainment was hard to come by for them and watching a good fight was something to savor whenever they could.

That was until several more Saviors tried to get involved and John tossed them away like throwing out garbage.

My heart leapt in my throat at the sight of it and the look on John's face. He looked utterly unhinged, like some wild beast that had been prodded one too many times by a scrutinizing, judgmental crowd. He reminded me of a big cat—like a tiger that had been kept too long in the confines of a cramped cage and his patience had at last been worn thin.

This was serious.

Now I could understand a bit of why John preferred being a hermit compared to interacting with living people. No one could control him. More Saviors tried to get into it and hold him back but he was having none of it. His yellow eyes looked back at everyone like the enemies they were.

That was when a deafening blast cut through all the chaos and everything was still at last.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!"

My eyes followed Negan as he passed off a smoking rifle to one of his men, no doubt the same tool that he'd used to restore order once more. He cut through the crowd to make his way towards the center of commotion. By the time he reached John, he seemed to have regained his control over himself and had put his hands up, lowering to his knees in surrender, demonstrating that he would put up no fight.

"What the hell is this about? You the one tearing up the fucking place?"

John didn't answer, only pinned Negan with his untamed yellow gaze. Negan seemed to draw back a bit by it, but it was so concealed that only someone who conversed with him on a daily basis could ever tell. Then he snapped at one of the men on the ground. "Chuck, what the fuck went on here?"

Chuck spat out a mouthful of blood and held his side. "Maniac, went berserk for no fucking reason at all. Guy up and hulked out on everyone."

Only two of them could confirm his side since the majority of the rest were all either unconscious or in too much pain to add anything.

Just then the head work driver popped up and handed Negan a file, which I assumed was John's.

Negan looked down at John who met his gaze without flinching. "What was your name again? John something? John Clare? Pansy-ass name! Why does it sound so familiar? Eh whatever. Alrighty John. Been here for two weeks and you're already tearing up the place. We don't really have room for some freak ruffian, but I've been told you do some pretty heavy lifting with the work crew." He flipped through the pages. "No complaints, no comments, speaks in one word sentences, refuses to go into detail about the time before you arrived here. Hmm… doesn't seem like there's a whole lot going on upstairs, if you understand my meaning."

I glared by that. Negan was so stupid. John was one of the smartest people ever. He was just a damn good actor; the product of years of working with theatre troupes, circus shows, museums, liars and criminals.

Negan just went on. "Background history: mortician—eh creepy. Been on your own for most of the time… no other comments from you." He looked back down at John and tossed the file back to the work driver. "You've obviously had it rough, pal. Not going to talk about what all you've endured out there and there's no one here forcing you to. Got some pretty heavy psychological damage in that skull and I predict you haven't had much socializing with people in a long while so I'll go easy on you this one time."

I wanted to laugh. Oh, Negan was going to go easy on him, was he? Negan wasn't the one going "easy" with anyone. John was going easy on him. In one move, John could probably tear those men apart and squash Negan like a bug. Kinda made me wonder why he didn't.

Negan's voice lowered. "But the next time you cause a fucking riot in my place again you sure as fuck won't have a good side of your face left."

"What do we do about him in the meantime?" One of his men asked.

"Solitary. Three days."

They dragged John away and I had to school my features for when Negan's eyes caught me watching it all. Just then I started to chuckle and his brow cocked in confusion.

"Something funny, Judy?"

I looked up at him with a devious smirk across my face.

"They sure are the pride of the Sanctuary." I jeered to him, indicating the fallen men who were slowly picking themselves off the ground. "No brains, no bronze, and no balls now. Thought they'd kick a sleeping giant and got their bones ground into bread. Pussies. You should add some intelligence tests to their training curriculum sometime. Woops did I say training? Sorry, I guess I mistook them for soldiers for a moment."

"Well you're apparently the expert on soldiers, aren't you, Judy?"

"I do try to be a jack of all trades after all."

"Shouldn't something be sucking your blood out right now? You don't get paid to sit around."

"Uh actually, I do. At least I'm useful when I sit around."

"Keep it up and I'll find worse uses for you." He sneered, walking away abruptly so he'd have the last word on it.

Once he was gone, I discarded my tray of dishes and wondered down to the detention level, avoiding the guards the best I was able to.

With the deserted corridor surrounding me, I found the cell John had been thrown in on the first day. I pressed my hand to it, knowing he knew I was there.

"We're getting my uncle out of here." I told him lowly. "I don't care how we do it, but I don't want him stuck here another day. Leave me behind if you have to, but get him out. Please."

I heard a bang on the other end of the corridor and shuffled towards the opposite end before I was spotted by anyone. In my heart I hoped John had a plan for how he could achieve that. There were three days of solitary confinement he'd be sentenced to. If that could buy him some time then I prayed he'd be able to use it wisely.

Later that night, I was woken up from out of nowhere when I heard a loud commotion. Loud and frantic shouting was coming from both outside the hallway and my window. As I shifted out from under the bed, I looked towards the band across the ceiling to see a dull orange glow illuminating the dark sky. Smoke rose with it and I realized instantly that something was on fire.

Just then the door flew opened and my new guard burst inside.

"Good you're up!" She announced heatedly. "Come on! I have to take you to the wives' room."

"What happening?" I ask with rising fear.

"Never mind, just come on!"

I obeyed without another word following her out in noting but pajamas. I arrived at the loungeroom where the wives were all awake, dressed in robes and nightgowns and talking hastily with one another about what was going on outside.

"Are we being attacked?"

"I know there's a fire in one of the warehouses."

"Tyler told me a part of the gate was knocked down. A few rotters got in."

Just as I started to sit down on the couch the doctor burst in and looked directly at me. "You, come on! I need you right now."

Someone must have gotten bit then. I followed him out with two other guards including my own leading the way. I hadn't even noticed it before, but she was carrying a rifle and brandishing it around every corner carefully, as if she expected someone or something to pop out and attack them. Her movements set me on edge.

The infirmary had three people lied out on the beds. There was a woman with a cast on her arm and another with a bandage over her ear. One the last bed was a man with an open wound where teeth marks were over his shoulder. I correctly assumed he would be the one I'd be donating to. Without skipping a beat, I sat on my usual bed and allowed the doctor to get to work with the machine.

As the exhaustion just about overwhelmed me, I tried to focus on the conversations near the other beds.

"I heard they got the fire under control. Some of the beams from the warehouse collapsed and took down the fence. Attracted a bunch of walkers."

"The whole place is in an uproar, people thought we were being attacked at first."

"Are we?"

"No. They're investigating the cause of the fire, but they don't think it was intentional. Some idiot probably found some smokes and didn't smother theirs out correctly."

"Negan's gunna burn a straight up hole in their skull if he finds that asshole."

"How much did we lose?"

"We were able to save most of everything, but a lot of the booze is gone. Good thing we've got the other warehouses."

I couldn't catch more of it as the exhaustion from the donation as well as the lateness of the hour hit me full force and sent me swirling into unconsciousness.

When I woke up late the next day, my mouth was dry and I was severely dehydrated. There was water on the side table and I drank it eagerly. Despite my dazed and dizzy state of mind I had enough assemblance to check the beds to see if the prior night's occupants were still there.

They weren't.

My eyes swept the room for the doctor but he wasn't there either, so I strained my ears to detect anything outside the room. The muffled sound of a radio was heard on the other end but I couldn't make out what was being said. The response from whom I recognized as my guard was strained and rather frantic sounding.

Curiously, I tilted my head wondering what else had gone on during the disaster last night, but the doctor entered right then with his ever-present clipboard. He was pleased to see me awake and urged me to drink more water while he called for some food to be brought. Almost instantly someone was through the door with a plate of vegetables and a scrambled egg sandwich.

I ate with no complaints and slowly my strength began to return to me, making my mind somewhat clearer to focus in on the movements and talking around me.

"What happened last night?" I asked curiously.

"Just a fire." The doctor told me tersely. There was something hidden behind his words like something more than just a fire happened. I was sure there was more, but I resisted asking, noting his tone that it was all he would say about it.

After a brief exam he called for the woman to take me back to the room.

I tried to get more out of her, ignoring my reluctance to have any sort of interaction between us, but it didn't prove much useful either. Her answer was the same as the doctor's.

Once back in the room I lied out on the bed, exhausted from the brief walk despite the food they'd given me. I hadn't even realized I dozed off for a while until someone was knocking on the door. I sat up and watched my guard come in with a new tray of food.

"Lunchtime." She announced.

I pulled up a seat at the table and began picking at the plate of fried fish and chips. When I was done I moved towards the door, but my guard stopped me.

"Negan wants you to stay in the room today."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter why. He doesn't need a reason. You're staying in your room today."

"Is it cause of the fire last night? Was there an attack or something? What is going on?" I hated being deliberately left out of the loop and being stuck in the room again was not something I wanted to do.

"There's an investigation going on and you don't need to be in the way."

"Could you just tell me what's going on? It'd be nice if I should be expecting anyone to attack me around a corner, that way I can at least prepare a little for it."

"No one's going to attack you."

"Really? How do you know?"

I continued to badger her about it until she finally told me, someone could have infiltrated the Sanctuary using the fire as a distraction. When I asked why she thought that she told me, probably unintentionally that they had noticed there were a few… things missing this morning. I couldn't get any more out of her after that but I suddenly had a wild hope that John may have done precisely as I asked and got Daryl out of here for good.

No doubt there was a huge search underway to find him and drag him back here, which would explain why they wanted me out of the way. For the moment they were keeping quiet, to avoid letting me know he was gone. They still intended to use him to threaten me with and if I let on that I suspected he was gone they might've decided to return to Alexandria to get a new hostage. Of course, the whole town was more or less being held hostage already, but at least they weren't at the Sanctuary where they could be tormented twenty-four seven the way Daryl had been.

Right now, they were safe and now so was Daryl.

My mind worked to wonder where John might've hid him. The island was the obvious answer. It was the only place John was welcomed and it was near Alexandria, if out of sight at least. Dad and Carl would help him in whatever ways they could and once Daryl had regained his strength and a bit of his mental stability, he'd be allowed more freedom. Of course, he couldn't go back home, that was a no-brainer. After this escape, Negan might just employ watchdogs to keep an eye out for him and bring him back if he's stupid enough to arrive there. And if that happened…

I didn't want to think about the repercussions of that. No doubt Negan would make each and every one of us pay for even thinking he could successfully be free and he'd make sure we thought it was our fault in every form of the word.

Author's Notes: Okay so it's been a while since I posted (cough, cough five months).

I know, I know, but like I said in the previous chapter I've been thinking about working on some other projects and since summer is more or less here, I've got other things going on: farmers market (I've got a rock painting stand that I am very proud of), my sister's bridal shower, bachelorette party and wedding to help plan, work (2 jobs), I'm looking for a new roommate again, and about a million other things that occupy a lot of my time. Sorry if this story has taken a bit of a backseat. I've also rediscovered my love for Undertale, great game by the way even if I haven't played it myself (I watch the playthroughs) I especially love all the different AUs and I'm currently stuck in a mobfell fanfiction that's taking almost as long to update as my own fic did.

But I hope this chapter has at least satisfied you guys for a while until I figure out a way to continue the story without getting myself stuck in another endless writer's block.