Hello,

Yup. Fill for the Walking Dead kink meme, for the following prompt:

Good, old-fashioned non-con between Tony, Dave, and Rick or Glenn.

I took a few liberties with the prompt, and added some background elements of a Daryl/Glenn relationship ('cause I'm a rabid 'shipper like that). This is not a nice story, though. Please heed the noncon warning.

You aren't fast enough.

You can see within moments that there's something wrong about these two, and it immediately kills any joy you feel at seeing someone else alive. You aren't an idiot, no matter what Shane seems to think these days, and you aren't naive. You can see in the wary, predatory way they move, the way they try oh so casually to flank you, Hershel, and Glenn, the way they keep pressing for information, their eyes hard and flat as any reptile's, that these men have taken to doing absolutely anything in the name of survival.

You know this type. Maybe they weren't terrible people before the world went to hell, but you wouldn't put money on it. No, you'd bet the house on both of these men having records, violence in their pasts. You'd bet they've spent their lives looking out for Number 1 and the fact that they're in the middle of the apocalypse has just made every hard, cold tendency a thousand times worse. These men are no better than starving wolves, ready to take down anyone and anything that might be weaker than them.

All of this passes through your head in moments and the surety crystallizes in your heart and in your gut that these men cannot be allowed to get anywhere near the farm. Anywhere near Lori and Carl, or the other people. Something hot and angry spikes through you at the mere thought, surging through your chest and coiling around the knot of worry-fear-failure that has sat there heavily since the disaster at the CDC. Since Carl was shot. Since you had to put Sophia down like a rabid dog. It hardens your gaze, stiffens your back, and though you're going to try to be reasonable, try to talk it out, but already your fingers are twitching towards the holster at your side. You glance over at Hershel, and a rush of relief races through you when you see the grave understanding in his face. You don't know how much help he's going to be, but at least you can count on him not trying to hinder you if things go bad. You don't want to take your eyes off of Tony and Dave to look behind you at Glenn...but the boy's proven reliable in the past. You know he'll follow your lead without question.

You are prepared for it. You are waiting for it. But when the confrontation comes you are just not quite fast enough.

Dave moves over behind the bar, forcing you to turn your back on Tony in order to keep the man in your sights. You know Glenn is armed, you know he's watching your back...but you can't help the prickle of unease. You trust Glenn with your life (hell, you trust him with Carl's life), but the fact remains that Glenn's not trained like you are. His first instinct has never been for confrontation. You watch Dave warily, watch him try to put you at ease by leaving his gun on the bartop and talking about just having a drink together. You don't buy it for an instant. Your shoulders tense, your hands are itching to go for the holster, every instinct you have screaming at you that this is about to go south in a very bad way.

Dave goes for his gun. You go for yours.

You aren't fast enough.

Glenn and Hershel shout as your gun clears the holster, but Dave has the advantage of his gun being right there. You bring your pistol to bear but Dave has already targeted. The sound of the gun going off is like thunder in the bar and searing pain creases your arm, right in the meat of your bicep. You fire, but the impact of Tony's bullet has thrown your stance off and you know as the bullet leaves the gun that the shot has gone wide. Glenn shouts as Dave plants his hands on the bar and boosts himself over. There is a crash and scuffle behind you, but you are too focused on getting out of Dave's way to help the boy. You try to get your legs to move, to dive to one side, to bring your gun up again.

You aren't fast enough.

You come to with a gasp of shock, pain so intense it burns pulsing through your bicep. Glenn's worried face swims into focus above you and you come to the muzzy realization that he is pinning your shoulders to the floor while Hershel does something to your arm. Blearily, you look down at your right arm. The sleeve has been ripped clean off and fashioned into makeshift bandages that Hershel is winding tightly over a bloody, wadded up bartowel.

"Easy, Rick, you're fine," Glenn whispers, his voice tight and clipped.

"The bullet went through clean," Hershel adds gravely, giving the bandage a final, hard yank. You clench your teeth against the throbbing pain, your brain firing sluggishly as you struggle to make sense of how you ended up on the dirty floor of a bar with a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide as memory crashes over you and you immediately start pushing against Glenn's hands, fighting to sit up. You pray with everything in you that Dave and Tony have just stripped the three of you of anything useful and left...but even as Glenn sighs heavily and relents, helping you into a sitting position, you know you're not that lucky.

"We've got a problem," Glenn confirms softly, grimly. You blink up at him, only now realizing that the entire left side of his face is red and puffy. His eye is starting to swell shut, purple bruising darkening the skin there. A quick glance at Hershel confirms the old man is unhurt, but Glenn looks like he put up a hell of a fight.

Your eyes track over to the tables a few feet away, jaw clenching. Dave and Tony are sprawled casually at one of the circular tables, a dusty bottle of top shelf bourbon and two glasses between them. Tony is glaring balefully at Glenn, holding another bartowel to a busted open lip and working his jaw as though he's checking to see if all his teeth are still present. You glance over at the boy, and can't help a surge of fierce pride at the way Glenn is glaring back at the bigger man...chin jutted forward and eyes narrowed in an expression that practically screams "fuck you." It's a familiar expression and you're sure Glenn picked it up from the same irascible redneck who taught Glenn the right cross that Tony apparently found himself on the business end of.

Dave is staring at you with that same flat, emotionless gaze that roused your suspicions in the first place. Your own gun is in his hand, the muzzle aimed straight at the three of you and you take a deep breath. Glenn's hand tightens on your shoulder, but you keep your gaze focused on Dave. The man smirks at you, raising his half-full glass in a mocking salute.

"Now look at us, here," Dave says. "All we wanted was a nice, friendly chat, a little get-together. Not too late, you know. We can just pile into the car, go get the rest of our guys, and have a nice, civilized discussion at your farm. Whatcha say?" Dave smiles, a snarling baring of teeth with no trace of warmth to it.

You look over at Hershel and Glenn, raising your eyebrow silently. You know they can read your intentions in your face, and you are relieved to see the same understanding harden in Hershel's gaze. Glenn's shoulders straighten a bit, defiance creeping into his expression, and you know that the three of you are agreed. Whatever happens, these men cannot find out where the farm is. It's up to the three of you to protect the location until someone comes looking for you.

And someone will come looking. Lori will be worrying already, and you're sure she will insist on sending out a search party for you if you're not back by morning. They will know that with Hershel needed so desperately at the farm, nothing short of getting swarmed by a horde of Walkers would have kept you away. She'll likely send Shane and possibly T-Dog. Daryl will come after Glenn whether he's asked or not. Backup is on the way...you just have to last until it gets here.

You focus your attention back on Dave. You square your shoulders, ignoring the pain from your injured arm. "That's not going to happen," you say calmly as you can. Incredibly, Dave's cold, reptilian grin just widens. He looks over at his companion, and something clenches in your gut at the way Tony is still glaring at Glenn. Dave shakes his head, and knocks back the bourbon like it's nothing but water.

"Well," he says, slamming the glass back down on the table, "I guess we're gonna have to change your minds."

You feel Glenn grow even more tense beside you, his fingers digging into your good shoulder. Hershel sucks in a soft breath. You don't dare look at either of them, though, don't dare to try and offer Glenn any kind of reassurance. You refuse to take your eyes off the men in front of you for even one second. Dave is smirking at you nastily...but it's Tony that has you worried. There is a sickening kind of excitement dancing in his expression. Like he can't wait to start trying to beat the location of the farm out of you. In an instant, you resolve to draw as much of their attention to yourself as possible. You're pretty sure all three of you are in for a beating, but if you can get them angry enough at you, maybe you can spare Glenn and Hershel the worst of it. Silently, you pray someone sends the cavalry after you sooner rather than later.

Dave laughs a little, pouring himself another shot. "So whatcha' say Tony? Think we can make 'em reconsider?"

"Hard to say, bro," the other man replies, shifting his bulk in the seat. "We are kinda on a time limit, here."

Dave strokes his chin in a mockingly considering manner. "You know, my man, I do believe you're right." He swirls his drink in the bottom of his glass.

The two men share a look, and something in your gut goes absolutely cold. Tony is damn near panting in anticipation, a fine sheen of greasy sweat standing out on his forehead...and his eyes are fixed on Glenn. Instinctively, you shift closer to the boy, and immediately curse yourself when Dave's eyes sharpen.

"Lemme have some fun with him, Dave," Tony says softly. "Ain't got time to beat it out of them...Phil's gonna be looking for us in half an hour."

"There is that," Dave concedes. He's still staring at you, mouth twisted in that ugly, ugly smirk, and something is wrong. They aren't acting the way you thought they would. Glenn's fingers are grinding into your shoulder, almost to the point of pain. He's waiting on some direction, some sign from you and you have nothing to offer. Dave knocks back another shot, shaking his head slightly. "Last chance, gentlemen. This don't have to get ugly."

Hershel and Glenn are silent, and you set your jaw, mustering up your most defiant glare. There is no doubt in your mind that Hershel and Glenn are prepared to take any pain these two want to dish out in the name of keeping your people safe. You'll die before you let these men anywhere near your group-near Carl and Lori. You just pray it doesn't come to that. Surely Lori is worried by now. Maybe she's already asked Shane to come see what's taking you so long. And Daryl gets antsy these days when Glenn is away from camp for too long. Surely someone is coming for you. You cling to that when Dave starts laughing, loud and boisterous and jarring after weeks and weeks of trying to keep quiet, to not attract attention. Lord Jesus, you hope these bastards at least had the sense to check for Walkers before they barged into the bar.

Dave slaps his knee like he's heard the best damn joke of his life, before abruptly falling silent. He leans back in his chair, your gun still aimed unwaveringly despite the alcohol he's consumed. He glances over at Tony and winks. "Have at it, man," he says breezily. Tony's grin damn near splits his face, and he levers himself out of his chair. He stalks across the bar toward the three of you and you brace yourself, ready to dive at him should the opportunity present itself. The sound of your gun cocking puts paid to that plan, though, as Dave tsks softly. "None of that, now, boys."

Tony lumbers towards you, but Jesus, he's just staring at Glenn. There is still something wrong with the way they're acting, talking. Every one of the instincts you developed as a cop are screaming at you, but with the gun pointed unerringly at your head, there's nothing you can do. Tony keeps his own gun at the ready as he reaches down with one meaty hand to grab Glenn by the the back of the neck. He wrenches the boy into a standing position and shoves him forward, hard, into one of the tables. Glenn bites back a curse as he goes sprawling, barely catching himself on the tabletop...

And in one timeless, terrible instant, you realize how wrong you were. Tony really isn't going to try to beat the location of the farm out of you.

"Oooohh, yeah, been too damn long," Tony groans as he catches Glenn by the back of the neck again, pushing him down so that he's sprawled on his stomach, bent over the surface of the table. Tony plasters himself against Glenn's back, and you freeze...you freeze in utter horror. Beside you, Hershel half-lurches to his feet with a cry of denial.

Glenn seems to realize what is happening at the same moment, and starts bucking wildly under Tony's bulk. "What the hell? Hey-hey no!" He thrashes until Tony lays the cold steel of his pistol against Glenn's neck, cocking the thing right next to the boy's ear.

"Leave him alone!" you shout, and you've lunged to your feet before you even realize you're moving. No. No, you refuse to let this happen. Not to Glenn...God, not to anyone, but especially not to Glenn. Dave leaps up as soon as you move, though, taking a few threatening steps forward-and you have to stand down. You have to. You won't be able to help Glenn if you're dead.

Glenn stops struggling as the gun touches his flesh, going terrifyingly limp under the larger man, but his chest is heaving like a bellows. Tony's free hand is stroking the top of Glenn's thigh in a sick parody of a caress. "Hell, Dave, he's almost as pretty as a girl."

"Oh God, oh God, Rick?" the kid moans out, hands scrabbling for purchase on the table as Tony's hand starts wandering to his waist, fumbling at the boy's belt.

Dave cocks his head slightly, raising his eyebrow at you. "Still don't wanna play ball?"