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writeanapocalae · 6 years

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Sight for Sore Eyes Chapter 2

Part 2 of my Iris fic for @chibi--raiden. Part 1 can be read here. Warnings for gross eye stuff

The hallway was a twisted corridor of flesh, red and dripping, pulsing like an artery. If it weren’t so dry on the inside he would have believed that they were inside of one. They still could have been. There were only a few things that made it seem like it was traversable at all, the black and white tiles, and a series of photos on the walls. They didn’t look like Stefano’s usual work, they weren’t composed as such, they weren’t as surreal, they looked more like they were just candid shots in cheap frames.

Sebastian didn’t have enough time to look at them, to study them seriously. Iris was in his arms and he was terribly heavy, far heavier than he had any right to be. He was curled up, his chest still healing, and his constantly dripping face was buried into Sebastian’s chest. He was shaking, trembling, slightly, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if that was from pain, sorrow, or if it was just something that Iris did.

He had to take a break though and he slid to the floor, holding Iris close to him. Iris shifted against his chest, grumbling something, but Sebastian couldn’t catch what it was. It was just that Iris was so heavy. He wasn’t in the best of shape, even though he’d quite smoking he was still drinking, heavily, and he wasn’t running around that much after criminals when he was fired from the force. He just wasn’t in shape.

Sitting there though, with Iris against him, he was able to see the photograph on the opposite wall. It was of a man, bound to a table, screaming, his back arched. He could see the shadow of another over him, a knife in hand, a terrible and wicked curved blade. The man’s chest had been cut open and, while there were organs spilling from it, dyed in bile and blood, they were being replaced with rebar and clay. There was no way that someone could survive that. There was no way someone would want to.

“What the fuck is wrong with this guy?” Sebastian growled.

Iris shifted in his hold. “We… we’re not… m-movng...”

“Just a little break,” Sebastian soothed, running his hand through Iris’ hair. As long as he stayed toward the back of his head, away from his face, Iris seemed to enjoy it, it seemed to calm him. “You’re heavier than you look.”

---

It was so good, to have someone touching him. He almost didn’t mind that they weren’t moving, that the man was just sitting there and touching him. He couldn’t remember anyone holding him like this, touching him like this. Even Stefano, regardless of what activity they had been participating in, would just hold him. It was usually that they would go through with something and then Stefano would relish in what they had created and forget about him soon after. He didn’t mind. He got to see a genius at work.

He got to see everything that Stefano could make, whatever he could think of. He was a part of something amazing.

He could feel the man shift beneath him, could feel it in the rippling holes in his chest, the ones that were still healing. He was looking around, was trying to see something. Iris knew where they were, even though the place didn’t have a name. He knew what the stranger was looking at. He hated it, he hated knowing. He didn’t him to know, didn’t want him to judge. He didn’t want to have to explain.

He didn’t want to remember.

---

Iris sighed, “Yr look-ing...”

Sebastian slowed slightly. “What?”

“...Pishurs...”

Sebastian glanced back up at the picture across from them. He didn’t really want to look at it though. There was too much happening, too much gore, too much damage. “Yeah, I guess. You know what’s happening in them?”

Iris nodded but wouldn’t say.

“Stefano’s sick, you know that, right? What he’s done to people, what he’s doing to people, it’s wrong, it’s abhorrent.” He could feel rage starting to build in him, hardening his voice. He could feel Iris stiffen in his arms. He didn’t deserve Sebastian’s anger. Sebastian didn’t know what he deserved, but he was so broken, so fragile, even though he wasn’t human anymore, that Sebastian felt a horrible need to protect him. “He needs to be destroyed.”

---

No. No, he didn’t understand. He was assuming things from those images. He was trying to put things together but his information was all wrong, his perspective was skewed. Stefano had mentioned that this man didn’t appreciate his art and now Iris knew that was true. It was more than not appreciating, it was a complete denial at the beauty of Stefano’s ideas and a disgust at the good that he was doing.

He wasn’t sick. He was intelligent and awe inspiring and most magnificent being that Iris had ever met. He had been obsessed with the concept of seeing, of being a part of Stefano’s art. He couldn’t have been wrong in that desire, could he? He didn’t want to think so. He had suffered so much, just for a chance. The man could see his suffering, knew exactly what he had gone through for such a chance. But he didn’t understand it.

He had to explain, he had to get him to know what the point of it all was. This was why Stefano had wanted him dead. Not only had he not approved, he had destroyed some of Stefano’s work. Iris couldn’t explain it, his mouth wouldn’t work with him. He had to make the stranger appreciate it. He had to remove the agony from the images, had to get him to see that it wasn’t monstrous, that it wasn’t as much pain as he assumed that it was. It had been agony, but it had been worth it. It had to be worth it.

He couldn’t stand the idea of it not being worth it.

---

“Ast… fr it...” Iris whimpered.

“No, no one would ask for that, no one could want to ask for that,” Sebastian could feel the tension in Iris’ shoulders, could feel him trying to bury himself further into Sebastian’s chest, trying to hide more. There was no where to go though, not when he was still cradled in Sebastian’s arms, in which Sebastian wouldn’t find him. Then he realized why Iris was trying to hide and he held on tighter, feeling the rage shift but still rise as he tightened his grip on Iris. “You did. That’s you, before. Why would you ask for that? Why did you let him do that to you?”

---

He could feel an anger burning inside of him, starting to lash out. The man was treating him like a child, just like so many others had. He knew that he was delicate, he knew that there were many things that he couldn’t do one his own, but Stefano had fixed that. Stefano had made him better. He wouldn’t have taken it back, the procedure, not for anything. Even though it had been agony, it had given him the ability to see and that was the one thing that people had treated him like he was a defenseless mewling babe for.

He was tired of people holding his hand, of people deciding things for him. He was tired of being treated as lesser. He could do just as much as anyone else.

And he hadn’t just let Stefano do that to him, he had done more than asked for it. He had begged him for it. He had demanded it. There was no where in this in which he was a victim. He was stronger than this man could even imagine.

---

Iris was changing, those long tendrils peeling off of him once more, splitting off of him, not just his arms, but his back and legs as well. For a long while he didn’t say anything, he just clung to Sebastian and fell apart, the tendrils getting thicker and more menacing. Sebastian didn’t know what they were, nor what they represented, but they couldn’t have been good.

He forced himself to calm down, to speak slowly, speak kindly. “I’m not blaming you, not for anything. I’m just trying to understand. Could you help me understand?” He ran his hand down Iris’ arm, smoothing some of the wet tendrils back against his arm, where it wriggled before lying flat against his skin.

---

He couldn’t, he couldn’t let it out. The man just didn’t know, didn’t understand. He was treating him like this because he was hurting, not because he was weak. He didn’t know what Iris had gone through to get to this point. He didn’t know that Stefano had saved him.

He just had to come up with the words. There were so many of them. His throat wasn’t good at making sound, his mouth wasn’t good at forming words. He’d screamed himself too raw, had damaged himself too much.

Perhaps he was fragile after all.

---

“Hard… hard to... say...” Iris admitted. “No… eyes. Blind… fr so… long… he said… he-he cud… hlp me… gf me… eyes…”

Sebastian shushed him with soft lips against his filthy scalp. It didn’t explain why he was dressed like Stefano, why he looked and held himself so much like him, but it explained some things.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sebastian wanted to tell him that it was okay to be blind, that no one thought him any less for it, that there was no reason for him to change himself for sight, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know Iris’ reasons. He could tell that seeing was something very important for Iris, even if he couldn’t understand it, and because of that, he couldn’t say what was too far to go for it.

---

The man sounded like he was mourning something he didn’t even know about and Iris could feel himself sliding into it, into that grief. He wanted to express himself, wanted to make art like Stefano did, but all he held inside of him was anger and sorrow. The sorrow was winning though, at the moment. He had to be careful. If he let it take over too much, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto himself.

He could hear something. He could feel his body changing, but the sound in the distance triggered him to respond, for his body to start to shift and change. There was no pain in this change, in his body shifted and forming what he needed. And he needed to see.

And then he saw her.

---

Iris was stiff though, still, and there was a large bulge growing from his shoulder. Most of the tendrils had settled back down but not here. It was like a large bubble of black tar, tendrils growing around it and then the bubble popped, slipping open in a slow and gooey way to reveal a bright blue eye, flashing as it looked around the hall.

“Shit,” Sebastian hissed.

“Go...” Iris was rasping, clutching at Sebastian’s shirt as he pulled himself up against his chest, to make sure that Sebastian could hear him. “Jst. Just… run...”

Sebastian didn’t know why Iris was commanding him so until he was half way to his feet once more, finding it hard to pull himself up while carrying someone so heavy. He grunted and groaned, feeling his back protest, the muscles as well as the deep gash. Then he heard he laughing.

“Shit!” Sebastian repeated, louder this time, and he started to move, ignoring Iris’ complaints. They were rushed and breathy and he could hardly hear them anyway and he didn’t care what they were, the first one was right. They had to move, they had to go. He had to run.

---

Guardian. That was what Stefano had named her. Iris had been there when the first of them was made, and she was such a sight to behold. She didn’t have any of his set backs, had no reason to hesitate or wait. This was not her though. This was one of the copies, just a secondary print of the first one. She had learned, had come to understand her place in the world, and had begun to make copies. Stefano had been so pleased by her power, her joy, he excitement. And they were needed. They had to protect him.

That meant Stefano was nearby.

She had no qualms about chasing them, she had ne fears and no weaknesses, she didn’t have the vulnerabilities that Iris had. She terrified him.

---

The woman was after them and he didn’t know how she’d found them but this must have been a place where she had free range to roam, because she had come from behind them and now she was chasing them, happy as could be. She was going to catch them too, what with Sebastian’s injuries and Iris’ weight.

Iris pointed though and Sebastian would have missed the turn if he hadn’t. The forking hallway was more narrow than the main one and it twisted and turned. They were still moving too slowly, and it wasn’t so narrow that she couldn’t follow them, but they were doing better.

---

He was losing himself. He could feel it, the fear growing louder and more distant at the same time. It was like all of his emotions were taking over and he, feeling them, was getting swept aside. He tried to cling on, tried to stay there, to not get swallowed up by the darkness of his own emotions, but they were so strong. He could feel his body start to betray him.

---

Iris grabbed onto Sebastian suddenly, onto his neck, distracting him from their running, and wrenched his head down so that he’d have better access to his ear, so that Sebastian could hear him.

“Leaf… leaf me… Sl… slu you… dn...”

Sebastian grit his teeth and pivoted his weight. He couldn’t keep running like this. He could feel his lungs burning, too many years of smoking making them sticky and tough. He could feel his legs aching. Iris was heavy. He was slowing Sebastian down. He wouldn’t let that stop him though.

---

He wasn’t listening. Why wasn’t he listening? He was slowing the man down. He was going to get them caught. If he was left behind he could change, all the way, he could fight back. He could bide the man time.

Why wasn’t he being left behind?

---

There was a door down the way, double doors. He situated himself to take them on with his shoulder. There were no handles at least, so he was sure that the doors would swing both ways. He shoved his way through and they were somewhere else.

They were in a dark room, and Iris was falling apart in his arms. He was a mass of tendrils and tar, barely holding onto himself. “Cnt… cant… cnt rl it… pleesse… leaf me…”

“Just a little further,” Sebastian lied, not knowing how far they had to go. “Just, please, stay with me!”

---

He knew where they were. He’d been here so many times. He’d been here for so many hours. There was no way to his room without going through here. It hurt, it made his skin crawl. He could remember the pain. He could remember the screams in his own ears.

He remembered the pain, so much pain, and then he had been left. He had cried out, had fought against the bindings, but no one had responded. He had been alone for hours. He’d been left behind. It had hurt so much.

He could feel himself dripping away.

---

It wasn’t quite a darkroom for, while there were the red lights and the tubs of chemicals, clotheslines of photographs and negatives drying, there were also a few tables of clay and sculpting tools. One table, under a large dental light, was hardly more than a gurney with leather cuffs. There was dried blood on it that had pooled onto the floor underneath. Sebastian put a hand around Iris’ head, making sure that he didn’t turn, didn’t see it. He was sure that he knew exactly what that table was.

He could hear that cackling behind him. He could hardly feel Iris in his arms, it was more like holding a skeleton of metal with a dripping oozing octopus, trying to maintain human form around it, dribbling away. “Just a bit more,” he repeated. He didn’t know what was happening, what he was supposed to be doing, and he had no idea if the women behind him were more of a threat than what he carried.

---

He was a monster. He was going to hurt this man. This man was trying to protect him, was doing what he could to keep him safe. He didn’t want to, but he was afraid that he already trusted him. He didn’t want to do that. He held on to him as best he could. He could feel himself seeping through his own fingers.

He had to bottle the emotions. The man’s hand was on his hand, trying to keep him from seeing. He knew where they were though, he knew what he was being shielded from. Still, he was sure that it helped. He didn’t want to see it.

He focused on the heat of the man’s body, on his heartbeat, on the speed of his breaths. He tried not to feel. He had to keep from feeling.

---

He shoved through another set of doors, almost blinded by the bright light on the other side. He kept moving though, kept trying to find his way. He couldn’t stop now. He had to get them out of there. This corridor was the most narrow so far and there was debris in the center of it, making it hard to get through. At the end of it was a door, made of cast iron bars. He was going to have to get past all of those obstacles, had to climb over or shove them out of the way and he didn’t have time for that, didn’t have the mobility.

---

So close. They were so close. If only they could rest for a moment, he was sure that he could get a hold of himself. He didn’t want to lose himself. He didn’t want to hurt this man.

---

“Th… thrd… dur...” Iris’ voice was even quieter than before, his face so wet that it was almost impossible to find his mouth. It was only then though that Sebastian realized that there were doors and there were many of them. They were white against white in all of that brightness.

“Left or right?” Sebastian asked, finding his own voice weak from how winded he was.

---

Too hard, talking was too hard. Everything was too hard. He was hardly human now, at all. He could feel it, the numbness, taking him over. He had to fight it, had to fight what lead to it. If they could just get there he could calm down, he could ground himself. Everything would be alright.

He couldn’t tell him though, he couldn’t say a word.

---

A tendril wrapped its way around Sebastian’s right hand, leading him. There was a crash as the women destroyed part of the wall with her large saw, showering them with plaster. She laughed, enjoying herself, right behind them. Sebastian had no ammunition. He had nothing. He ran.

The third door on the right was the only one that wasn’t completely white, it had a smear of red on it, blood, a hand print dragged to the right before dribbling down. It was a pike. He couldn’t believe it.

He kicked the door open and hauled Iris inside, kicking it closed again behind him before leaning against it. There was a scream of frustration and then she was was throwing herself against it and he could hear her saw scrape and cut through the wall around the door, but she wasn’t getting in. She couldn’t get in. This was a real safe room, all of the way within Stefano’s own realm, and there were no threats here.

No threats except for the one that was wriggling out of his arms. He tried to hold on but Iris threw himself out of Sebastian’s arms, trying to hold onto a form that was dark gray, that was tar and blood and eyes, so many pulsating and lolling blue eyes, that was thick tentacles and over-sized hands with horrible veins. It all looked as if it were spilling, sliding off of his bones, and, before Sebastian could react, he was dragging himself away, curling in on himself under a table.

---

His room. His safe space. The only place that he had to himself. It was here that he had retreated after hurting himself, after ruining the face that Stefano had been so kind to give him. It was here that no one else could enter. It was here that he could sleep, think, be himself, and not have to worry about the world. It was his refuge and now he had let a stranger inside of it.

He dragged himself away, tried to get away so that the man wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t respond to him or demand anything from him. He couldn’t be looked at in this state. He couldn’t do anything in this state. He had to hide. He had to burrow. It was so hard to old on.

He couldn’t hear Guardian outside anymore. That helped. The man wasn’t speaking either. There was the sound of music, a song that he knew but couldn’t focus on enough to remember, playing somewhere and that wasn’t normal, that wasn’t something that normally existed in this place, but it was fine. It was soothing. Soothing was good.

He went under the table. If he’d allowed himself to fall apart, if he had become the monster, he wouldn’t have fit. As he was, he felt even smaller than he usually was, and he was able to squeeze beneath it.

He lay there, curled in on himself, and waited.

---

Sebastian just fell, allowed himself to fall, into a sitting position, and rest. He didn’t know what Iris was doing, what he even was, if there was anything that he could do. He didn’t know if there was a point to it.

He wasn’t sure if he was safe, but he was safer, and he took a moment to look around the room. There was a bench with deep red cushions and a few mismatched pillows on it, a desk with a computer, although the screen was shattered and the machinery pulled out of it like intestines, a small table with a coffee maker and a mug on it, and a workbench. There was another door in there, in which he could hear music playing from the other side. The main difference between this safe room and the rest was that the walls, all the way up to the ceiling, had deep black claw marks in them, and there was sticky black ooze splattered upon them, as if something had burst, over and over again. That and the table that Iris was currently hidden under, which had a few rolls of film on it, a pencil, some dead flowers, a rotten human hand, and a series of oddities, all of which looked like they were parts of other things before they’d been broken apart and brought here.

“Iris?” Sebastian asked, lying down to look under the table. “Are you okay down there?”

Iris shrunk away, all of those eyes blinking at him. He didn’t answer.

---

No. No, he wasn’t okay. No, he didn’t want this man to look at him, to ask him anything. He didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have left Iris behind. He would have had a chance then, at finding his daughter, if there was any chance of that at all. They weren’t in the Theatre, but they were closer now. Iris knew the way.

He pulled away further. He didn’t want to be seen like this. Like this he was disgusting. Like this he wasn’t art. He was something terrible. He was a mistake.

He was always making mistakes, it made sense for him to become one.

---

Sebastian got to his feet, stumbled, and put a hand out on the wall. He would do better on the bench but, first things first, he needed a cup of coffee. It was hot, steaming, and the mug was clean, pristine, as if it had never been used. He was certain that it hadn’t. Looking at the walls around the workbench and coffee maker, there was as much ooze and damage as everywhere else. These had arrived here later, these had arrived because he needed them. He was sure that the other safe rooms didn’t even have mirrors until he’d arrived.

He took a long drag before sighing in satisfaction, feeling the wound in his back heal over.

“I never introduced myself, did I? I don’t think I did,” Sebastian started, unsure if Iris could hear him, if he could understand him. There was something terribly wrong with him, more than before. “My name is Sebastian; Sebastian Castellanos. I’m… I was, a detective with the Krimson City Police Department. It’s my job to help people. I want to help you. Would you allow me to do that?”

---

Help? Iris didn’t deserve that. He didn’t need it either. He’d had enough help. The only person who could help him was Stefano and he’d ruined that. This man couldn’t help him, wouldn’t even know where to start. Iris didn’t want it, anyway. He needed it. He needed it so badly. He needed someone to make him whole again, to fix him. He didn’t need anyone else. He had to fight that weakness inside of him.

But this man, this Sebastian, he was supposed to help. It was what he did. Iris didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could even speak. He didn’t want to try. He was too tired. He didn’t understand.

He didn’t know why Sebastian was introducing himself. It wasn’t like they would be traveling together after this. Sebastian had seen what he was, what he could become. He would be afraid of Iris now. He would probably try to kill him. That was fine, Iris could destroy him easily. But it was strange that he’d introduce himself, that he would speak so kindly. Iris wanted that kindness. He wanted to feel it, not only in his head but in his skin. He wanted to feel it on him.

---

Iris didn’t respond. Iris didn’t do much of anything. He just stayed, hidden away, under the table.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Sebastian said, kneeling beside the table. There was a monster underneath, but that monster was shaking and cowering and he didn’t feel like they were any closer to Lily. “Can you tell me?”

---

He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know what to ask. He couldn’t have anything wrong with him, other than what he’d ruined on his own. Stefano had made him perfect. That wasn’t something that Sebastian could help him with.

He needed to feel. He needed to touch.

He hated it but he needed Sebastian.

---

Iris still didn’t speak, did nothing really, beside extend a hand out from under the table, palm out. The hand was almost the right size, almost human in shape, but it was still mottled and wet, gray and blue and pink. It didn’t look like the hand of a man. It looked like the hand of a monster. Sebastian was slow to reach out, to lay his hand among it, but then the fingers curled and Iris was grabbing hold of him, not to drag him under, not to hurt him, though for a solid moment Sebastian thought he was, but to cling to him. Sebastian had been a life raft, many times, and he knew immediately that that’s what Iris was using him as in this moment. He was holding on, trying not to drown. Trying not to lose himself.

---

Warm. Sebastian was so warm. Even when he was only touching Sebastian’s hand, he could feel that warmth. There was a ring on one of his fingers, a simple gold band, and Iris shivered. He felt like this man shouldn’t be touched, shouldn’t be dirtied. There was someone out there, someone who loved him and that he loved and Iris had no business sullying him. It was an odd thought, unfounded, because Iris didn’t feel anything sexual or romantic towards Sebastian, but it was there. He felt like he wasn’t supposed to be holding his hand, like that much touch alone was trespassing.

Sebastian had offered it willingly though and all he had done was asked for it. He decided not to question it, not to fight it. He was so tired of fighting.

---

Sebastian twisted and sat, getting more comfortable. Iris wasn’t giving anything for him to go by, so he had to assume that talking was alright. So he talked. He asked Iris questions, questions about Union, questions about himself, but never questions about what happened or about Stefano. He didn’t expect an answer, not at any point, and Iris did not give any. He kept his voice low and calm, trying to be supportive, patient. He could feel his patience wearing thin though.

Iris’ hand was going back to normal though, and it was almost completely red and leathery, the gloves taking their place as if they had just seeped under the rest, when there was a knock on the door. It was different from the knocking earlier, the violent women trying to break their way inside. This was just a gentle knock, three reps on the door. Still, it was enough for Iris to pull his hand back under the table, and Sebastian wondered how much of their progress had been lost in those three sounds.

---

Stefano! He had to go, he had to open the door. He had to let Stefano in. He’d never let Stefano in before but then, Stefano had never knocked on the door before. He was all better, aside from his face. He wasn’t too much of a disappointment if he was whole.

He started to pull himself out from under the table. Stefano would be proud of him, having Sebastian here. He doubted he had made enough of an impression, that he hadn’t taught Sebastian how to appreciate the art, but Stefano could take over from here.

He had to let him know that he was alive, he had to let him know that he had Sebastian. He was being good. He had done so well. Perhaps he wouldn’t be punished for this. He had to hope.

---

Iris was pulling himself out from under the table though and he looked as normal as he could, dusting himself off before heading towards the door. He did so in a daze, a practiced motion. He was going to let whatever was out there in.

Sebastian grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back.

“Don’t.” he ordered.

Iris wouldn’t look at him. Sebastian had no idea how Iris could see, if Iris could see, with all of that ooze in place of his eyes. “Stf…. no...”

Sebastian brought them closer to one another, sweeping some of Iris’ hair behind his ear. He shook and let the hair fall back in place. “Could be, but we don’t want him finding us, do we? He’s the one who took my daughter, who hurt you, who made us fight. I don’t want him hurting you again. And I need to find Lily.”

---

Iris didn’t understand. There were two different things in his mind, battling, and there was no way that he could keep them straight, that he could do something in between. They wouldn’t mesh. He had to help Stefano, he had to make him proud. But he had to help Sebastian, he had to keep him safe. He didn’t know what to do.

Iris nodded. “Bu… But he’s… he’...s… M his...” He couldn’t explain it. He hated his mouth, but he knew that his brain couldn’t explain it either. He wanted to help Sebastian. He liked Lily, he wanted them to be together again.

Stefano would punish him though. Stefano would hurt him so terribly. He was so frightened by that, even though he knew that he would have deserved it.

---

“You’re not his anything,” Sebastian argued, before Iris could even get the rest of the sentence out. “You’re your own person. You owe him nothing. In fact, I’d say he owes you.”

Iris reached out and took the strap of Sebastian’s holster, using it to tug Sebastian into a more intimate position. He lay his goopy head against Sebastian’s chest and just breathed for a moment, tried to collect himself. He didn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

“What was that, before?” Sebastian asked, “When you were under the table?”

---

Another thing that he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know where the monster had come from, why it took him over. It seemed to come out when he felt too much, when the emotions got to be too strong. He didn’t know if it was something of Stefano’s design or his own. He had always felt like a monster though, too clumsy, hands bashing into everything that he stumbled into. He didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do.

---

“Too much… too much...” Iris tried to explain, tripping over the words. “Cud fil… too much. M mons ter.”

“You’re not a monster,” Sebastian lied, because he had seen monsters, he had fought monsters, and Iris matched the physical description of one, but he was still sentient and he was still trying to do good, and that didn’t match his definition at all. “What was to much?”

“Sad… an ry… scurd. Too much... moshun… cudn.. hld… on...”

---

He felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. He didn’t want to give that to Sebastian. Sebastian was supposed to be his enemy. He was sure that doing this, explaining, it would hurt him at some point.

He didn’t want to disappoint Sebastian. He didn’t know why. He just didn’t want to push him away. He didn’t want to frighten him. He wanted Sebastian to stay with him.

He wanted Sebastian to be safe.

---

So that’s all that was. Sebastian couldn’t pretend that he understood, he didn’t know anyone else, hadn’t seen anyone else, change due to their emotions. Seemed that waiting it out and just talking had been the right thing to do.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Sebastian asked.

Iris looked to the door, peering at it. Slowly though, he nodded.

“We should go.”

“The tre?” Iris confirmed.

“Right.”

Sebastian went to the door, taking Iris with him. His suit and skin and scarf all seemed to be whole now, no sign that Sebastian had ever shot him. He was still clinging to Sebastian’s holster though and his footing wasn’t quite right and Sebastian knew that he had been blind but he wondered, then if Iris could see much at all. He didn’t seem to have much coordination.

---

It was too bright. It hurt his eyes. It was like everything was too dark, that everything had gone black, but it hurt and it made him wish he were blind once more. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how to explain it. Stefano had said that he saw everything in negatives, like a photograph that wasn’t quite ready. He could fix it, but it took so much work. The brightness was painful anyway, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see in it.

---

He opened it and peered out, one way and then the next. There was no one in the hall. Sebastian exhaled and led the way. The hall hadn’t changed but, as they walked it grew brighter with every door they passed, and Iris scooted behind Sebastian to hide his face against his back, as if the brightness hurt him. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Everything that Stefano had done to him was so fucked up, he was almost surprised that just plain kindness didn’t backfire.

---

Sebastian could see. Sebastian could lead him. He was getting through all of the obstacles, moving wheelchairs and gurneys out of their way. It was hard to move, difficult to get through, but they were doing it.

The brightness felt warm on Iris’ back. He stayed close to Sebastian. He could hear something though, a hum of disappointment. And it was too late for him to say anything when he realized that it wasn’t Sebastian humming.

---

It was getting so bright that Sebastian was having a hard time seeing when a door opened up behind them.

“Ah, so you are alive, how fascinating,” came the deep voice of the artist.

---

Stefano. Oh, he didn’t know what to do. Of course it was Stefano. The battle was alive inside of him. He wanted to go to him, he wanted to prove his worth. Sebastian though. He couldn’t raise a hand against him.

---

Sebastian spun, keeping Iris behind him, drawing one of his guns. He really should have made use of that workbench. Iris and Lily had been too much of a distraction though. He just had to hope that Stefano wouldn’t call his bluff.

---

Sebastian was protecting him. He was protecting him from Stefano. He knew what Iris was, he knew what their relationship was. Still, he was protecting Iris. He didn’t have to do that.

---

Stefano was standing there, with a small smile, fiddling with his camera. The lens had been replaced and the horrible dark veins in his skin had been smoothed over. He looked as healthy as he had before the fight. “And you’re together. Tell me, is this your way of learning to appreciate my work? Are you starting to understand my vision? Or are you attempting to corrupt it?”

Sebastian took a step back, almost tripping over Iris. He had one arm extended, trying to keep him shielded. “You’re not going to hurt him again,” Sebastian snarled. “I won’t let you.”

---

Hurt him? Sebastian didn’t have a way of keeping Stefano from hurting him. Stefano was like a god, in this place and in Iris’ mind. A cruel god, certainly, but a god all the same. There was nothing that Sebastian could do. The fact that he was trying though, that was so terribly endearing. He didn’t want to see Sebastian killed for it, he realized, and that was something that he could do something about.

---

“You won’t let me?” Stefano laughed, “But you see, this is just a rough draft, he is nowhere near complete! I lost so much progress with the face, but that is no matter. It can be fixed, made better. You have not answered my question though, do you understand?”

“There’s nothing to understand! You’re insane!”

Stefano just rolled his eye and then he stepped forward into a flash of blue. He reappeared in front of Sebastian, his knife out and at his throat. “This is quite boring, don’t you think? You acting all tough, me cutting you down in a single stroke. Tell me, what’s interesting in this? You aren’t even using your gun.”

---

He wasn’t. Iris didn’t know why he wasn’t. He had used it well enough when they were fighting one another. He didn’t know why he wasn’t using it now. He wondered if it was for his own sake, or if Sebastian was out of ammunition. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

---

Sebastian felt a harsh tug and then he was falling back, Iris taking his place as he dragged him down the hall. “All th… way.. then ri-ri-rite… git to… the par men an… don….”

“What are you doing?” Sebastian turned, trying to get back into the fight, but Iris had his arms out, wouldn’t let Sebastian through, tentacles peeling off of his body to make more of a wall. He was buying Sebastian time.

---

It was hard to use both, both his human form and the monster one, but Sebastian needed to go. He had to get out of there. There was nothing that Iris could do against Stefano, but he could at least bide him some time. Time and his own body.

Stefano looked him over and he didn’t seem impressed, not in the least. He was disappointing him. He knew that he would be. He was standing against him. Stefano would tear him apart for this.

He didn’t care. Sebastian was too important.

---

He could hear Stefano sigh and then there was a flash of blue and he was in front of Sebastian again. “You dare to corrupt my vision? You dare to twist my work against me? You, who have no inspiration, you have no skill, you have no imagination? How dare you make such a parody?” the anger was obvious in Stefano’s face and his knife was quick and sharp. He brought it down into Sebastian’s shoulder.

Or he would have, if a thick black tendril hadn’t wrapped around his wrist, if Iris hadn’t been tugging on him, trying to pull him away from Sebastian.

---

No. No, he wasn’t going to hurt Sebastian. He didn’t want Stefano to hurt Sebastian. It was strange, how long he’d gone since allowing himself to want something for himself and right now, what he wanted, was Sebastian safe and secure, far away from there.

He couldn’t sweat. He was made of flesh and clay and metal. There was no way to show that he was exerting himself. He felt like he was at his limit though. He could feel himself losing to his body, to his instincts.

Stefano was going to make him into something new.

---

“Go!” Iris cried out, the sound of it raspy and cracked and broken, and not much of a scream at all.

This time, Sebastian did as he was told. He ran. He knew the way. He wanted to save Iris, but he couldn’t, not like this, not now.

---

Stefano turned to him and yanked, forcing Iris to lose his balance. He fell forward, onto his knees, panting in a mockery of breathing, as he sucked all of the tendrils back into himself, as he tried to be human once more. He didn’t think he’d been human in a long time.

Stefano was furious, stalking up to him, standing over him. “What a disappointment you have become!” he growled.

Iris bowed his head. He understood. He had been expecting this.

“Never mind all that, it looks like we’re going to have to start again, won’t we?” Stefano snarled and he was on his knees as well, right in front of Iris. “First, I’ll have to remove these, it seems you haven’t learned to appreciate what I’ve given you yet.”

Only then did Iris fight him but that was weak and halfhearted. He raised his hands to protect himself, but there was no monster, there was nothing. He just felt Stefano press the knife to his eyelids, to slide it between the tissues and the ooze, and pop the eyes from their sockets.

He screamed, of course he did, as the pain took over, snaking through him like lightning bolts, but Sebastian was gone, he was safe, he was away. There was no one coming for him now.

@angelicsociopath @detectivesebcas @lokis-queen-hepta-the-destroyer @sebcastellanyes @ill-write-when-im-dead

#the evil within 2 #iris #Sebastian Castellanos #Stefano Valentini #my writing #fanfiction

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dramoor · 6 years

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“Having spent two-and-a-half years as a Hospice Chaplain, I had opportunity to be present to over 200 deaths (that does not include the many I have witnessed in my years in ordained ministry. As you sit with someone who is dying, there finally arises a boundary beyond which you cannot go: death itself. I can pray for the ‘departure of the soul from the body’ (the priestly service done at the time of death in Orthodoxy), and I can pray and even know the fellowship of the saints and the departed.

Christ told His disciples, ‘Yet a little while am I with you, and then I go unto him that sent me. Ye shall seek me, and shall not find me: and where I am, thither ye cannot come.’ Then said the Jews among themselves, ‘Whither will he go, that we shall not find him?’

Christ has been where we have not and entered where we cannot yet go.

The experience of death, and the boundary it represents, also hides from us a reality we can only know by faith. And, according to Scripture, it is probably the greatest occasion for fear.

‘Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he[Jesus] himself likewise partook of the same nature, that through death he might destroy him who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong bondage’ (Hebrews 2:14-15).

I sometimes think that most fears are really about death on some level. The loss of power over our own lives that we frequently imagine to be true during our healthy years. It is admitting this powerlessness that is inevitably the case that gives us pause, and engenders fear.

I had a cousin, about a year older than myself. She was diagnosed with Childhood Onset Rheumatoid Arthritis (a very virulent form of the disease) when she was only ten. In the summer I used to go and stay a week or two with her family near the South Carolina mountains to be company for her. We gained a closeness that never seemed to leave the relationship over the years. She was among the most honest people I’ve ever known.

I recall talking to her in the months before she died (it was becoming apparent that this was the case), we were both in our forties. In the conversation the subject of faith, God, heaven, etc. came up. She spoke with great tenderness about God. I remember asking her, ‘How is that you’ve been in pain and crippled for the 35 years and yet speak so kindly of God?’

Her answer was very enlightening.

‘I haven’t always felt this way about God,’ she said. ‘There was a time when I would wake up in the morning and curse God.’ But then her voice lowered and she added meekly, ‘That was before I knew He was good.’

It is among the greatest professions of faith I have ever heard.

To stand at the boundary of life and death, and to stand without fear, we must know that there is a good God. In C.S. Lewis’ Narnia Chronicles someone says of Aslan, ‘He’s not a tame lion, but He’s good.’

This is the fear of death: that goodness does not win in the end. I believe it therefore to be utterly necessary in the preaching of the gospel to remind people again and again, ‘He is a good God and loves mankind’ (the words of the traditional Orthodox dismissal).

In is only in Christ, finally, that we have the perfect image of the perfect God and can say, based on that revelation, ‘He is good’.”

~© Fr. Stephen Freeman, The Boundary of Death

(Image via lightsallaround)

#God is good #Fr. Stephen Freeman #The Boundary of Death #fear #faith #Lord Jesus Christ #Aslan #Chronicles of Narnia #C. S. Lewis #Christian

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negans-network · 7 years

Text

Amazing and Saving Part One

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for a Negan x OC x Dwight prompt (and that doesn’t necessarily mean a threesome). OC Grace is blind, nonwhite, and plus sized – and perhaps too nice for her own good.

Word Count: 7226 (again I’m so sorry for this being a lot y’all.)

Warnings: Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language, Graphic Violence and Gore, talk about the Wolves and mutilation, somewhat minimal Negan but I’m getting there.

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Don’t ask me why, but this turned into Dwight appreciation and the second part (and end) will be all about Negan so don’t worry!

Sitting on the steps of her old home’s front porch, Grace adjusted the bandages covering her eyes, or rather what was left of her eyes. The bandage scratched, irritating the freshly healed scar tissue. Grace couldn’t understand how Carl could stand his own eye patch, but she supposed it was probably easier for him since he only lost one eye. She wasn’t so lucky.

When the Wolves came to Alexandria, Grace had been in her kitchen reading a book she borrowed from her friend Olivia. She had heard the screams and grabbed a butcher knife before she ventured out, wondering why the other Alexandrians were running away. If the wall had been breached by the Dead, they needed to be cleared out quickly. What came through was worse than the Dead, though.

The Wolves were apt in naming themselves, covered in grime from living out in the forest, smelling no better than the Dead. Some of them were just as bloody as the Dead, too, but each of them were branded with a W cut into their forehead. One of them came for Grace, a large machete in his hands that already dripped with fresh red, blood. Grace didn’t want to think about whose blood it was.

On the defensive, Grace waved her butcher knife in the air as a warning. Though she had killed many of the Dead before she came to Alexandria for safe haven, she had prided herself on managing to avoid killing the living. Now it was obvious she wouldn’t have a choice. “Back the fuck off,” she hissed at him, but the man ignored her, leaping up her front steps with a demonic laugh.

He swung his machete at her, narrowly missing, slinging the excess blood off her front porch and flicking it all over her blue sundress. “You’re a feisty one,” he growled at her. His ice blue eyes were red rimmed and contrasted sharply with the rust colored blood stains of the W cut into his forehead and the brown dirt smeared across his face. The closer he got the more Grace could see that he was much taller and broader, his teeth crooked, broken, and yellow. “I love it when they struggle. If it was easy, I wouldn’t have as much fun.” His machete slashed through the air again, adding fresh stains to everything.

“You’re not gonna fucking touch me,” Grace growled right back at him, cautiously backing up out of the machete’s deadly range. Her own butcher knife slashed at the air while she reached behind her for the door. Mentally, she was calculating the odds of beating him back and decided she could win so long as none of his friends showed up. “Get the fuck out of here before we kill you and all your dirty friends!”

The Wolf laughed with cruelty, the sound high and grating on her ears. “I’m gonna touch you all over, missy, every inch of you will be covered in me. And then every inch of you will be covered in blood. And then me and my dirty friends are gonna kill all of you.” Suddenly, he leapt at her, and Grace ran inside. There he caught her by her long brown hair and tackled her to the floor. He didn’t lose his grip on the machete, but Grace accidentally cut her thigh on her butcher knife as it was pinned between her body and the floor.

Flat on the ground of her stomach, Grace squirmed, spitting curses at him. She had not lived this long after the end of the world only to die like this. To shut her up, the Wolf used his grip on her hair to slam her face into the floor, and Grace’s glasses broke off her nose and cut it right on the bridge. Stunned, she struggled weakly while the Wolf easily rolled her over on her back. The butcher knife remained trapped underneath her, cutting into her back from the weight of being forced flat by him. Lazily, the Wolf dragged his machete over his sundress, straddling her thighs to keep her from escaping. The machete blade cut through the blue sundress, simultaneously cleaned by the material before slicing through her skin and getting wet from her own blood this time. It sliced her skin so quickly, Grace had barely registered the pain before the Wolf lifted the blade to her face. “You aren’t a pretty thing, so this won’t matter.”

Snapping out of her daze, Grace grabbed at the machete blade as it came down. It cut her palms as she tried to push it away, but the Wolf used a two-handed grip to force it down. Grace barely had time to close her eyes before he pressed it down. She screamed in agony as he cut a W into her forehead, the bottom points right over her eyes. When he pulled away the bloody blade again to examine his handiwork, she was still screaming at him, her hands hovering useless over her face, too afraid to touch it. Of course, it hurt, but one of the most startling sensations was trying to open her eyes and she couldn’t see anything – and her eyes were already open. “You can cry all you want, girly, but this is an improvement,” the Wolf sneered at her, dropping the machete to the side as he used his hands to rip the rest of her dress open. “Besides, no one will hear you scream but me, and I’ll love every second of making you scream.” He pressed his mouth to her bloody skin, licking it up, and Grace jerked in surprise at the sensation, disgust curling in the pit of her stomach, warring with her fear and her pain.

Her sense of smell was heightened by her loss of sight, the metallic scent of blood overpowering her nose. It made her nauseous, and the heat of her own blood felt like it was burning her already tortured flesh. No, she wasn’t going to die like this.

While he was distracted, shifting down so he could push her dress up over her bleeding and cut up stomach, Grace’s hands flopped to the floor, blindly searching for the machete. One of her cut hands recut itself on the blade, but she didn’t pull away, tightening her grip instead. Taking it in her grasp she lifted it and sliced at the air horizontally, blindly, using all of her remaining strength that was fueled by her pain – and her overwhelming anger.

She heard a gurgling sound followed by the sensation of rain, but she knew it wasn’t rain. It was too hot and it was spraying out rather than coming down and she was inside. It was too heavy, too, something slimy falling on her, coating her in fresh blood. The Wolf collapsed the side, lifting the pressure from her legs so she could pull herself up and curl in on herself. “You bitch!” He managed to choke out before he fell with a thud, and went still.

Grace remained where she was, breathing heavily, clutching the machete to her chest like a lifeline with one hand while she used the other to wipe away the blood. Her head snapped from side to side, listening for more Wolves or the Dead. She heard footsteps approaching and whipped the machete out. “You fucking touch me and I’ll kill you, too!”

“Grace,” came Carol’s voice, one of the new Alexandrians that Aaron found – one of the few of Rick’s group to stay after the others left to lead a herd of the Dead away.

Dropping the machete, Grace started hyperventilating, breaking out in shakes, no longer forced to be on guard. “Check and see if he’s d-dead,” she stuttered.

Listening, Grace heard Carol doubtlessly shove a knife through the Wolf’s head. “He is, now you’re bleeding a lot, we need to get you to the doctor.”

“Wait, wait, what did I do to him,” Grace asked, this burning desire to know what she did to him since she overwhelmingly knew what he did to her. “Carol, Carol, did I kill him?”

“You gutted him,” Carol’s usually soft and bubbly voice was no longer light and joyful. It was hard, bitter with the truth, callous about the situation. Carol’s arms carefully wrapped around Grace’s shoulders and she flinched at the unexpected touch.

Reaffirmed by the truth, Grace nodded and kept nodding. She wanted to cry, but she wasn’t sure if it was tears or blood that was streaming so hotly down her face. “I can’t see,” she whispered, horrified, “I can’t see.” Before Carol could say anything else, Grace passed out from blood loss and shock.

It took a while for Grace to recover, but luckily, she managed to get a blood donation from Daryl of all people when he came back and the invasion of the Dead was finally finished. She had meanwhile lied in a coma under Denise – the new doctor’s care. Denise, despite her inexperience was surprised that Grace pulled through, especially since it was a traumatic experience. Of course, Grace was traumatized by it, but after everything she had went through since the world went to shit, she was no worse off – except for her eyes.

She felt like such a burden now, useless to be on watch because she was blind. Her days were listless as she couldn’t even read for pleasure anymore. Eventually, she was moved out of her house to live with Olivia, unable to even cook for herself without catching her food on fire. Luckily, she had avoided burning down the house, but she was all out of sorts. What was there for her to do now?

In the coming weeks of her recovery, Grace had grown close to Carl. It made sense. Grace was a young woman entering college when the world went to shit, so she was practically a kid going through the apocalypse like Carl. Now, like Carl, they had both loss their vision, him only partially while she lost hers full stop. He was learning how to adapt to it, how to shoot properly, and Grace had to learn how to walk around and navigate Alexandria without tripping over everything.

Curiously enough, Grace also forged a friendship with Daryl, too. He had donated blood to her, one of the few remaining survivors with the same blood type. Grace remembered waking up and mumbling her blood type to Denise before passing out again. When she had pulled through, Denise told her about what Daryl did. Grace had stumbled through the streets of Alexandria looking for him for hours before she found him and thanked him.

After that, they ran into each other often – sometimes quite literally. Now forced to navigate the world but sound and touch, Grace became very familiar the pattern of angel wings on Daryl’s jacket. He became a friend and nothing more, just like Carl, Denise, and Olivia.

For a while, Grace started to believe that Alexandria could rebuild and she could recover, too. One of her new jobs was to watch Judith, Alexandria’s only child below the age of ten, whenever Rick’s group would go out and scavenge. It was an easy job, despite her being blind because often Judith wanted to be held. Sometimes Olivia would pop over and help, too, and there were often visitors who wanted to play with the baby. Grace didn’t mind being a glorified babysitter, proud that she could watch Judith and put Rick’s mind at easy while he went and found them food. Grace thought he was a good leader and he was a great man, often bearing witness in her own way to Rick’s love for his children and for the members of his group. Rick became a friend to her, too, in a way, thanks to Daryl. It was through Daryl’s recommendation that she got this job, anyway.

Then under Rick’s leadership, a new threat arrived. Instead of herds of the Dead or packs of Wolves, there were new communities – one of the Saviors. Blind as she was, Grace couldn’t help them, though before she would’ve doubtlessly volunteered. Now that she has killed once and lived with it – and it was too, too easy to live with the Wolf’s blood on her hands – Grace was willing to do it again to protect her friends and family. She didn’t want anyone to go through an experience similar to her own.

One day Maggie, one of Rick’s group who revealed she was pregnant, started having problems, so Rick took a small group of his people and left for the Hilltop’s doctor. A few days before that Daryl and a few others had left, too, gone hunting. Denise had died, and all of Grace’s friends had left except for Olivia.

When her friends came back, they were changed. Two were dead and Daryl was missing, effectively a prisoner of war. The Saviors took him. Rick gathered everyone from Alexandria in the Church and told them what happened, choking on the details. Without her eyes, Grace’s mind conjured up some fantastic imagery of what exactly happened, and she cried. A small part her – part of her that refused to tell anyone what she thought – thought to herself that at least their suffering was somewhat quick. Reflecting back on what she went through, Grace knew it would’ve gone on for hours had she not sliced the Wolf open. Still, it made Grace’s blood boil to know that Daryl was one of the Savior’s captives. She could only hope that he didn’t have to go through anything similar than what she went through.

“Grace.”

Tobin’s voice made her nearly jump out of her skin, she had been so lost in thought. Uselessly, Grace tilted her head up towards the direction she heard Tobin, fingers still fussing with the edges of her bandage that covered her scar and prevented infection in her eyes. “Sorry, Tobin, I was just daydreaming and enjoying the sun. It feels like a beautiful day,” Grace apologized and explained to him. “Is it a beautiful day? I bet it is.”

“Grace,” Tobin’s voice was laced with fear, “You better go back to Olivia’s home now. The Saviors are here to collect. They’re going through every house. You need to get out of here.”

“The Saviors?” Grace repeated, using the railing on the steps to pull herself to her feet. She wasn’t sure what they would do to her as a seemingly defenseless blind girl, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she could do otherwise to stay out of their way. Hiding didn’t seem like the best of options since they were searching the houses. “How many are there, Tobin? Do they have a lot of guns?”

“Too many and too many,” Tobin answered her, his voice fading due to distance. She tilted her head, listening to his retreating footsteps, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Tobin!” Grace shouted after him, frustrated at his cowardice. Ever since Carol left him, he was different. Under her breath, Grace muttered about how he could’ve at least escorted her to Olivia’s house.

Distantly, she heard Tobin call back to her, “They brought Daryl with them!”

At that, Grace caught her breath. She knew the rumors that people assumed she and Daryl were interested in one another when that couldn’t be further from the truth. So, despite her slight irritation with Tobin, she was grateful that he told her that. There was no way she was going back to Olivia’s. Now she had to find Daryl.

Stumbling through the street blindly, Grace reached out her arms and waved them in front of her in a sweeping gesture. Her normally mincing and hesitating steps were braver now in her rush to find Daryl. She journeyed to the gate, following the sounds of commotion. She wasn’t afraid of what could happen, because all she could think about is checking to see if Daryl was alright.

As she neared the gate, she heard Rosita’s familiar voice, exchanging icy words with another man. Grace slowed, concentrating on what Rosita was saying in a tight, quiet voice, “It ain’t here.”

“Well, if it ain’t here, then you know where it is, right? We both know you know where it is,” said the man’s voice, equally as tense and low as Rosita’s. The man was unfamiliar, probably one of the Saviors if Grace had to guess. “Now you’re good to go, so go,” he spoke again to Rosita. Grace heard the slam of a car door, the engine idling, and his voice cut over it, “Don’t take too long.” There was a splashing sound, like running water, and briefly Grace wondered if he pissed on the car. The engine revved, signaling that Rosita had left, and there was rattling sound, the clang of metal signaling that the gate had closed after them. They had gone.

Not discouraged in the slightest, Grace walked forward, towards where she heard them speaking. Maybe they had left Daryl at the entrance as a way to tease him with the view of Alexandria. At least, that was what she figured they would do to him.

Suddenly she collided into something, or rather someone. Immediately, her arms wrapped around the person, careful not to lose her balance or knock them over. She didn’t need to piss off a Savior like that. As her hands made contact with the person’s back, her arms easily able to wrap around the slim individual, she felt the textured pattern of angel wings. Was this Daryl? Grace tightened her grip around the man, hugging him close to her, her chin digging into his shoulder.

Grunting in surprise, Dwight had run into this shorter, plumper woman, too distracted by watching Rosita drive away, tucking her hat in his jacket. Before he could bark at this woman, she hugged him, and Dwight was so surprised by the familiar contact. Part of him missed it, and he remembered Sherry. This woman was a lot more curvier and plumper than Sherry, though, every lump and bump pressed against him. He went limp, pliant, arms hanging low and crossbow in hand loose in his grip. She was nearly squeezing the air out of his lungs, but he didn’t feel threatened at all.

The man gave a low grunt, but didn’t push her away. Grace’s suspicions that this was Daryl was affirmed when she felt something curved like a crossbow brush against her leg. “You’re so thin,” Grace began, lifting her head just enough that she was able to talk into Daryl’s ear. Greasy, long, and stringy hair brushed against her lips, and Grace was sure that this had to be Daryl. “They haven’t been feeding you, have they?”

Part of Dwight wanted to laugh because he hadn’t been eating any better before he joined the Saviors. Over the woman’s shoulder, he saw Laura and Gary watching him. Laura looked a little jealous – she had been trying to hook up him since he had joined the Saviors’ ranks and started impressing Negan – and she also looked partially suspicious about the woman, stepping forward to drag her away. Gary just stood there, muffling his snickers as he laughed at Dwight’s predicament. Dwight waved his free hand at Laura, signaling that he was fine and he could handle this. Gary grabbed Laura and jerked her away, both of them heading in to go raid the houses.

Pulling away slightly, Grace gripped the tops of his arms firmly in her hands as she held him a short distance away. She wasn’t surprised that he had neither hugged her nor spoken yet as the Daryl she knew wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person or very talkative for that matter. “I’m so glad you’re here, now,” she informed him sincerely.

Once Dwight got his first good look at the mystery woman, he wasn’t sure what he should say. She had a white, fraying bandage over her eyes, but the bandage didn’t cover everything. She had scars, jagged and rough, peeking out from under the bandage, three that reached into her hair line. If it weren’t for the scars, she’d be pretty to Dwight, her skin a pretty brown and fairly clear of any other blemishes otherwise. Her brown hair was cut short to her neck, and her nose was pert above her luscious and generously full lips. The woman was actually smiling at him, a tremulous smile, but one all the same. The only person who really smiles at Dwight anymore is Laura when she was trying to fuck and Negan all the time. It was a refreshing smile for Dwight.

The blind woman dragged her hands up to his face, needing the touch to reaffirm that he was real to her. There Grace grasped either side of his face, the slight stubble of facial hair stinging the sensitive scar tissue on her palms from where she had cut her hands, but she didn’t care. Her hands traveled up further, thumbs on the corner of his mouth and fingertips on his cheekbones, but one side of his face felt wrong. She wasn’t familiar with touching Daryl’s face – she had never done it before – but she knew he had slight facial hair. Grace also knew that he didn’t have any scars on his face, but from her own scars she knew the rigid, bumpy texture of them when she touched one. “What did they do to you?”

Dwight watched her expression fall into one of horror. He was use to the pitying look, but her look wasn’t quite a look of pity. It was rather like one of compassion or the deepest sympathy. He had to wonder who she thought he was.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what they did to you. Now that you’re home they can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let them,” she fiercely added. Gently, she traced her fingertips over the scar tissue, mapping it out over his eyelid, but she could tell that he still had both eyes undamaged unlike her. “We almost match now,” she lightly joked, motioning with her free hand towards her face. Her bandage had slipped down, and she used that free hand to push it back into place. She caressed the scarred cheek before she wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging him down into another hug.

With fascination, he watched as the bandaged had slipped down and revealed a hollow eyelid, deeply mangled, the scar tissue thick knots. Self-conscious of his own burn scars, Dwight found kinship with her. Her familiar touches were soothing, as well, and he was still at a deep lost for what to say to her. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want her to pull away in disgust once she knew he was a Savior. Dwight was just so…lonely, and tired of keeping of a façade with everyone. This time when she hugged him, Dwight loosely wrapped his arms around her back and patted between her shoulder blades, deeply unsure of himself.

With a deep sigh, Grace said sternly, “You listen to me, no matter what you may think, I want you to know that none of this is your fault. You thought you were doing the right thing, and that’s all that matters. It’s not your fault that they’re dead, it just happens. It’s not you, it’s Negan.”

Even though Dwight knew those words were for someone else, he took them to heart gladly. He couldn’t help but think about how he got himself in this situation, after what happen with Sherry and her sister Tina. Tina was dead because he couldn’t keep her safe, and both Sherry and Tina trusted him to that and he failed. Sherry was married to Negan now, and Dwight knew he lost her as a wife. The woman’s words comforted him greatly, probably more than she knew.

This felt so right, and Grace felt something warm deep within. Even though Alexandria was crawling with Saviors, Grace still felt to safe in this embrace. “I missed you so much, Daryl.”

Immediately, all good feelings were gone. It felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice down his back, and Dwight instantly broke off the hug, quickly disentangling himself. Off all the people she thought he was, it had to be Daryl. Daryl, who Dwight had been torturing with Easy Street for the past three days, who Dwight fed dog food sandwiches, who Dwight made cry, who Dwight was desperately trying to emulate in order to gain Negan’s approval. Bile rose in the back of his throat, not because he was mistaken for Daryl, but because he felt guilty for enjoying the human contact she gave him no matter how brief it was. He was ashamed of himself.

“Daryl?” Grace said softly, so tender as if she were placating a child, “Is something wrong? Are they not going to allow you to stay here again?” Fear clutched her heart at the thought, but she tried to not let it show on her face. She needed to be strong for Daryl.

Warring with himself, Dwight considered just walking away, letting her believe that he was Daryl. He also considered smashing her hopes and dreams and re-entering the Savior persona he had crafted for himself, but he just couldn’t manage to do that to a blind woman who was so kind and trusting, her touch a sweet balm. Instead, he found himself telling her in a small voice, “Sorry, but, I’m not Daryl.”

The first emotion Grace felt was embarrassment. Being blind, she often did stupid things without realizing it. She took a step back, blushing, stuttering out an apology, “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I just touched the jacket and the crossbow and assumed…” She cleared her throat rather than finishing the sentence. The next thing she felt was confusion, wondering who exactly this was then and why they would let her manhandle them like that. Grace quickly brushed that aside, though, as she found that often people would let her get away with anything just for being blind now – something she secretly hated. But the most pressing emotion she felt was panic. Where was Daryl then? Was Daryl worse off than this man? “I’m Grace, by the way. Who are you then, if not Daryl? Where is he?”

Shuffling his feet, Dwight thought fast. “Grace,” he reiterated for himself, stalling. “I’m Dwight. I’m a Savior.”

Tilting her head all the way to one side, Grace turned her face in the general direction of Dwight’s voice. He was a Savior, but definitely not what she had expected, or even what she had heard for that matter. When she had made her way here, she could hear the rowdiness of those Saviors as they pillaged and took what they wanted, breaking shit while they did it. “Hey, Dwight,” she greeted him, not sure what to expect from such a confusing man.

Shifting nervously, switching his weight from one foot to the other, Dwight slung the crossbow back across his back. For some reason, he felt compelled to make things up to her, as a way of apologizing for taking advantage of the identity mix up. “I can show… or take you to Daryl. He may be too busy to talk to you, but maybe not. You can’t speak to him, though. He, he won’t be staying her.”

Jumping at the opportunity regardless of whether anything could come from it, Grace demanded, “Please, take me to him.” She held out her hand in Dwight’s general direction. Grace needed this.

Hesitating slightly, Dwight eventually accepted her hand and marched her at a fast pace deeper into town to find Daryl. Dwight figured that he would be with Negan, so all he had to do was listen for his voice, which shouldn’t exactly be hard since the man loved to talk and hear himself so damn much. He didn’t say anything to her, and tried to take the paths that would have the least number of Saviors around. After building up the tough-guy persona for so long, he didn’t need it all to come crashing down around him over one girl.

Determined, Grace kept up with him, unbothered about holding hands. Since she became blind this was a regular thing for her. “How is Daryl? What has happened to him?” Since she couldn’t exactly see him for herself and she may not be able to touch or talk to him, she needed to know somehow if he was okay.

“He’s strong,” Dwight reassured her, “We’re… I’m trying to break him, but I can’t. It’s hard, and it’s taking a long time, but he’s holding on.” Thinking back about what she had said to him, Dwight tacked on, “He eats regularly, and he works hard. He’s in mostly the same shape since we got him.” He avoided telling her about the beating or what kind of work Daryl does or what he eats, figuring Grace didn’t need to hear or know that kind of stuff.

Unsurprised by Dwight’s answer, Grace nodded. This is what she figured from Daryl, but a tremendous weight was lifted off her shoulder hearing it from Dwight. She ignored how he said that he’d been the one attempting to break Daryl. Though Grace barely knew Dwight, she could tell that he wasn’t a cruel person. Grace intimately knew cruelty, and it wasn’t Dwight. Besides, she didn’t think anything could break Daryl. He was strong, strong like how she wanted to be and needed to be in this world. Daryl was a survivor. Dwight? She wasn’t so sure about as far as being a survivor.

“What happened to you, Dwight?” Grace asked him about the burn scar. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’ll tell you about mine if you want. Make things fair.”

“The world isn’t fair anymore,” Dwight muttered darkly. Then he sighed, “They burned my face for stealing supplies and trying to run away.”

Mulling it over, Grace could see why that was punishable, though doubtlessly extreme. It seems Dwight was the survivor type after all. “These people invaded Alexandria, the Wolves,” she started to explain to him, “One of the men found me in my home, tried to rape me. He cut a W in my face – a cult thing. Took out both of my eyes. Cut me up pretty damn bad.” She fell silence and the air was thick with tension as Dwight remained silent, too. “It’s like you said Dwight, the world isn’t fair anymore.”

Just as she said that, they both heard a gunshot, and fear pierced Grace’s heart. She tugged urgently at her hand, and both she and Dwight broke out in a trot in the direction of the single gunshot. Dwight rounded a corner, and Grace felt the subtle change of grass to pavement under feet. He slowed, and so did she, breathing heavily both out of adrenaline and fear. Listening intently over her thunderous heartbeat, Grace heard Rick’s tense southern drawl and another man’s louder booming voice. She had just opened her mouth to ask Dwight was what happening when she heard her friend and roommate Olivia stutter, “No, I mean, yes. The inventory is correct.”

“Olivia,” Grace gasped to herself. Not Olivia, not another one of her friends. “Did they shoot her?”

“No, he shot the window,” Dwight whispered back to her carefully, keeping his distance. Daryl was standing nearby, having finished loading up the truck with the guns. He had his head duck down and it was hard for Dwight to catch his eye. Negan didn’t need to see this.

“What’s happening? I can’t hear what they’re saying. Where’s Daryl?” Grace’s voice was frustrated, a high-pitched whisper. She yanked at their clasped hands again, but didn’t loosen her grip, clinging to him tight. Her other hand came up and grasped his elbow, practically hanging off of him.

Part of Dwight wanted to shake her off, but he also didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He could understand why she was frustrated. “Olivia lost two guns, and since we’re taking your guns, Negan’s going to kill her unless your guy Rick can find them.”

“Olivia can’t have lost the guns,” Grace belligerently argued in her disbelief. “They must have been stolen.”

“It doesn’t matter, Negan will punish her.” Dwight watched as Rick hurried away, calling a town meeting to find the Glock 9 and .22 Bobcat.

“That’s fucking stupid!” Grace commented a little too loudly, and Dwight winced.

It was too late. Evidently, Negan heard her and beckoned Dwight and Grace over with an imperious wave of his gloved hand. Olivia and Daryl remained with him, but the other Saviors – like Arat – continued about their business. Left with no choice, Dwight pulled Grace over to Negan, and she stumbled after him, though not protesting. She threw out her free hand and waved it in front of her, looking for Daryl in her own way. “Sir,” Dwight began, but Negan quickly cut him off.

“Who the fuck is this?” Negan jerked his chin at Grace, his gaze heavy on her hand’s death grip on Dwight’s hand.

“I’m Grace.” She turned her face in the general direction of the new man, not sure what to think of him. “Please, please don’t kill Olivia. I’m sure it’s not her fault. Someone probably stole them.”

Side-eyeing Olivia, Negan saw the woman duck her head at Grace’s words but otherwise say nothing. Negan looked back at Dwight and raised high brows, giving him an incredulous look like ‘Can you believe this shit?’ but Dwight’s face was tight and blank, unresponsive. He was no fun to play with. Lastly, Negan took a good look at Grace. She was dark-skinned, short, chubby, and pretty. Her eyes were hidden by a bandage – blind then, too. No wonder she spoke so freely. This community was just full of oddities and surprises. “Well Grace, ex-fucking-cuse me if you think it’s stupid, but nothing lights a fire under someone’s ass like a death threat and I need those fucking guns. Do you know where the hell they are?” His question was a little bit redundant.

“No, I’m sorry,” Grace answered him. She lifted her chin as she suddenly asked him, “Who are you?”

With a small chuckle, Negan answer her, amused by the woman. “I’m Negan. I know you’ve had to have heard of me.” He watched realization flood her features, but he didn’t see any noticeable signs of fear or anger or hatred. Maybe she lacked a way to express those emotions without her eyes. Licking his lips, he moved on when he didn’t get the kind of reaction he wanted. “What the fuck are you doing here with Dwight?”

“I’m looking for Daryl. You took him and then you brought him back. I want to see him,” Grace explained confidently.

Negan outright laughed at her now, “Very poor choice of words, Grace. You’d be looking right at him now if you, you know, could.” He took Olivia’s hand in his, forcing her to follow him as he went over and grabbed Daryl by the collar of his shirt. He pushed the man in Grace’s general direction before shooting a look at Dwight. “Now technically, my orders were that no one could speak or look at Daryl, but considering you’re, um, situation, I’ll make somewhat of an exception. The catch is that he can’t talk back. Don’t touch him either. Just say what you fucking need to say since it’s so damn important, Grace.”

Unbothered by the audience, Grace took the opportunity, “Daryl, it’s okay, it’ll be okay. You’re a survivor and what happened isn’t on you – it isn’t on you!” She reached out, Daryl out of her grasp, but she reached out all the same.

“Well, that was fucking sweet.” Negan deadpanned. “Now Daryl has to get back to work now, and me and Olivia need to go get acquainted. How about you and Dwighty-boy go and get a little acquainted, too? Dwight!” He jerked his head in dismal, giving Dwight a look that obvious signaled this to be discussed later. Casting one last look on Grace and marking her in his mind as interesting as she was too kind in this world, Negan ushered Olivia away to a nearby bench to sit and talk.

Doing as Negan asked, Dwight pulled Grace away quickly, wondering if he was going to be punished for this later. The first Alexandrian he found he passed Grace off on them. “Take her to her home.” Dwight motioned to a nearby Savior, too, and commanded him, “Make sure her home has a mattress.” Then he started to leave.

Before he could go, though, Grace squeezed his hand in her grip. Urgently, she told him, “Look Dwight, what I said to you earlier before I knew who you were? Doesn’t change anything.” She was telling him this because she felt connected to him, both because of the scars and because he just seemed so lost and broken. He was strong when he obviously didn’t want to be, and to her it was like Daryl was when she first started to become friends with him. Dwight was just an abused puppy at this point, and if she could provide momentary solace and comfort, she wasn’t going to begrudge him that. “If whatever I said meant something to you, good, I’m glad it did. It should.”

Instead of reply, Dwight slipped his hand out of her grasp, the action gentle. What she was saying now almost disturbed him. He hurried away, trying not to think about it. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from affirming that with her blessing, he didn’t feel like such a monster anymore.

Later that night, Grace couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened. Over and over again in her mind she replayed the incident with Dwight and her brief encounter with Negan. Since he had lost her eyes, she had been less hasty to make assumptions, she had noticed.

Despite what she had heard about both men for being part of the Saviors, she didn’t feel burning hatred. Before she could dredge up that emotion now problem, but now that she had met them both it was more difficult.

Olivia had told her about Negan that night when they ate dinner together. She described him as handsome, too handsome, with a dazzling smile and dimples and a bad boy look complete with a black leather jacket. Of course, Olivia mentioned how despite being scary at times, he could be disarming with his charm as she’d been forced to hang out with him while Rick finally collected the guns from Spencer’s home. She said that Negan briefly flirted with her, completely calm, too calm, and that is what threw her off the most as she couldn’t tell if he was being facetious with her or not. In her mind’s eye, Grace pictured him, and she couldn’t see a monster at all.

Ever since she had killed that Wolf – the real monster – it was hard for her to think anyone else to be a monster. She had killed someone, but she was doing that to survive or he would’ve done much worse to her before killing her out of pleasure. Grace knew true monstrosity intimately, and she didn’t think either Dwight or Negan were monsters.

In the Sanctuary, Dwight and Negan had a discussion somewhat similar to the one Olivia and Grace had over their dinner of canned green beans, only Dwight and Negan were both drinking beer. “What the shit were you doing with the blind girl, Dwight?” Negan cut right to the chase, “Of all the women in Alexandria, you pick the most vulnerable one. It’s because she can’t see your nasty ass scar, huh? Or maybe because she’s got a nasty ass scar, too, and you feel right at home. Still, she is a fine piece of ass.”

Dwight switched his beer to the other hand, picking at the label that was peeling off. He had to be careful about what he said. “I wasn’t trying to do that.” Slowly, he explained, “She’s different than that, she’s…” He hesitated to say special, not knowing where that word came from.

“Shit, Dwighty-boy,” Negan sounded shocked, “I’m not saying you can’t fuck her, I’m just asking why her? She doesn’t exactly look anything like Sherry, you know. That’s almost kind of fucking weird.”

“She thought I was Daryl,” Dwight admitted to Negan, refusing to talk about Sherry with him. “She just came up and started talking to me like I was him. I figured what’s the harm in letting a blind girl talk to Daryl. It would only break him faster.”

“Oh, she’s Daryl’s girl? I’m surprised he can get good pussy like that,” Negan commented. He tilted his head at Dwight, though, and took a hardy swig of his beer before he asked, “Why were you holding her hand, Dwight?”

Avoiding Negan’s knowing gaze, Dwight wrote it off, “She’s blind. She was clinging to me.” If Dwight were a lesser man, he would have been blushing.

“You were her walking stick, huh? I bet she wanted to use your walking stick. Oh, hell, on you it’s probably not a walking stick. Mine sure as hell is,” Negan laughed at his own joke before continuing, “Shit you can laugh, Dwight. It won’t kill you. And neither would a good fuck. I’m sure she would’ve let you fuck her if you’d ask politely.”

Dwight didn’t say anything, too awkward to come up with something to say. He hadn’t looked at her that way, but not that Negan had mentioned it, the gears in Dwight’s mind started turning.

Since Dwight didn’t respond, Negan kept talking, “Shit, I should ask her for a fuck. Or Olivia. Both are hot as shit. Next time we go to Alexandria, if you don’t do it Dwight, then I fucking will. Abso-fucking-lutely no reason good pussy like that should go to waste or be wasted on fucking Daryl of all people.” Negan was actually being serious. The next opportunity he would get, he wanted to proposition to Grace. She seemed like she would be a lot of fun. Suddenly an idea hit him, and Negan snapped the fingers of his free hand. “You want to break Daryl? You fuck his woman, Dwight. You of all people should know this.” Negan smiled and gulped down the rest of his beer.

Knowing he was referring to himself and Sherry, Dwight again said nothing, taking another small sip of his beer. He stared at the floor, cowed, broken.

“Well, goodnight, Dwighty-boy. I’m gonna Ping-Pong my dick all over Sherry’s titties now. You and your right hand have fun while you’re think about ol’ Graceful’s fantastic fucking ass.”

After Negan left, Dwight was left alone with his thoughts. Yes, Grace was something alright, she was different, she was special. Far too kind and forgiving and strong. Everything Dwight was not. Dwight didn’t know what to do with this information, except know that at least there was someone out there that didn’t despise him for what he did and what he is doing. Rather than going to Daryl’s cell to talk to him about Grace, Dwight went to bed, granting Daryl that one kindness just for Grace.

#negan #negan's thirst squad #ash's negan writing challenge #NTS #NTS fics #negan fanfics #fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #submission

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sueboohscorner · 7 years

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#TheWalkingDead Season 8 Episode 7 "Time For After" In-Depth Recap Plus Questions

Sunday, December 3rd

*WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS EXPLICIT DETAIL FR SUNDAY NIGHT'S EPISODE "TIME FOR AFTER." IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT, TURN BACK NOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!*

Sunday's episode 'Time For After' started off with Rick in the holding container. A stripped Rick waits and listens as the door comes open. As it does, Jadis is waiting along with a drawer. She takes three photos while he draws Rick. Okay... Well, Rick asks why the pictures and Jadis tell him "For After."

Eugene is seen pacing. Eugene scribbles three columns into a notebook then ponders. Next thing, Eugene knocking on Dwight's door. Eugene confronts Dwight about being the backstabbing trader. Eugene says to Dwight that he'll hide all he knows from Negan if Dwight agrees to stop. Dwight forces Eugene down on his couch and tells Eugene that the Saviors, Negan and the Sanctuary are finished. Dwight tells Eugene that the Sanctuary is going to fall, so Eugene needed just to watch and let it play out. Dwight tells Eugene that he doesn't have blood on his hands yet, but once it does, it becomes a part of them, staying with them and making them something bad. Dwight tells Eugene that he knows Eugene heard the screams, seen the horror and smelt the burning flesh.

"There's no coming back, no forgetting it,"

Eugene says he's better off there and where he is It's saving people. "It ain't perfect, but we're Saviors. We save people". Eugene then reiterated his no tell no more trade deal then he leaves. Eugene goes to the work floor and sees the crew watching the reanimated corpses banging on the doors. Eugene asks a female Savior what she was thinking about and she tells him she was thinking about her father. As Eugene walking back to his room, Dr. Carson calls Eugene to Gabriel's makeshift hospital room. Dr. Carson tells Eugene that Gabriel has multiple infections with no meds to counteract the spread. Dr. Carson tells Eugene that he's going to go search for some herbs to treat Gabriel with some eastern medicine. When Eugene goes to the Father's side, he helps the dying Gabriel by giving him water. Gabriel wants to know if Eugene decided to help him get the Dr. Carson to Maggie. In a lengthy, overdrawn out response, Eugene tells him no; he can't. Gabriel tells Eugene all he wants is for him to do the right thing, and to have faith that it'll work out.

Morgan is a sniper watch tower scouting the Sanctuary. One of Negan's wives visits Eugene, wanting her boom box back. When she finds out it hasn't been fixed; she leaves with the other half of their deal; a bottle of wine. Eugene begs for it, needing it for a bedtime consumption solution. She knows Eugene's pain and blames Eugene for not helping them fix "this place." She gives it to him and leaves, saying Negan wants to speak to him. Daryl scopes out the surrounding area as the group talks. They're planning to ram a truck into the workstation and flood the compound with walkers. Morgan wants it done. Michonne and Rosita think it's a bad idea. Tara says she could've ended it before, but she didn't. Morgan tells her where a vehicle is. Michonne tells Rosita that she's come this far and she wants to see it through. Rosita tells her that sometimes you just have to wait, but she wishes it wouldn't have taken Sasha coming out of the coffin the way she did to prove the case. Daryl, Tara, and Michonne head out.

Negan and Eugene meet. Negan tells the genius that if they don't do something quickly, many people are gonna die. Not Negan, of course. But many of his people and he doesn't wanna see that. Negan asks Eugene if his bullet maker and can he still produce. Eugene says he can. Negan then tells Eugene that this place is based on "pooling and organizing strengths." And Negan says he knows Eugene's mind is strong. Negan reaches out his hand for Eugene to shakes, but Eugene tried to kiss Negan's hand, Negan explains to Eugene that he just wanted a handshake. "A handshake is a sign of mutual respect." Suddenly, Eugene says "There's much work to do," and bails.

Eugene works on the radio and pulls out the speaker from the boom box and comes up with an idea. Eugene goes on the search for something and comes across Sasha's casket. Eugene has a frightening flashback then opens the lid and pulls her mp3 player.

Morgan tells them to kill the engine. As Tara gets out, Daryl notices Michonne's hesitation. Daryl asks if MIchonne was okay, Michonne tells Daryl that she wanted to see things for herself, but what they're about to do, it isn't worth risking "us" to her. Daryl says it is for him. Michonne tells Daryl that she hopes it works but she can't do it. Daryl tells her, "Then you shouldn't." She gets out. Tara walks around the truck and says that they can do it with Morgan and the Scouters.

Eugene has created a flight object that he attached the player. As Eugene is working on it, he records his progress. Dwight comes from behind and tells Eugene to back away from the device. Daryl's at the ready, and so is Tara. Eugene tells Dwight that he's going to be saving people. Dwight tells Eugene that if he does that, Negan will kill Rick and the others. Dwight says he can get rid of Negan. Dwight tells Eugene not to launch his aircraft thing, but Eugene gets a sudden burst of courage and launches it in spite of the fun to his head. Daryl guns it. Tara and Morgan fire. Dwight fires at the aircraft thing taking it down. Daryl busts through the outer wall and sends the truck into the wall but he jumps out, and he and Tara run.

Walkers invade the compound. Workers scramble and Saviors fire and defend, but many still die. Eugene watches in terror, and then, he gets angry. Eugene goes to Gabriel's room and tells Gabriel that he declines helping very angrily and tells Gabriel that he's loyal to Negan. Eugene meets with the boss man again, Negan wants to know how good it feels to be the second most important person there and to help people. Eugene says he likes it. There's a knock. A brood of Saviors come in. She tells Negan that the dead ones have taken the bottom floor. Cheerful Negan tells her that Eugene has a plan plus, a topper! But, the topper is a letdown to Negan. Eugene hopes to fix the intercom system. Dwight just knew his ass was grass... Next time Eugene is seen, he's in his room. As the bullets fly, he gets up, drinks something yellowish and chases it with wine. He throws up some them chugs the wine.

Jadis has requested Rick, One of Junkers gets Rick from the holding container and makes Rick kneel in the circle. Jadis and another Junker emerge with a savage and blinded walker. As it comes nears to Rick, he knocks the Junker holding him upside the head and beats both the Junker and the walker handler then turns to Jadis.

Rick wins that battle and announces to the Junkers "I'm walking out of here which means you're all dead. I have a lot of people. We won't attack today, but we will attack. You, people, can play your games, draw your pictures, sculpt whatever shit you want but I'm leaving!" Rick looks at Jadis and asks if it's over. Rick lets her up from the ground and asks if they have a deal. Jadis says they get the Saviors things once it's won. Rick says a fourth, Jadis says a half. Rick says a fourth, so Jadis says a fourth and she sculpts him nude. Seriously, Jadis...what's your deal? Rick tells Jadis his binds need to come off and his clothes and boots are returned now. They agree to a fourth. Rick and the Scavengers head out. They stop at the scout outpost and find a dead scouter (one of theirs). Rick radios to his people but no one comes back. Rick climbs up and looks through the scope and is struck with sheer horror as he looks at an empty Sanctuary both of walkers and humans...

Oh my god! What did you think of this episode? Let me know in the comments below!

Rick and his crew have a helluva mess to clean up. With the Sanctuary empty, what does this mean for the others? Where have they gone? Will Jadis betray them again? Will Dwight split and join Rick full-fledged? Will Tara, Daryl, Morgan and Michonne's stay alive through the Midseason Finale?

Tune in Sunday for the Mid-Season finale at 9 p.m. only on AMC.

Editor: Joeleen Gatlin

#TheWalkingDead #TheWalkingDead Recap #TWD TheWalkingDead TWDS7 Alexandria TheKingdom TheHilltop Oceanside

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