Little Bird

by Aviator39, FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

"It was pure luck she had not been eaten because of her curiosity."

She'd been content on the Hilltop, had gotten good at brushing off Gregory's advances, but staying in his good graces.

And then she catches Negan's eye.

!! PLEASE read the disclaimers in the Author's Note at the end of Chapter One !!
- chapters start short, getting longer as we progress into the story.

Notes:

Chapters are limited but I can't decide on that limit just yet. Enjoy still, check the tags for triggers and give it some love ❤

Chapter 1: The End

Summary:

Blessed be the Daughters of
Cain
Bound to suffering eternal
through the sins of their fathers
committed long before their
conception.

Notes:

The Author's Note at the end of this chapter is a must read, I implore you.

Now that we have addressed that promptly, hi! So, the full details of what this story really is shall be revealed piece by piece, as this story is quite large and extensive, but I am pretty sure you will all enjoys this. I know my co-authors and I have been having a blast working on this.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, please do not forget to leave kudos, comment and leave a bookmark, if you don't mind. That kind of stuff gets us excited to work on chapters more, as begging as this sounds lol so many people do not leave comments though and it really lowers the face value of the fics themselves. Even a thumbs up is appreciated.

Important: her name is pronounced Chee-law

Allot of people start with what they did before the apocalypse, how they had lived some unassuming life or something close to that when it all fell apart.

"If the world went back to normal tomorrow, I would never complain about being in retail ever again."

"I was out on a tug boat when we heard the news."

Government officials rolled out first, civilians quarantined behind walls of tanks and corrupt military, the dead taking over like the flu in a cancer ward. They had just left them all behind, too many to care for without it turning into chaos despite all of their best efforts. The military guys that came through at the beginning, before they all vanished, had horror stories themselves to tell about the people that turned on each other with the smallest provocations.

"He didn't get one piece of bread... pulled a knife we thought we had confiscated... it was just a little kid..." 

But Csilla never thought about -- okay, okay that would be a total fucking lie to say she never thought about her life before the apocalypse.

She did wonder about her dog, if her politician momma thought to grab the poor thing up when she had her own daughter blocked from the estate.

One reason Csilla didn't think about her life before; momma was a bitch, daddy was a drunk, typical family in upstate New York even if no one was going to admit it. Corruption and family went hand-in-hand as if they were meant for each other, Csilla would have loved to spill her mommas secrets, her daddy's, even her brother's because of how shitty he was when she tried to befriend him.

No, she didn't care to think pre-apocalypse style.

She did not care to think post-apocalyptic either.

Csilla curled her left hand against the windowsill; the fat, blue stone on her finger shimmered in the light of her lantern when she did so. A heavy sigh escaped her lips when she forced herself to focus on the gaudy bauble instead of other things. Being angry at Gregory and his love of lavishing her could be traced back to the ring, and that was certainly enough to distract her.

I could day dream about despising him all day long...

Csilla was falling into the family tradition of being doted on by some weird old man, while she sat around like a rare and valuable houseplant.

She wanted to tear his eyes out.

But, he had her trapped, ya see, because Csilla knew she wasn't fit for living outside of those high walls and he had threatened her not-so subtly about how he would throw her outside the moment she said she wanted her own place in an RV, or even a tent.

And Csilla wanted to survive, dammit, even if that meant dealing with roaming hands.

Nothin' but a lil princess.

Csilla grit her teeth at the reminder, from a voice she could no longer remember properly. 

Expectin' everybody to wait hand-n-foot on ya, right?

Csilla flinches when she sees movement out the corner of her eye, turning in time to watch a truck loaded with armed men and women pull through the gates. 

A tense gathering begins between the workers as they try and pretend they aren't watching the new arrivals.

Csilla clasps both hands onto the windowsill to push herself back when she sees Jesus in the back of the truck. 

Her chair scrapes against the hardwood and, while Csilla knows Gregory heard it and would complain later, she did not care.

Her heart is already racing when she comes to the top of the stair case, her pause caused by catching Gregory nervously adjusting his clothing. I have never seen him so nervous, Csilla thought, eyes flickering up and down, observing his body language with an amused expression. 

He looks up at her when one of the floorboards squeaks under Casillas shifting weight, and there's that selfish panic in his eyes when he waves a hand at her.

"Go upstairs now," he orders and she narrows her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look - he's here!"

Csilla cannot help but dig her nails into the wood of the railing she held onto, opening her mouth to retort when the double doors swung apart and bathed the lobby with pale light. 

Most of the people that had arrived in the truck poured in, Jesus among the gaggle that eyed Csilla in uncomfortable ways. The look Jesus gave her over the small crowd was a plea similar to Gregory, but she knew he only wanted her safe from whatever trouble these people were obviously known to cause.

Why did I not know about them? 

Jesus gives her one more desperate look before he begins to weave his way to Gregory's side. The older man is too busy greeting and cracking jokes with the strangers to notice anything else.

Trouble, that voice murmurs. You know what to do, right?

Csilla felt her throat close up at the implications, the slippery feeling beneath her palms when she takes a step back from the stairs.

Only Jesus seems to notice Csilla and her sudden panic, the stare. Despite that, he does not come to Csilla when she looks at him. It almost... angers her, when he does not come to her grasping hand she tries so hard to keep unnoticed by the strangers.

She at least could tell he thought about it before a new voice interjected, effortlessly booming over the others.

"I tell you what, Greeeegory," the new man drawled out as he stepped inside. "Sure know how to keep a place pretty."

His rough voice, and appearance, betrayed the easy smile that broke out on his face when he spotted Csilla. 

Oh.

Csilla held a hand over her stomach as she watched him wink at her before he filed into Gregory's office, with the meek man in tow.

Csilla could only hear her beating heart and rapid breaths, but she could see Jesus excusing himself and coming for her. Csilla let out a shaky breath when he took her hand, her steps struggling to keep up with his as she was pulled away from such heavy gazes in the lobby.

"You shouldn't have come down," is the first thing Jesus says when he shut the door behind them.

Csilla ignored him, both hands held over her mouth as she stood in the center of the room. Her gaze was fixated on the lantern still burning beside the window. 

Not again ...I can't do this again...

"Csilla?" 

She flinched at the sound of Jesus's soft voice, giving him a sympathetic look as she held her hands up to reject his confused comforts. 

"I need a moment," she murmured, wrapping her hands around herself and pacing closer to the window by the second. "Just...a moment..."

The silence in the room was heavy, a thing that had never happened between Jesus and Csilla before, their beginning not counting.

You were worse, huh?

Csilla closed her eyes tightly. "Shut up!" She grumbled, sitting back in her chair.

"I...wasn't talking?"

She looked over at Jesus, saw the way he wanted that to be funny. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I-I didn't mean -"

"It's okay," his soothing tone did not set her at ease like it normally did. "It's all that again, isn't it?"

Her tired eyes answered his question, and Csilla watched him quietly pick up a chair from the small table in the room. When he sat beside her, no conversation was pushed, a thing Csilla was thankful for. Explaining things would take time, and patience she was afraid even someone like him would not have.

I won't ever pressure you to tell me a thing, I'm sure whatever happened to you isn't something you wanna share with just anyone.

Oh if only it were so simple.

"He..." She began, hesitant, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. "He just..." She sighed in frustration with herself. "He reminds me of...someone I knew."

"Post?"

Csilla nodded, looking out the window once more; rain has begun to spatter against the glass pane. 

"Not him, though," she whispered.

Jesus hummed. "I would hope not, Negan is...he's dangerous."

"So is he," Csilla retorted, the fierce defensiveness of her tone the only indication of annoyance. "Wh-Who is this guy anyway? You never mentioned him."

Jesus sighed, pulling his beanie from his head as he slouched down a bit in his chair. "We just started dealing with them...they call themselves the Saviors, but they're just more bullies."

"But him? Negan?"

That seemed to be the trigger to real discomfort with Jesus. He fidgeted in his seat, twisting the beanie between his clenched fists in a slow, methodical manner; he was thinking too hard for this to not be a problem.

"Negan is their leader...I don't know, they're all pretty rough, but he has to be worse if that lot listens to him so well."

Csilla hummed softly beneath her breath, her mind in far off places mostly while she listened to Jesus talk. It was hard to focus when the inside of her head was so chaotic and unfocused. Whether she was trying to gain information or time from asking Jesus questions like this, Csilla couldn't be sure by the time there was urgent knocking on the door.

Not enough time, she thought with an annoyed expression as the door opened.

Gregory peeked into the room, a brief glare on his face when he saw Jesus and Csilla sitting together. 

Is he so daft? Truly?

"Yes?" Her voice came out thick as honey.

Gregory's face devolved into fear once more when he looked at Csilla, but she found no emotions to associate with that look. It was the same one he gave her when she threatened to leave, even when he knew it was a bluff when Csilla was as tired as she was.

"I need you to come to my office," he whispered, still just a head peeking into the room. "It is urgent."

Csilla furrowed her brow, the lump in her throat only growing when she felt the urge to speak. After a moment, she nodded and waved a hand at Gregory, who grumbled and shut the door nonetheless, leaving Jesus and Csilla alone once again.

The silence was thick and heavy, both of them understanding what was about to happen without even being told.

It didn't surprise her, not after the things Csilla had seen before Hilltop.

"Hey," she whispered, reaching out and placing her own shaky hands atop Jesus's. "Look...next time we see each other, I'll tell you everything."

When he looked up at her, Csilla tried her best to give him an encouraging smile. But she could feel the prick of tears in her eyes, the sting in her nose, and her breath trembled when she spoke.

"Everything?" He played along.

Csilla's smile grew a bit. "Yeah, everything."

Jesus hesitates. "One for free?"

She chuckled and stood, tugging him with her. "Sure."

"How did you meet him?"

The question threw her off, and Csilla froze with her fingers wrapped around the doorknob. Her eyes danced around the aged paint on the wall around the light switch before she looked back at Jesus.

What expression was on her face for him to look at her like that? Wide eyes and minute regret.

"I..." She blinked a few times and turned back around, opening the door. "He shot me."

Csilla heard the confused noise Jesus exuded, but once they were in the hall, she let go of his hand and tried to prepare herself the best she could.

"He says he doesn't hurt women, but..."

Csilla shook her head. "That's not what I'm worried about..."

Jesus didn't press any further knowledge or questions upon her, and Csilla was thankful for that as they drew closer to the staircase.

The doors were open once again, only one man lingering in the lobby while the others were walking back towards their truck. Csilla could see another, bigger, truck on the other side of the wall from where she stood at Gregory's office doors. 

"Are they inside?" Jesus asked, staying close to Csilla's side.

The man smirked, jerking his chin towards the doors leading outside. "Gregory needs ya out there." His eyes rolled up and down Csilla. "Negan is waitin' for her in there."

Csilla looked over at Jesus, giving him a reassuring nod before she watched him begrudgingly walk outside; the strangers gave Csilla a small smirk before he followed. 

When she looked at the looming doors, Csilla felt far more resigned than she was comfortable with.

His back was turned to Csilla when she entered the room, not even looking back when the doors clicked shut loudly behind her. Her eyes were drawn to the bat bouncing against his shoulder, wrapped in gangly barbed wire, the wood stained with blood.

She felt a chill run down her spine.

"So, you're Gregory's little pet I've heard so little about," Negan chirped as he spun around suddenly on one heel, the other foot slamming down on the floor to stop himself. "He did real good keepin' you a secret, an' I honestly can't blame him."

Csilla bit the inside of her cheek. "What do you want from me?" Why ask for what you already know?

His smile grew into a deadly grin, then a smirk when he slowly began to approach Csilla. 

She didn't move until he was feet away, and that bat swung over and up to cradle her chin. She flinched when she felt the points of wire dig into her skin threateningly, eyes flickering up to Negan's with mild panic. 

He was examining her in a similar manner, but where Csilla's eyes were shaky and unstable, Negan's eyes were slow and methodical. 

What do you fucking want?

He chuckled, pulling away the bat abruptly. "Yeah, you'll do."

Csilla swallowed thickly. "For...what?"

Shaking his head with that same amused chuckle, Negan slung an arm over Csilla's shoulders to steer her towards the window behind Gregory's desk. She let him pull her along, unable to describe how uncomfortable, but familiar, the feeling was to her memories.

We'll rule the world, girly.

"We're gonna rule this shithole, little bird," Negan explained, brushing aside the sheer curtains with his bat; it tore the delicate fabric. "Every god damn bit of it."

Csilla stands there, passively watching his men hauling crate after crate from the storm cellar. She peered at Negan from the corner of her eye, at his manic smile and twinkling eyes, and Csilla felt oddly... at home, beside him.

Notes:

Disclaimer(s)/Trigger(s)/Warning(s):

- the best piece of advice before reading this, as with most of my fics, is to pay attention to the tags VERY carefully.

- the chapter lengths will grow as we progress through the story, I assure you (an example is my grouped House Of the Dragon fic "My Daughter's Inheritance")

- this is is an extremely violent and, honestly, grotesque canon-divergence, and I am quite graphic with it at this stage in my fanfic "career".

- many of your beloved characters (ones you loved for their humour, their heart-on-their-sleeve type of attitude, their bravery) are NOT who they are in the show, or even the comics.

- the tags will be updated according to plot progress, so they may change every chapter, but it will not be too frequently (many of the tags we wish to put, but are holding back on, would spoil certain aspects of the story outright). This applies to the relationship tags as well.

- we welcome any type of comment; from a simple "👍", to a well thought out, long, positive comment, to a dissecting, critical comment. We respond to all the best we can (mostly myself, and CananaBananalism), and are fairly transparent, unless it comes to potential spoilers, of course.

Chapter 2: A Distant Memory.

Summary:

But if the years have taught
me anything it's this: you can
never run away. Not ever. The
only way out is in.

Notes:

I know these two chapters are small, but I ASSURE you that chapters 3-20 will be much longer, especially the last ten. These two were the only ones I didn't have to completely rewrite.

Her last night of true content was nearly a decade ago - when she wasn't so damn far from home, and she still had people worth actually fighting for. 

The early days had always felt that way, to be honest.

The scent of honeysuckle had been so thick in the air that it settled on her tongue that night.

Every breath was sweet and full of giggles when she danced through the tall grass; each strand tugged at her skirts when she passed. With the twinkle of stars above, and the soft chirp of crickets, Csilla always remembered that night with more fondness than it probably deserved.

We could stay here forever...

Oh how she wished he had said yes.

Would he be the one placing a gentle hand against her lower back, steering her through the throng of the dead used as a barrier against intruders? 

Would he be the one smiling at her when he told her to wait in some strange room, in this strange place?

He would never make me stay.

He wouldn't have made her stay in some strange room, while he went off to deal with something he didn't share with her in the first place.

Sometimes, she ached for that again.

When she found Hilltop...it felt as though Csilla left behind a part of herself she did not understand. Something had felt missing since she met Jesus, and further time had tarnished so many memories. 

Most of her life had turned into one violent, bloody blur.

Csilla looked around the room with curiosity, finding it far more comfortable than she had expected when first seeing the building she had been brought too. An old factory of some sorts, turned into a commune for Negan and his Saviors; the title made Csilla snort softly as she picked at one of the CD cases on the dresser. With a handful of clothes hanging in the closet, and a messy bed in the middle of the room, Csilla found herself bored quickly with her picking.

What if he ain't me? Or him?

"What if he is?" She murmured to herself, pushing up on her toes to peer out of the window. 

The sun briefly glimpsing from beneath its cover of clouds caused Csilla to squint, but she still found herself unable to see anything from the angle of the window.

Ain't ever gonna be me.

Csilla jumped when she heard a chorus of wails outside the door, spinning around when the sound travelled closer to the door. Thuds and angry curses followed the stomp of boots and instigating cheers; it sounded distant, and yet so close thanks to the room for echoes.

Csilla flexed her fingers at the sound, tongue feeling so heavy in her mouth all of a sudden. The wet crack of someone's nose over the lapse in cheers from the gathered crowd was followed by Csilla licking her lips before she curled her fingers into her palms once again.

"You wouldn't let that happen," Csilla murmured, moving closer to the door.

When she cracked open the door, Csilla almost shut it again when she saw the crowd moving closer. None seemed to notice her spectating, however, and Csilla used that moment to nosey her way out of the room and into the chaos of whatever was happening. Her eyes flickered across the bloody spatters across the floor as one of the two men fighting dragged the other back up from the floor.

As he wheeled his arm back to strike his opponent in the face, a sharp crack caused a tense silence to fall over those gathered in the hallway. 

Csilla swallowed heavily, unable to tear her eyes off of the gore as the man fell to his knees, releasing the other as Negan brought the bat down again. His head landing near Csilla's feet, she was unaware of the crowd dispersing from around her when Negan took a mighty step forward and swung the bat down again.

Csilla watched.

"Now," Negan snapped after the fourth swing; his shoulders heaved while he caught his breath. "Anyone else wanna pull some stupid shit like that?"

The resounding agreement of everyone nodding was a bit fascinating to Csilla. She couldn't really explain why though, had nothing to compare it to so far.

When she noticed Negan staring at her, Csilla froze. 

There were several eyes on her, in fact. Half of the crowd gathered had taken it upon themselves to stare at the girl in time with Negan, waiting for him to say something about her sudden presence in the current situation.

"And what are you doin out here?" His lopsided grin was haggard by his breathing. "I thought I told you to wait for me in there?"

She didn't say anything.

She just watched.

So you're that fucking weird again?

Csilla denied the chills running down her arms as Negan rested the bloody Lucille on one shoulder, stepping over his victim to get closer to her. There was sweat beading up in her hair, on her upper lip, her blood felt cold and hot at the same time. The closer Negan drew, Csilla could smell the sweat and blood on him, the hormones in the midst of a frenzy due to what had just happened. he was a bit flushed, eyes hooded as he stared down with that damnable grin that made Csilla feel a tightness in her belly, one that was all too familiar to the dazed girl. 

"Aw, sweetheart," Negan tsked, gesturing to her dress. "Look at ya."

Csilla looked down, saw the blood spattered across the skirt, and felt her body getting colder.

It was hard to swallow when she looked up, seeing all of the eyes on her. 

When she turned around and hurried back into the room, Csilla tried to ignore the chuckle she heard from behind her. Pressing her back to the door once it was shut, Csilla slid down to the floor and tried to steady her breathing. When she slipped a hand over her heart, it felt as though it would explode at any moment. Her eyes caught the stark contrast of crimson against the crème is a color of her clothes, and felt her hands beginning to shake even worse than she thought possible.

The sight brought back the worst of her memories, the ones that hurt to remember.

Scared of some blood?

"Stop," Csilla hissed, quiet and low as to not draw Negan's attention; she couldn't stand anyone to see her like that. "Just...stop..."

Nagging, nagging, nagging.

---

Csilla sat on the floor at the foot of the bed while she waited for Negan.

She would be foolish to think he wasn't going to come to her, but she hoped he did not. It was hard to deny that she was currently in his room, judging by the decor and other contents she had picked through when sitting had not seemed satisfying enough yet. There was little to satiate Csilla's curiosity, which was a shame. Csilla was never really al that good at entertaining herself. 

Will he try to rape me?

The thought had crossed her mind more than once since she had laid eyes on him.

He reminded her too much of someone else for her to see properly. 

Sweetheart.

The southern drawl behind the word felt displaced in Csilla's mind, and it made her flinch. 

Will he let his men rape me?

The presence of other women in the compound did not prevent the possibility from being reality.

Csilla curled her knees tighter to her chest, resting her chin between them as she stared at the carpet laid out beneath the bed. 

She wondered what Jesus - Paul - was doing.

He had watched her leave, but seemed unable to move when she waved goodbye to him. He had only stood on the door of that old home and watched her be taken away, face unreadable at a certain distance. 

It felt odd to not have him around already. He was her first, and only, friend in years. When Paul had found her on the road, she had been alone for so long that it took nearly a year for her to actually step inside the walls of Hilltop. He had snuck her food and provisions, spent nights trying to get know her when Csilla had done her best to keep every truth from him. He wouldn't have liked the answers to any of his question, however, so Csilla took some comfort in that fact.

"Some friend I am," Csilla murmured, sighing when the steps she heard approaching walked right by the door. 

She didn't know how long it had been since she had seen Negan, after he bashed that mans brains in; over a fist fight? Csilla didn't like having to sit here and wait for him to show himself but...she was too nervous to leave.

They saw you.

The nagging response made Csilla grit her teeth and she pushed herself to her feet once again. Before she could teach the door, her goal, it swung open, narrowly missing her face by inches. Negan was standing there, lean and mean, with flecks of blood dried in his beard still, and staining his shirt, shimmering on his jacket, but Lucille was spotless.

Csilla could smell him.

Blood and expired cologne, sweat from the day, whiskey and carrots from dinner he did not eat with her.

Negan chuckled, kicking the door shut as he watched Csilla stumble back. "I know you're eager to see me, darlin, but watch out, and don't let that pretty face get messed up."

Csilla ignored him for the black trash bag he held in one hand; the other kept his bat slung over his shoulder.

"Ah!" His enthusiasm was unmatched as he plopped the bag onto the floor. "All yours."

Csilla watched him walk around her, frowning at the way he whistled across the floor to the bathroom. Once he shut the door behind himself, Csilla returned her attention to the trash bag and crouched down to untie it. She was glad to not have him watching her, she didn't need him seeing her shaky hands of excitement. New things were always a treat, but now, in the apocalypse, they took on a whole new meaning, even to someone like Csilla.

She dug through the clothes meticulously, wondering to whom they belonged to before her. Csilla didn't know what to make of the consistency, sure that Negan's personal taste went into a lot of what was shoved inside. There were so many colors and even lace, things he had to know Csilla would never be wearing, even if he tried to make her.

But there were tolerable things. Practical things.

Jeans and tank tops, shirts, a couple of jackets, a winter coat.

Practical. Tolerable.

The sequined dress was not tolerable.

Csilla just stared at the garment in her hands, brushing her thumb across the shimmering pieces of plastic sewn on. They were blue, but turned a shade of green as she twisted them back and forth in the lamp light. She thought of an old betta fish she had when she was a girl, one she took surprisingly good care of. He had been such a dull color when her mother first allowed her to pluck one of the old, plastic cups up off of the store shelf, but had bloomed a beautiful show of blues and greens over the next several years.

"Pretty," she mumbled, before tossing it to the side.

Changing out of the dress Gregory had presented her with that same morning felt a bit liberating, despite the circumstances.

Csilla tossed the bag of clothes she planned to keep into a corner, eyes sweeping the room when she heard the lock to the bathroom door click. A bit of steam rolled out from the crack in the door, bursting out in full force when Negan swung the door open to where it bounced against the wall behind it.

He seemed pleased with himself when Csilla immediately turned away, if his snickering was any indication.

"Better get used to it, sweetheart." There it is again. "Gonna be seein' that an awful lot in the future."

Csilla crinkled her nose in disagreement, still refusing to look in his direction until she was sure he was wearing something.

"So you're gonna be a feisty one then?" Negan hummed, the click of hangers beneath that as he searched through his closet. "I always liked that in a woman, though I didn't expect that from you -"

"Why?" She stared at the wall with her question.

"Why?" As if he hadn't heard her right. "Well, no offense darlin' but you look like walker bait."

That made her snort.

"Fair enough," she mumbled, risking a glance in his direction; she sighed with relief when she saw he was clothed once again. "I guess...sitting in Hilltop didn't do the good I thought it would in the end."

She didn't like the curiosity in his eyes when she spoke, it made Csilla feel weird. An unexplainable ache settled deep in her bones, something raw and familiar again.

"How did ya end up with ol Greg anyway?" Negan sat in the chair next to his bathroom door, pointing at the bed for Csilla to sit; she did. "You seemed trained well enou -"

"I am not trained."

"Then why do ya respond to commands so well, huh?" A mischievous glint in his eyes, wanting to push her more. 

Csilla felt her tongue tie up in her mouth, fingers curling in the sheets as her frustration built. 

It would be easy to tell him, so easy, just as it would have been with Paul. But, then, Csilla thinks about what happens if she does tell someone and it clams her up to the point where it physically hurts.

"I am not trained," she insisted in a softer voice, nervously pulling her hands into her lap.

Silence hung between them after that, and Csilla tried to pay it no mind. Not uncomfortable necessarily, but the silence punctuated by Negan's occasional hum and the flip of a page from the book he read was something...uneasy for Csilla. She wanted to break that silence, but nothing she thought of saying felt worth it.

How do you even begin to get to know someone else?

"I won't rape ya, if that's what you're waitin' for."

Csilla looked over at him, puzzled when she saw the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He wasn't looking at her, eyes still resting on the book in his hands.

"I..."

"I don't rape," he insisted when finally looking over the top of his book. "So don't ever look at me like that again."

"I'm...sorry." Csilla looked down at her hands again. 

"Don't be sorry, just don't do it again." Csilla nodded, and he let out a pleased little hum. "Good girl."

She let it go, too focused on the way her hands shook when she held them in front of her.

Chapter 3: Teetering.

Summary:

Inside of me, something
seethes. Inside me, some
feral animal claws at my
ribcage, trapped.

Notes:

I'm so mad, Idk what happened but when I posted this new chapter, it was missing a massive chunk for some reason and I didn't notice until later. It took me a minute to get around to fixing this because the same thing happened when one my co-authors updated our House Of The Dragon fic.

So sorry for the mess 😥

Csilla had felt less than human for years before Negan found her.

If he knew, would it make a difference?

Hilltop was not the first place where she felt alien, and she was sure it would not be the last; if experience had taught her anything over the years.

If he knew, what would he say?

The last time she had felt human was a fuzzy memory.

If he knew, what would he do?

No... Csilla had not felt very human in a long time.

Negan was not the first of his kind she had experienced, but she had wished she would never have to be entangled with his breed again. Csilla had thought Hilltop would be a place where they could not find her, but the universe seemed to love surprising her.

Why you so fussy? 

Csilla's head whipped around from the window she had been staring out of, taking a moment to process that she was still as alone as she had been since daybreak.

Csilla sighed and leaned her chin into her hand once again, watching the dead that guarded the perimeter shuffle and snarl outside of the gates. There wasn't much else for her to do, and Csilla found the sight interesting enough to not be truly bothered by the boring activity of sorts.

Negan had been up early, a spring in his step the moment there was knocking on his door. 

When he had tried to kiss her cheek goodbye, Csilla had made it very clear it was the last thing she wanted by rolling away from him. Where she had expected anger and repercussions, Negan had only chuckled and promised she would come around in time.

"Like hell I will," Csilla muttered, standing up from her chair.

She looked around the room for a moment or so, trying to find something to do, but she had already thoroughly snooped through every inch of the box so far. 

Csilla was not confined to her quarters, but there was no want to leave. If she did, what would she encounter in such a place? The people that worked for Negan couldn't be the kind she wanted to be near in the slightest. She had quick thoughts of groping hands and sleezy smiles, the latter of which she has received from one man when she had dared to poke her head outside for even a second.

No, no leaving this room was not a very promising thought.

The sudden knock at the door drew Csilla's curiosity, wondering why it was just so soft. 

It's a woman.

"Come in." Her voice was stronger than she had expected it to be; it wavered any time Negan was around.

As she thought, the person that had knocked was indeed a woman, but not what she expected, exactly. Csilla had seen women with the group that escorted them to the Sanctuary, and they had all looked rough. This woman wore a tight black dress, and her hair was shiny; straightened, even. She wore a tiny bit of makeup, no mascara, but her eyeshadow alone reminded Csilla of one of the dolls her great grandmother had in her home growing up.

"Negan wanted me to get you familiar with the Sanctuary," the woman said, sounding both bored and sympathetic. "My name's Theresa, he told me yours was Csilla? That's kinda cool."

"Um...thank you," Csilla muttered awkwardly.

After a stretch of silence, Theresa whistled a bit. "So uh, you wanna do this?"

Csilla hesitated, but nodded quickly. Theresa smiled a bit, gesturing for Csilla to follow her. 

There were two people mopping at either end of the hallway they stepped into, a big, burly man standing guard to the right of the bedroom door. Theresa waved her hand at the man, and he seemed to gladly take his sign to leave.

"That's Ron, he's been assigned to guard you, but," Theresa paused when they turned a corner, gesturing to the man that was leaning against the wall in front of them. "You and I have Dwight escorting us today."

The man, Dwight, seemed reluctant to face them, unable to even look at Csilla. She understood why, with the twisted skin on the side of his face, she wouldn't want anyone to perceive her either. Csilla cocked her head at Dwight when he finally looked at her, and that seemed to cause a little spark in his eyes.

He wants something from you.

"Well, let's get this show on the road, huh?" Theresa clapped her hands together once. "It's a pretty big place, but we don't have to take it all in at once, ya know? Seems like you have a bit of a people problem."

Csilla almost wanted to chuckle at this one, finding Theresa's nonchalant approach to the obvious amusing.

"Why are you dressed like that?" 

Theresa hummed in confusion, turning around for a moment to look at Csilla before she swung herself around to keep walking. Dwight toddled behind them slowly, probably glad to not be the subject of anyone's attention.

I...

"Oh, Negan likes his wives dressed up."

Wives? Plural?

"Oh," was all Csilla managed.

---

When Theresa left Csilla and Dwight at the bedroom door, there was concern as to where Ron was. 

Csilla could see the instant layer of sweat along his brow and in the palms of his hands; it shined on the back of his walkie-talkie. It was as though he had done something wrong, but Csilla couldn't see where he had done anything he was not told to.

"He's supposed to be back on shift by now," Dwight muttered angrily, reaching for his walkie, but he paused. "Ah hell, I'll just sit with ya until Negan gets back."

Csilla prickled at the idea, but she watched Dwight uncomfortably sink down into the metal folding chair to the right of the door.

"You wanna...come in?"

Dwight looked at Csilla with a furrowed brow. "Uh I think it's best if I stay out here."

Csilla cocked her head around Dwight once again; he seemed exceptionally uncomfortable when she did that.

"No, come on, I insist." Csilla gestured for him to enter the room. "He left me an insane DVD collection...we can watch Seinfeld?"

Dwight opened his mouth to speak, obviously ready to object once more, but he didn't. Instead, he almost smiled, and bowed his head as he stepped into the room. Csilla could tell it was the last thing Dwight wanted to do, being in here, but she continued to act as though everything were perfectly fine and continued to watch him from the corner of her eye as she found the now-familiar box set on the shelf beside the television.

There was more room than necessary to walk around in, but Dwight kept himself confined to the chair he had plunked down into. He twitched and watched the door, not once letting his eyes drift too close to Csilla.

"So...can I ask what happened to the side of your face?" Csilla asked, without turning away from the bright screen.

She didn't need to look at Dwight to see the way he tensed up.

"I paid the price for being stupid," was all he said, going silent once again.

Csilla turned to him then, leaning forward with her arms crossed atop her thighs. He looked away quickly when she did so, making Csilla experience a familiar sensation, one she wanted dormant.

"Nevermind," Csilla said, monotone, and stood from her chair. "I think it's best if you go."

Dwight looked Csilla up and down before he tsked, standing up from his chair. "Didn't think I'd piss you off by not wanting to talk about it."

Csilla relaxed her shoulders. "N-No, that...that isn't what I meant, okay?" She sighed a bit, looking up at the ceiling when she spoke next. "I just...I'm working through some things, I guess."

Dwight shrugged. "Aren't we all?"

Csilla opened her mouth to speak again, but Dwight had opened the door.

The way Negan's exposed his teeth only mimicked a smile; Csilla thought of the chimpanzees she had seen at the zoo, the tour guide explaining that it was a threat display. 

Dwight stumbled back a step, despite having the expression of a man that thought he was giving confidence and not terror. Negan covered that distance Dwight tried to get in time with him, eyes filled with threats he kept caged behind his teeth.

"Dwighty-boy," Negan said cheerfully, bouncing Lucille on his shoulder. "Whatcha doin round here, huh?"

Dwight hesitated in panic, trying hard to play it cool. "Ron didn't show for his shift, so I thought -"

"And you had to come in here to take over that job?"

The menace dripping from Negan's pleasant tone only made Csilla hungrier.

Always looking for a replacement, huh?

"I asked him to come in," Csilla admitted, drawing Negan's skeptical attention from Dwight. "It's boring in here by myself."

Negan looked her up and down, then between her and Dwight. 

He believes you.

Dwight appeared to feel the opposite way, judging by the way he looked like he wanted to just disappear.

"Well, why didn't you just say that?" Negan's smile turned into something more relaxed. "But out you go, gotta greet the misses and such."

Negan clapped Dwight on the shoulder as he walked past him to enter the room, and the latter looked over that shoulder to give Csilla a fleeting glance before he shut the door behind him. Csilla stared at that door for a long time as she listened to Negan whistling from the bathroom. When the shower could be heard turning on, Csilla frowned in surprising disappointment.

So much for greeting me.

He got a bunch of wives though, huh? You ain't special.

"Never said I was." Csilla sighed, sitting on the end of the bed and watching the comedy play out on the screen. 

She hadn't seen the other women, aside from Theresa, so Csilla wondered where they could be. Negan was keeping her separate, most likely as a way to break her. Something in her told Csilla that wasn't truly the reason, but she could still doubt that something.

She had never done so before.

---

It was late, Csilla knew that.

There was no moonlight, but the dark sky and bright stars she could see through her open tent were well enough an explanation.

The stiff ground beneath her made Csilla grimace, feeling the clear pinch in her back, the sticks digging through the thin fabric of her sleeping bag, but none of that was what woke her up. 

The feeling of weight in her chest, her neck, between her thighs - familiar feelings.

She chuckled into the darkness, pushing at his chest a bit. "Someone will hear."

"Nah," his raspy reply blew warm air across her neck. "All sleepin' soundly."

Csilla chuckled again, the sound trailing off into the softest moan she could manage when his lips peppered soft kisses along her jaw line, down her throat and across her chest in slow repetition. Her fingers found purchase on his biceps, nails digging into his skin until he gave a sharp grunt, but he did not stop her.

"God damn little lady," Csilla tensed, his voice sounding...different, and yet the same as it always had. "Rough around the edges, huh?"

Csilla frowned, thighs clenching softly around the hand that stroked against her pussy. She inhaled and, instead of the usual smell of dirt and normal body odor, Csilla smelled after shave, and she immediately opened her eyes in horror.

Negan grinned through the soft lighting from the cracked bathroom door, his eyes sharp and threatening if she tried anything.

"O-Oh fuck," Csilla sputtered out, pushing at the sheets in a futile attempt to get distance.

"Oh no, no, no," Negan tutted at her, grabbing Csilla by the ankle and pulling her back to him easily enough. "Now, sweetheart." He wedged his knee between her thighs, and Csilla embarrassingly felt how wet she was against the bare skin of his knee. "I wanna meet the guy you were dreamin' of cus that is a man."

Csilla grit her teeth, eyes blurry from angry, hurt tears.

"Coulda got a name out of ya had I not opened my big mouth, huh?" Negan ground his knee against her slick folds, drawing an involuntary moan from the distressed girl. "But, still, he's not here but I am and I am lovin this little shoe you're putting on, baby."

Csilla trembled when he did so, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before she felt her stomach twist in guilt as she opened her legs to Negan.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he mumbled against her throat, making Csilla feel like prey for a fleeting moment. "I won't fuck ya yet, I want you to beg me for it."

Notes:

I need him biblically, ya feel me?

Chapter 4: The Good, the Bad And the Ugly.

Chapter by FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

Oh familiar bones.
How I hate you.
How I love you.
I am made of you,
and you of me.
Just us two.
In the end. Right?
It'll always be just us two.

Csilla had dreamed of blood long before she had met Negan.

It had been choking her since she was fifteen years old.

After all of that, Csilla wondered how someone like Negan couldn't see. Her first had seen it, had spared her the grand display that this one insisted on portraying to her. 

But Negan was a man that preferred an audience.

Csilla deduced that from the moment they had met one another's gaze. 

It was not to her taste.

She flinched as she should when Negan arched his back and swung the bat down onto the man's head, eyes unblinking as she watched the strangers body convulse and collapse into the dirt.

Blood seeped into the soil when Negan brought Lucille down again, and again. Negan grunted with each swing, face contorted with his efforts in turning his victim's head into nothing more than mush.

It made Csilla's stomach flip.

Her eyes flickered to the horrified faces of the other settlers Negan had forced to their knees, wondering what they were doing out in the middle of nowhere in the first place. They resided within shabby tents hidden behind the brush and trees, drinking dirty water from a nearby stream and starving when they did not have to.

It is... disgusting.

When Negan had told her they were going on a field trip, Csilla had not truly expected to be driving hours away from the Sanctuary to watch him beat a man to death. 

A man that could not even put up a fight.

Csilla blinked a few times when something entered her peripheral, a shaky breath coming from between her lips when she turned and saw the bloody bat close enough to brush against the top of her nose.

The wet feel of blood on her skin made Csilla tremble.

Her eyes drifted up towards Negan's face, finding a chill running through her bloodstream at the way he was looking down at her.

That smile...

"See that," Negan muttered, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth. "Whatcha think?"

Csilla looked down to the bat, and then back up to Negan.

He was patiently waiting for her response - it seemed as though everyone was waiting for her, judging by the tense silence and firm, expectant, stares. From the scragglers that lived in the woods, to the Saviors and Dwight, who seemed to be expecting much more than any of them.

When Csilla looked at the bat again, she inhaled the heady scent of copper that clung to it.

"Please... get it away from me."

She just started at Negan as his eyes softly narrowed, but he still smiled at her when he retracted his weapon to his side.

Flesh hit the dirt with a squishy, wet plop.

Csilla felt her stomach flip once more.

"I need to leave," she said firmly, uncaring of the annoyance that was now painted over his features. "Now."

She did not care of the supposed consequences, Csilla knew if she did not get out of there soon -

"Dwighty-boy!" Negan barked, swinging Lucille around in a wide arch to point at the aforementioned man. "Why don't ya take the missus here up to the trucks while we wrap this up?"

Dwight nodded once and followed Csilla closely as the men parted to let her through. She scurried away as quickly as she could, the stupid dress Negan insisted she wear making her steps small and almost clumsy as she bee-lined for the path leading to their vehicles. Dwight remained silent and just a step behind, having to shorten his strides due to her predicament in the clothing department.

When they broke through the treeline and onto the road where their vehicles sat idle, and guarded by two of Negan's other henchmen, Csilla let out a shaky breath she had held almost the entirety of their trek back.

The two men guarding the vehicles only gave Dwight and Csilla one glance before they went back to their conversation, a small relief to the panicking woman.

She could still smell the copper.

Csilla stopped beside the passenger side of the car Negan had drove her here in, hesitating before she lightly licked the pad of her thumb and wiped the blood from her nose.

The crimson soaking into her fingerprints grooves made Csilla's heart begin to thump erratically in her chest.

The only blood she had not been able to avoid for the past two years had been her own.

Before Csilla could spiral further, there was a soft hand on her shoulder, dragging her from the panic attacks she was steadily spiraling towards. When Csilla looked over at Dwight, she saw the confused concern on his face, but only shook her head and dropped her hand to her side, the bloody thumb tucked into her palm.

"I cannot be here," Csilla whispered, shaking her head at Dwight. "I... I need to leave."

The words seemed like a flash bang to Dwight, stunning him to the point where he could not even blink.

"I don't want you to try and stop me."

Despite her declaration, Dwight reached for Csilla's wrist when she tried to walk past him. There was a fear to his eyes, not of Csilla, but for her. The coming lecture on why she could do no such thing would not surprise Csilla, but the genuine concern in his eyes, even the mangled one, was. 

She had only seen that kind of care in the eyes of her friend, of Paul. 

I miss him more than I expected.

"You can't just do that," Dwight insisted in a hushed tone.

"If you let go of me, I can," Csilla said plainly, trying to gently twist her wrist from his grasp.

Dwight only gripped her tighter, which made Csilla's brow furrow with anger. The way he looks at her now, though, makes Csilla willing enough to sit still and hear what more was bound to come from his mouth. There was a regret in his eyes for a deed not even done, and it made Csilla want to recoil in disgust.

We are not meant for this.

"He would send us all out to find you," Dwight admitted, shaking his head once again, as though trying to shake off the imagery. "And it wouldn't be pretty - I don't wanna do that to you."

Csilla could not help but snort, but she tilted her head back to peer up at the sky and contemplate. 

Why the hell does he care?

This whole thing felt so... wrong, but Csilla was used to feeling out of place. 

It's not that, though, is it?

Maybe not, maybe Csilla just wished she had slept with Negan already. Maybe then he would not have brought her out here, maybe then he would not have unknowingly triggered a string of memories Csilla had been trying to get away from.

Would he have stopped his pursuit, though? 

Negan seemed pretty eager to have Csilla do some kind of submitting, but she simply could never do such a thing.

It felt gross to think about.

Now you know damn well he's dead.

He had always been so soft in comparison, but Csilla refused to admit the words her mind had not made up in a long while now. It was just another thing that felt so wrong to her, never felt quite right, even in the face of certain death.

"Hey, space-cadet," Dwight's snippy tone and snapping fingers broke Csilla from her trance of thought. "Come back down now."

When she looked at Dwight, she saw some sort of familiarity. As though he had just had a moment of realization, but that was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Why are you still here if he did that to you?" Csilla questioned after the pregnant pause between their eye contact. "How hard can it truly be to get away from Negan?"

Dwight's eyes flickered towards the two men standing guard, still lost in some conversation that had been filling the air with the occasional, boisterous, laughter. Csilla watched one nudge the other, eyes narrowing at the... negligence. She had yet to see people get so comfortable beyond their walls and shoddy shelters, with so little numbers surrounding them as well. Sure, the other men were within a good distance to hear a gunshot or a scream, but it was still so foolish that it reignited an anger in Csilla that made her fingers tremble.

"There's too many of us," Dwight muttered, drawing Csilla's attention back towards him. "We have outposts, and nomadic patrol groups that can reach up to fifty fucking guys at a time."

That is actually... impressive.

The simple fact sparked an idea in Csilla, one that made her queasy in a new way.

What an exhilarating sensation.

Csilla blinked a few times, free hand clenching the fabric over her stomach as she tried to keep herself calm.

"I'll wait here in the car," she muttered at last, releasing a small sigh of odd relief when Dwight released her wrist. "I'm assuming you won't sit inside and talk with me, huh?"

Dwight gave her a blank stare.

Csilla nodded and shrugged, opening the passenger door and falling down into the seat. Dwight leaned against the car beside the door, Csilla leaving it open to feel the breeze lift the hem of her dress just a bit. Csilla peered at Dwight from the corner of her eye and, when she saw him staring at the ground with his arms crossed over his chest, she formally gave up on making conversation and shut the car door.

"You want too much," Csilla muttered, raising her blooded thumb to be inspected. "Always hungry, never satisfied..."

The heady taste of copper splashed against her tongue when Csilla stuck her thumb between her lips.

---

Csilla did not see Negan much over the next three days, only the occasional pop-in to clean himself up; one time he came in to sleep, and Csilla sat in the chair across room all night when that had happened.

When he seemingly did not get the reaction he had wanted from beating that man to death in front of her, Negan had seemed... stumped, and the space that his confusion caused was a welcome relief to Csilla.

So many people, so much all at once.

Hilltop had its fair share of settlers, but it was nothing compared to the Sanctuary. Csilla was always better alone, otherwise she was either under stimulated, or over stimulated.

Neither were a good thing for someone like Csilla.

Her left hand wrapped around her right one tightly in her lap as Csilla watched from the window as one of the disposables screamed and thrashed in the grip of one of the dead they had been pinning to the fence. Her hands shook violently as she watched the dead be forced back, a decent portion of the disposables throat between its decaying teeth. Blood was bright as daylight from where she sat, spattering all over the chipped concrete and the others pinned to various objects scattered around the fence.

"When will he be back?" She asked softly, needing a distraction.

Dwight looked up from beneath his brow after her question, gun grip in his hand. He was in the process of taking it apart to clean, too simple of a task for Csilla's warring mind to be occupied with.

"Uh... Couple of days, maybe?" Dwight answered before going back to his cleaning. 

"Judging by your reaction, he doesn't go on scouting missions often." 

Dwight snorted a bit. "He never goes on scouting missions," he told her, replacing the firing pin of his gun. "Didn' say nothin, woulda been my last question if I did."

Csilla stared at the top of Dwight's bowed head for a long moment, waiting for her shaking hands to calm. 

It was quiet in Dwight's quarters, a bit cramped compared to Negan's, of course, but Csilla liked it a lot more in here than in Negan's. It was quieter outside Dwight's door, as well, where as Negan's echoed back the busy work days while Csilla squirreled herself away inside.

Inhaling deeply, Csilla exhaled and simply accepted the lingering chill that she had hoped would not arrive in the first place.

"He should have taken me," Csilla mumbled, the long-forgotten itch to travel beyond a wall beginning to resurface. "Sitting here is quite similar to torture."

"Didn't seem to mind sittin at Hilltop," Dwight mused softly, eyes still focused on his crippled pistol. "Sat quite pretty there, too."

Csilla felt a shiver of disgust run through her body, reminded of Gregory's lingering touches and gaze as she sat in there. A doll, one he thought he could play with whenever, but Csilla had proven him wrong in that aspect. Possibly one of the reasons he had finally relented when Negan said he was taking her as well.

"Just because I accepted it, meant I enjoyed it," Csilla grumbled, nails digging into one wrist. "Gregory was a lecher, without any redeeming traits of which to make him appealing to be the center of his attention for."

Dwight chuckled a bit, head shaking softly as he finally looked up at Csilla again. "Then why did ya just sit in his house all the time?"

Csilla bit her tongue until the faintest amount of copper flooded her mouth. Her lips had parted, but they trembled around words she was obviously reluctant to share with him.

With anyone.

Csilla looked down at her hands, watching them beginning to shake again, the act being noticed by Dwight this time and Csilla enjoyed the empathy that swelled in the man's eyes.

"H-Hey, you don't have to talk about it if you don't wanna," Dwight said, one hand half-heartedly stretched out to show he wanted to attempt to comfort her. "I was just curious is all, it's not important."

Csilla shook her head, eyes closed as dozens of voices echoed in the back of her mind, repressed memories bubbling to the surface because no one, not even Jesus, had been so curious about her motivations or any of the things Dwight seemed to be. Gregory had only cared to look at her, the other settlers only cared to avoid her out of jealousy, and Paul.... 

Oh, Paul...

Licking her lips, Csilla opened her eyes again and saw the regret clear on Dwight's mangled face.

"It's not..." Her mouth was so dry. "It's not what you think, I assure you."

"Oh... I just thought -"

Csilla nodded. "I know, I know, but I -" Csilla cut herself off, hesitant. "I could never explain it to you."

That seemed to hurt Dwight, but Csilla just returned her attention to the clean up of the devoured disposable outside the gates.

---

It was quiet, with Negan gone, and Csilla disliked that a bit.

But, there was a sense of freedom without his threatening presence causing hesitation amongst her guards in relation to her requests.

For example, Dwight would have never taken Csilla outside were Negan even close to the compound.

The wind carried her hair off of her shoulders, and Csilla inhaled the heady scent of the dead and pine needles, the mix of vegetables and meat in the stew being brewed inside. Her fingers flexed around the railing she held, old, dry paint flaking against her palms, but Csilla stared up at the stars and watched the halo shimmering around the fat moon above them.

"Hey, we can't be out here too long," Dwight reminded her softly from behind.

Csilla nodded, preferring to keep her words to herself for the moment.

The smell of his cigarette had her mind in better places, and she didn't want to ruin that train of thought with words.

There were glimpses of the memory, but, visually, Csilla could not remember much.

Words, however... oh, she remembered all of those.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

I love you.

What have you done?!

I can't... I just can't...

Csilla smiled a bit, but made sure Dwight could not see such a thing.

He would ask questions again, he could not help it; Csilla understood that. She did not want Dwight, or anyone else for that matter, to know just why she tolerated the Hilltop as she did. She did not want him to need to attempt and understand just what made Csilla behave and do the things the way she did.

It would get messy again.

Complicated.

She had already tried that, and this was as far as she could get, to attempt and prevent the same scenarios from playing out the way they had once again.

A soft hand on her shoulder drew Csilla out from her crowded thoughts, eyes blinking open slowly as she stared at Dwight, lids drooping in a sleepy manner. Her eyes flickered down to where his Adams apple bobbed in his throat, flickered back up to see where his gaze lingered and returned from.

I know you.

"It's gettin' kinda late," he attempted to persuade her to return to the confined of indoors. "And the winds pickin' up."

Csilla had noticed, and wondered what kind of storm was coming in. It made her giddy with excitement to imagine she could possibly get to sit through it on this same rooftop.

Possibly without an escort by then.

"We can stay a bit longer." Not a request.

Dwight was hesitant, jumpy, even without Negan's shadow lingering nearby.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Csilla grit her teeth a bit, just enough to give herself some restraint, and just little enough for Dwight to not notice.

"Just a few moments more." Insistence.

Dwight sighed, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. "Look, if he gets back -"

"I'll worry about him," Csilla assured the nervous man, leaning into the railing once again. "He won't hurt you again."

The silence from Dwight confirmed many things for Csilla, enough to cause a smile to curl up the corners of her mouth, away from the aforementioned man's gaze.

"Why are you so confident?" Dwight questioned, leaning on the railing to her right. "He's... Csilla, he's dangerous."

"I know," she mumbled, scuffing her bare toes on the concrete of the roof. "I don't care."

"How can ya not care?" Dwight looked genuinely shocked when Csilla looked over with her own confusion. "Ya don't know what he's capable of, he's been too nice to you."

Csilla shrugged, folding her arms on the railing and leaning onto them to watch the dead below. "I can assure you, I have been with much scarier men, Dwight. I can handle Negan, I simply do not wish too because of his bold nature."

Gregory's simplistic, pathetic attempts at pawing on Csilla would be a slightly welcome change to Negan's...

Csilla gulped, and Dwight, somehow, could hear it.

"You okay?"

Csilla nodded, letting out a quick gasp as she caught her breath from the sudden rush of memory that had her cheeks and chest heating up. The wind was more thank a welcome relief from the sudden flush of her skin.

"Don't seem okay..."

"I'm fine, Dwight," she snapped, without thought, immediately showing him her most apologetic expression she could muster. "I... I just believe you are right, we should go inside."

Dwight seemed relieved, a small smile filled with thanks gracing his features as Csilla walked ahead of him towards the door that led off of the roof. She picked up the shoes she had taken off when they reached the roof earlier, waiting for Dwight to take the lead within the stairwell. Csilla stopped Dwight before he could pass her, holding out her shoes for him to carry, which he did with a shake of his head.

It was quiet once the door had shut behind them, but, vaguely, Csilla and Dwight could hear a lighter strike somewhere below them. Judging by the paling of Dwight's skin, he knew exactly who was in the stairwell with them. But he said nothing, continued leading their descent despite the stutter in his step with the soft sound.

There was a woman two stories down, wearing the same sort of dress as Theresa had been. Her hair shown like golden wheat when she turned to look at the pair descending the stairs, her eyes lingering on the white-knuckled grip Dwight held on Csilla's shoes.

"Hey, D," the woman greeted them after the silence turned hostile. 

"Hey, Sherry," Dwight responded reluctantly. "I-I didn't expect you to be in here."

"She the new girl?" Sherry asked, jerking her chin towards Csilla. "The one Negan won't talk about, what good luck."

Csilla arched an eyebrow at the woman, eyes flickering towards Dwight's bowed head, then shook her own.

"We were just leaving," Csilla informed, tugging on the sleeve of Dwight's shirt a bit. "Come on."

Sherry was quiet until they had begun their descent down the next flight of steps, her shoe smacking against the concrete as she snuffed out her cigarette beneath it. Dwight and Csilla froze, watching her, the former filled with anxiety, the latter beginning to grow annoyed with being delayed yet again.

Ya know what she's thinking, right? 

"So, you're like, her personal bodyguard now, or something?"

"He's not fucking me," Csilla spoke bluntly, drawing stunted and angered expressions, Sherry being the angry one. "I don't know what he wants from me, either, okay? Just... smoke your cigarette, and let us be on our way."

Csilla gave Sherry little time to form a response, her descent hastened in her desire to retreat to Negan's room. She needed solitude, she needed the darkness and the silence to ease whatever had been lit beneath her damned flesh. She could hear Dwight following close behind, and thanked the Gods that he had sense and did not try and apologize or delay Csilla any longer. 

"What was that about?" Dwight asked eventually, once they were nearing Negan's door. "You didn't have to be so -"

"I did," Csilla told him, left hand clenching the doorknob, the right resting on the door once she had hooked her fingers into the straps and taken them from Dwight. "She was yours first, huh?"

Dwight froze, anger and anguish alike swimming within his far-off gaze. Csilla wondered what memories in particular were what he remembered when triggered in such a manner.

"Uh... Yeah," Dwight admitted, tucking a hand into his pocket and looking down at his boots. "But, that's... that's long gone, no sense in talking about it."

Csilla looked him up and down, almost wanting to say something to him, almost wanted to apologize for being so blunt, but she didn't.

"Goodnight, Dwight." Csilla nodded a bit. "I really did prefer how today went compared to the others so far, and that was because of you."

Dwight looked up a bit, suspicion in his eyes, but it faded away fairly quickly before he gave her a half smile and a short wave as she opened the door to the room. 

She could hear him sigh softly before the door was completely shut behind her.

---

There were days when Csilla could not remember much.

Even him.

Csilla had managed four months with the Saviors before she had experienced one of these days, and they usually were spent with her in a silent, depressive, spiral.

It was the day after Negan had returned from the reconnaissance mission, and she had cringed when he had opened the door and found her in that state.

Dwight, having been sat in the darkness with her for the first half of the day, stood from his chair beside the bed when light flooded into the room. Negan took in the faint sight before him, Csilla seeing his attention land on Dwight.

"She's been like this since I came in this morning," Dwight told him, gesturing towards Csilla with his hands. "That was right hours ago, and she hasn't done anything but lie there."

"And why are you the one in here?" Negan took a step inside, shutting the door behind him.

Csilla had replaced the sheer curtains Negan had when she arrived with thicker ones, so the room was fairly dark, save for a sliver of light between the panels, and a weak lamp on the bedside table. The lighting made Negan seem bigger than he was, more sinister, soaked in rain and blood, Lucille perched upon his shoulder. Dwight, already wary of Negan, was obviously trying his best to not simply run like his eyes said he wanted to.

"I was sittin outside for a few hours, wanted to make sure she wasn't dead and well... I... I just stayed, I'm sorry."

Negan chewed softly on his bottom lip as he closed the space between himself and Dwight slowly, his steps swaggered, and giving off the air that he wasn't as volatile as he truly was. Dwight did not move, and Csilla was a bit impressed with the man's fortitude, but he did lower his gaze to the floor a few times.

"Coulda say your ass outside a bit longer," Negan said, voice low and deeper, a threat obvious between the words.

"I-I will, if it happens again without you here," Dwight sputtered out, clearly uncomfortable beneath Negan's unblinking gaze. 

The silence in the room was stifling, both men exuding such strong, polar opposite types of energy that Csilla was growing wary.

For all the wrong reasons.

"I should fucking kill you, just cus I'm that pissed off," Negan spat out, the smile on his face betraying his words. 

Dwight trembled a bit, swallowing loudly. "You know I wouldn't do somethin like that."

As Negan began to lift Lucille from his shoulder, Csilla managed to reach out and grab the sleeve of his jacket, making him pause without hesitation. 

The agitation on Negan's face was obvious, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Let me shower up, and I'll come back and deal with you," Negan said in a softer tone, one that felt sickeningly sweet in his voice. "Leave, Dwight, before I change my mind again."

Dwight did as he was told, without an attempt to look at Csilla in the slightest.

When the light was snuffed out once again, Csilla heard Negan sigh and turned her attention from the closed door to him. He leaned Lucille against the wall on his side of the bed, hanging his bloody jacket on the coat rack behind the door.

Watching him find old newspapers to lay out beneath it was... humanizing.

With the soft pats of water and blood mixed dripping onto the newspaper filling the room, Csilla was already annoyed. But Negan carried on humming softly every now and again, but Csilla could not discern the tune to find familiarity, with how randomized the habit was. 

She tried to focus on anything but the blood soaked into that white shirt of his. The way it stuck to his neck, shimmering in the dim lighting due to the rain water mixing with it on his skin. 

Csilla felt an empty pit in her stomach.

She was so focused on that, she had hardly noticed him moving closer to her until she felt something brush against her thigh.

Looking down, Csilla just stared at him with hooded eyes as Negan traced his fingertips around the inside of her right knee with the lightest of touches. He wasn't watching her, instead his eyes were focused on the skin that prickled in an obvious trail behind his touch; chasing it.

Ya said you wouldn't.

"I said I wouldn't fuck anyone," Csilla mumbled, only realizing she had said it out loud when Negan's eyes locked with hers over the slight swell of her breasts.

"What, sweetheart?"

Csilla licked her lips. "I said, I won't fuck you."

Negan arched an eyebrow, that sinister smile of his making Csilla close her eyes and try to ground herself.

"That's fine, hon," Negan assured her, his lips brushing against the inner skin of her right thigh; her legs fell open on their own accord. "I don't wanna fuck ya, anyway."

Csilla inhaled sharply as his lips drew nearer the crotch of her shorts, the sensitive skin that resided there. She could feel his teeth aching to bite into such vulnerable flesh, but they merely grazed and moved on, his fingers following suit and gently grazing back and forth around the edges of her shorts.

Csilla's chest felt tight.

She couldn't breathe.

Her skin had felt hot since the roof, and it was only increasing in temperature as Negan's lips suckled on soft skin. Csilla retained the whimpers she wanted to give, let her knuckles turn white in the sheets to keep herself from jerking away from him. 

All that effort was for nothing when his lips pressed firmly, but quickly, against her pussy through the cloth covering it. 

The muscles contracted, and Csilla moaned softly.as her back arched before she relaxed back into the bed.

"Oh, you're just what I wanted, little bird," Negan murmured against her crotch, making Csilla buck her hips a bit for contact, which he denied. "I know what you are, and I know what you need."

Csilla sighed as he slid a finger deep into her, then another, the muscles within clenching at the meager intrusion. As his fingers curled and flexed inside of her, Negan pressed his thumb onto the nub that sent a sort of shock through Csilla's body; overstimulation, but in a way that made her want more.

"When I saw you in that window, I knew," Negan murmured despite Csilla's lack of communication. "We're gonna rule the fucking world, little bird, I just know we will."

Csilla felt the squirming in her stomach, the nerves that ached for more, more, more, and Negan gave it willingly. Removing his thumb to replace it with his tongue made Csilla moan loudly, her thighs reflexively hiking up around his head. She could feel his ears press into her thighs, the vibrations through her clit when he chuckled at her wreckless display of arousal and acceptance of what he had told her he would get her to do.

Csilla restrained herself still, wishing to grope at herself, her breasts, her hair, his hair - whatever she could touch. But, she kept her finger firmly anchored in the sheets of the bed

The third finger was a better fit, Csilla gasping to catch her breath from holding it for so long. 

When Negan's thumb replaced his tongue once more, Csilla whimpers in frustration until she felt his lips against her stomach, pushing up the fabric of her shirt until her reached the space between her breasts. His lips lingered there for a long moment, fingers slowly dragging in and out of her, but her pulled back and let her shirt fall again, lips finding the weak spot of her neck without needing guidance.

That was enough.

Csilla's thighs clenched tightly around Negan's arm, allowing herself the reflex of burying her face into his neck as she came rather quietly on his persistent fingers.

She felt the shame the moment the sensation of her orgasm had faded, and Negan was chuckling as she pulled away as though she was just realizing what was happening.

"Oh," Negan muttered, brushing the hair from her face as Csilla stared at him in utter horror. "Little bird... you're mine now."

Chapter 5: Five Months.

Summary:

I will caution you as I was not cautioned

You will never let go.
You will never be satiated.
You will be damaged and scarred.
You will continue to hunger.

Notes:

Thank you all so much to those that left comments on the last update ❤️ it is so appreciated, truly.

Updates will be much more frequent now that we're at the halfway point, thankfully. I'm so excited, y'all just don't even know lol well, enjoy!

Dwight was unsure of Csilla's presence in the Sanctuary.

Negan's announcement that she would remain separate from his other wives should have been the first red flag for many, but no one seemed to care, aside from Dwight.

No one had ever gotten the treatment she did.

Looking up from the oil stain he had been staring at, Dwight kept his narrowed eyes focused on Csilla's back. 

The mysterious girl paid him no mind, preferring to lean into the roof railing and inhale the smells that came with the wind. Her bare toes scuffed against the concrete of the roof, reminding Dwight of a time when that was acceptable. Nowadays, it felt as though the simple act of walking around barefoot was asking for some sort of trouble.

What if they had to run or something?

Dwight doubted Csilla cared, thinking of the way she looked at him sometimes.  

Her gaze was empty, guarded, but something else resided there, something Dwight had never seen before.

Not even in Negan.

Csilla unnerved Dwight to a certain degree, but he could admit that her company was mostly enjoyable to be in. She had been around for over five months by now, giving the pair plenty of time to find some semblance of friendship, since they were pretty much stuck together, unless Negan decided to change his mind. Dwight had been sure Negan would reassign him that night, a month ago, when he had come back to find Dwight in the room with Csilla - again.

Even after he had melted half of Dwight's face, Negan had never scared him - pissed him off plenty, sure, but scaring him? No, that wasn't a thing between them.

Until that night.

Dwight had never seen such rage within Negan's eyes before.

If Csilla had not intervened as she did, Dwight was sure he would be dead and forgotten already.

But, she had saved him from Negan's wrath.

Just as she said she would.

Dwight let his eyes linger on the pale, exposed skin of her left shoulder, on the scarring that peaked from the hem of her tank top, over her shoulder blade there. It was ugly, even with what little Dwight could see, and he better than anyone, recognized burns when he saw them. They seemed rather fresh too, perhaps fully healed not long before she was brought in from Hilltop? Perhaps that was the real reason she had been there, to heal - he knew their doctor was pretty good.

When she turned to look at him, Dwight quickly adverted his gaze to hers, but it was too late, she had already seen where his focus had been.

Csilla watched Dwight approach, eyes a bit hungry when watching him light his cigarette in said approach. 

He didn't offer her one.

"I have more than a few of those," Csilla admitted after some time had passed with them just enjoying the view together. "None of them got my face, though, so small miracles."

Dwight nodded a bit, taking a long, slow pull from the nicotine balanced between his fingers. Flicking the ashes down below, he hoped they landed on Simon's head; they could hear his mouth from way up where they observed.

"Don't know that feelin'." 

Csilla chuckled. "Yeah, sorry about that. I forgot."

Dwight snorted, pushing up from the railing, still leaning against it with his free hand. "Stop fuckin' lyin'."

Chuckling again, Csilla tried to explain. "No, really. Like, yes, I know it's there, but..."

When she trailed off, and did not return, Dwight finally looked over at her again and saw her staring at him. He realized she had outstretched her right hand a bit too late, not until her cold touch was felt against his scars did Dwight react by jerking back a bit.

The hurt in her eyes felt... malicious.

"The hell are you doin'?" Dwight snapped a bit, embarrassment and self loathing flooding his body.

He tried to forget.

She had made him remember this time.

It wasn't some mirror.

He had been perceived.

"I just... I wanted to feel it," she admitted, pulling her hand back a bit, but her fingers were still poised for contact. "I cannot reach mine."

"Look," Dwight sighed as he began, flicking his cigarette butt off to the side. "I-I don't mind... this," he gestured between them. "But that's not - you can't do that, okay?"

The way she slowly curled her fingers before dropping them showed Dwight how hurt her feelings were, but he had to admit - to himself - that the interaction had creeped him the fuck out.

But, then again, Csilla just seemed to be that way.

It was pure luck she had not been eaten because of her curiosity.

"I apologize," it held no weight when Csilla said it, so Dwight highly doubted it was an earnest apology. "I uh... I forget, sometimes."

"Bout what?"

Csilla shrugged, turning her head to the left to face the wind when it came through.

Her hair lifted from her shoulders this time, Dwight's mildly greedy eyes scouring what skin he could for more. There were a few nicks on her neck, but otherwise her skin was fairly pristine; what Dwight could see of it, anyway. When his eyes returned to her solemn face, Dwight noticed the faint shadows forming beneath her eyes, ones that had not been there a month ago. She seemed a bit clammy too, as she had been on-and-off the last few days when Dwight paid enough attention.

"Hey," Dwight muttered, placing a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. "You okay?"

Csilla shrugged again, but it was weak and unsure. "I suppose I am."

Dwight scoffed, letting his comforting hand drop back to his side. "That's bullshit, and we both know it."

Csilla chuckled and rested her hands upon the railing again, eyes hooded and far-off in thought. While it was normal for her to do such a thing, it never ceased in unnerving Dwight.

Csilla felt like a ticking bomb, one Dwight mine as well have strapped to his damn chest due to his new charge of keeping her safe and secure when Negan was not around to do so. While she never really gave him a clear reason for this feeling, Dwight knew ignoring this instinct would be a horrible idea.

The whole situation made his trigger finger itchy.

"Guess this place is just worse for me than I thought it would be," Csilla said after awhile, not looking at Dwight.

"Yeah, this place sucks."

Csilla shook her head, then looked at him then, the darkness of her eyes conveying how little Dwight understood what she meant, how hard it would be to explain to him like she had said.

Her fingers flexed around the railing. 

"Dwight, the most surprising thing here is that I like you," she started, her smile almost sad, but not quite. 

"Uh... Okay..."

She waved a hand in front of her a bit. "It makes it harder on me, is all, because sitting here on the roof, and rotting away in a dark room is not at all what I wish to do."

Dwight arched an eyebrow at her, both hands clenching the strap of his rifle tightly. "What you wanna do then? Why do you choose to sit in there all day if you hate it so much?"

The way she looked at him with his questions made Dwight question just how well he could ever get to know her. That look in her eyes was not something Dwight was used to, and, while he did enjoy Csilla's company as well, she... Dwight truly wished he had not been put in the position to end up getting to know her. The only wife Dwight knew aside from names and pleasantries type of information was Sherry, and lately he wondered if he even knew her at all, with the way she looked at him as well.

"I should have ran when Paul said Negan was in Hilltop, that's all," Csilla said, looking away again. "I worry about how much longer I can keep this up."

"Not gonna kill yourself, yeah?" Dwight meant it as a bit of a tease, but he was also serious, going by her depressive appearance. 

"I would never," Csilla said with a bit of bite, malice directed towards such an implication. "I just..." 

When she didn't answer, Dwight hesitated, but broke the silence by trying to prod a real answer from her.

"Just what?"

"It's honestly best if I didn't," Csilla insisted, shaking her head with annoyance, but seemingly directed towards herself. "I should not have said anything, it's not a good idea."

Dwight rolled his eyes. "How bad could it be, huh? I mean, look at my face."

Csilla chuckled. "What happened to you is... well..."

When she turned towards him, Dwight took a step back, but it wasn't a very big one, leaving no space to keep between them when she looked up at him. Hands tucked behind her back, Csilla pushed up on her toes a bit, drawing her face nearer his.

And Dwight was frozen there.

He saw nothing when he looked into her eyes. 

He could smell florals and sweet scents when she drew closer, the smallest hints of wine from dinner.

"What happened to you is nothing compared to what he would have done to you," Csilla finally said, voice a hushed whisper, breath tickling his nose. 

Dwight felt the chills spreading over his skin, starting from his neck, as she spoke.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Dwight spat out, unsure of how else to respond.

Her smile was small, far away, in the past and not the present. Bittersweet and melancholic, Dwight had yet to see Csilla with such an expression on her face. It wasn't something Dwight felt as though he were meant to see. 

She couldn't have realized what she was doing.

"I think it's time to get you to bed," Dwight murmured, slowly reaching for her left wrist.

Csilla grumbled and pulled away from him, far easier than Dwight had expected. When he looked back at her, Csilla wobbled a bit, her placid expression concerning, to a point.

"I-I am drunk," she slurred a bit at the end, but her eyes begged to be taken seriously. "But I'm not -"

"If it's not that, then you're just an asshole," Dwight cut her off, his embarrassment making his own fingers curl up at his sides. "The fuck you mean he'd do worse? Who the fuck is he? Why are you acting like this?"

When Dwight had been assigned to follow Csilla around, make sure no one did anything particularly bold and stupid with her around, he had been frustrated over the boredom and the naive questions that came with the task. As the weeks went by, he found Csilla an easy person to sit in silence with, watch a movie with, watch the masses with. But... lately, Csilla had been different, and the alcohol was what he had been hoping to be the culprit, not Csilla herself.

But it looks like his hopes were once again for nothing.

The way she looked at Dwight for his questions made the guilt come faster than usual, turning his stomach into a heavy pit of knots.

"This is why I said I should have run the moment Negan entered Hilltop that day," Csilla whispered after a moment, the wind nearly drowning the words out. "I should have run, and never looked back. I had nothing there anyway."

"Woulda spared yourself a lot of grief had ya done it," Dwight said, unable to look up at her for too long. "I gotta be honest, you've just been kind of freakin' me out tonight."

Csilla furrowed her brow, and Dwight sputtered a bit as he tried to backtrack.

"Ya just..." Dwight shook his head. "You get worse and worse every day, ya know? Never were the most exciting person to be around, but now..."

Looks like death.

Csilla's shoulders relaxed a bit as rain began to trickle down onto them, soaking through her shirt quickly. Dwight squint his eyes up at the sky before he reached for Csilla's hand, dragging her into the stairwell before she could protest again. The rain roared outside as the bulk of the downpour came just as Dwight shut the door behind them.

When he looked back at Csilla this time, she had the air of defeat settled on her shoulders.

He didn't say anything though.

Dwight gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he followed Csilla through the compound, ignoring the eyes that lingered on them in passing. All he could focus on was Csilla, and the way she bowed her head and maneuvered through the halls with a practiced ease.

It wasn't long ago that he had to guide her everywhere.

As they drew nearer to the door that shut her off from the world, Dwight tried to find the words that formed a decent apology.

"H-Hey," Dwight sputtered out as Csilla began to open the door, the pair waiting for the man that had been watching over Negan's room to turn the corner before he spoke again. "Look, I didn't mean to say that shit the way I did."

Csilla's eyes flickered up and down Dwight's uncomfortable form before she settled on his face once again.

"You were just being honest."

Blinking a few times, Dwight found his words tangled in the back of his throat.

She had been doing that lately, too, the shift of emotions in the blink of an eye.

It was nearly giving Dwight whiplash, but he had been chalking it up to whatever she had went through before she had ended up at Hilltop. He had seen her there a few weeks before Negan had found her, sitting at the window upstairs and watching them load the trucks from relative safety. She had reminded Dwight of an old painting, like those regal, dainty women that couldn't leave the house.

He had expected her to be dead the next time he visited.

And then she showed up, with Negan's hand on her back and those big eyes.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Dwight questioned, taking a small step closer, voice lowered. 

Csilla looked confused, as though she had absolutely no idea as to what Dwight could mean by his question.

"You've been different ever since he got back from that reconnaissance thing, and I can't keep acting like it's not botherin' me."

"Why do you care?" Csilla questioned, brow lightly furrowed. "We hardly know each other."

Dwight frowned a bit.

Even if she was right.

It had only been a few months, he couldn't go around acting like it had been years. 

But...

"Look," Dwight started, shaking his head. "I just... he's had a few girls go through there, okay, and when they've acted like this -"

"It's got nothing to do with him, Dwight," Csilla insisted, placing both hands flat against his chest. "Don't worry about me."

"Well... I'm gonna."

"Why?"

Dwight shrugged, the sigh coming from his mouth something filled with hesitancy and the whole unsure nature of the situation itself.

"I just like ya, I guess," Dwight admitted, shaking his head again. "Most everyone here... Well, they're pretty abrasive, you're the first normal conversation I've had since this whole thing started."

The way she smiled made Dwight uneasy, but he didn't know why - it was the same smile she always gave him.

"If you knew me, Dwight, you wouldn't want to be near me at all."

"Now that's a little dramatic."

She chuckled softly, pushing him back a bit. "Not quite, but okay." She nodded her head at him. "Now, I'll see ya again tomorrow."

Dwight nodded, frowning a bit when the door was shut behind her.

---

Weeks passed before Csilla had another episode of sorts, and it was on the road.

Negan had her out there with them, headed to Hilltop to see what the lag in supplies was about, wanted to show her off to Gregory. 

While Dwight had wanted to protest, he said nothing, only looked to her when they found the bodies. 

He had noticed a long time ago what triggered her - perhaps some phobia to blood. It was fairly common, as far as Dwight knew, and would explain her shaky hands at first, her far-off looks, and now her full-blown shut downs.

She was sitting in the passenger seat, Dwight was in the back, and he saw her in shaking eye contact with the gore outside by looking in the rearview mirror. He could see the blood broken through the whites of her eyes, and moved enough to see the way she dug her nails into her skin to anchor herself. Dwight could hardly tell if she was breathing anymore, and it wouldn't have surprised him if she weren't.

"Hey, hey, you okay?" Dwight asked, fingers brushing against her shoulder. 

Csilla did not even blink let alone respond to Dwight, but her hand moved to open the car door. Cursing beneath his breath a bit, Dwight followed her out of the vehicle, heart hammering in his chest when he saw her steadily approaching the others.

Negan and the others paid Dwight and Csilla no mind, too consumed in their fury over finding a whole platoon of their men in a bloody heap along the road.

Intentional work, meant to catch their eye, slow them down, but not for an ambush.

A warning.

"God dammit!" Negan snarled at a distance, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he tightened his grip around Lucille. "What the fuck is this shit!?"

"Csilla... Csilla!" Dwight tried to be as discreet as possible, despite the girls work in the opposite direction. "What the hell are you doing?"

She still did not answer, keeping her curious, but cautious, pace towards the blood-stained gravel in front of them. Her fingers flexed softly at her sides, as though she fought off her nerves, but Dwight was beginning to wonder just what those nerves were going off about. She was not hesitant in the slightest in her approach, so it wasn't her instincts telling her to flee as they should have been.

"We need to get back to the damn car," Dwight insisted, stopping behind Csilla as she hovered at the edge of the bloody ground. "Come on, please."

When he reached for her hand, Dwight winced as Csilla jerked her hand away, waving that hand at him to create a bit of distance.

Looking over at Negan and the others, Dwight found himself and Csilla thankfully still beneath their radar, but that wouldn't last much longer. Were an ambush to occur, and anything happened to her, and Dwight was unlucky enough to survive? Negan would do more than burn his fucking face this time, Dwight knew it, and, as much as he liked Csilla's company, it wasn't worth dying over.

Hell, he'll probably burn me just for lettin' her outta the car.

Looking back to Csilla, Dwight had to look further down to see her crouched beside the gore, knees tucked tight to her chest. 

"Hey, what's wrong with you now?" Dwight questioned, crouching down beside her.

She did not answer right away, further straining Dwight's thinning patience.

"I thought I got away," she whispered, right hand slowly reaching out for the gravel. "I thought I went far enough..."

"Hey, don't do that -" Dwight grabbed her wrist before she could dig her fingers into the congealed blood. "You need to get back in the car, okay? Please, Csill -"

"Well, well, well," the voice beside them made Dwight's skin prickle. "Now, this is the third time I've caught you two actin' suspicious."

Dwight blinked a few times before he looked up at Negan, finding the man's expression anything but playfully malicious like it normally was. There was nothing but fury there nowadays, directed towards Dwight mostly.

"She wouldn't stop, I didn't wanna have to grab her up or anything, ya know?"

"No, I don't know, Dwight," Negan snapped.

His unwavering eye contact with the aforementioned man uncomfortable as he sank down into a crouch on the other side of Csilla. 

"Now, sweetheart, what you doin here, huh?" He asked the transfixed girl softly, unfathomable patience in his eyes now. "Not safe for you when you're like this still."

Csilla slowly looked up to Negan as Dwight released his grip.

Dwight couldn't see her face, but he saw enough of Negan's to know she had that look to her face. The one that made his skin crawl, but seemed to give Negan butterflies like a school girl.

"I-It's a symbol," she murmured, standing up with a faint awkwardness, due to the eyes on her suddenly. "They used the... guts, the... blood... flesh."

Negan arched an eyebrow at her, slowly turning his head towards where Csilla pointed. After a long moment, he sucked in air between his teeth and took a step back, swinging Lucille up onto his shoulder.

"Well, I'll be damned, boys, it is a funky lil symbol." Negan grinned as he looked around. "Someone wants to play Pictionary."

Dwight was more focused on Csilla, who looked on the verge of tears at the sight of the entrails and other gore laid out in a rather intricate pattern.

"You know who did this?" Dwight whispered as Simon took Negan's attention momentarily.

She didn't look at him, but she shook her head. "No, no I don't know who did this."

"Get her back to the Sanctuary, Dwighty-boy," Negan said, heavy hand slamming down onto the man's shoulder in warning. "We're gonna see if we can't find whoever did this, maybe they're holed up nearby."

"Bloods freshly congealed," Simon piped up, hands on his hips with this proud look on his face. "Couldn't be too old then."

Negan rolled his eyes, though his back was turned to Simon to address Csilla. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and it caught her attention finally, pulling her gaze from the ground.

"Go back to your cage, little bird," he whispered fondly, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back to let ya out in a bit."

What made Dwight sick to hear, made Csilla nod her head, and she looked to Dwight for direction. 

All he could do was comply.

---

He was thinking of her when he heard the steps drawing near.

Dwight shouldn't have, but he was.

Thinking about the way her hands made the doorknob shake, the rattle obvious when he stood behind her. Thinking about the way she picked her nail beds raw on the drive back, the drive spent in total silence, since she was seemingly unresponsive.

Dwight didn't know why he cared so much.

Maybe because she was usually alone, completely at that psychopaths mercy? Had to be that. There were a lot of reasons to be worried for someone in that position.

He shouldn't have been thinking of her.

That was why Dwight figured he should have seen it coming.

When they grabbed him, Dwight didn't even make a sound, not even a small grunt when they threw him to the ground. The few chances Dwight got to look up, all he saw were the shadowed figures kicking him in the ribs and back, but he saw Negan the last time he was able to open his eyes. He could see the simmering rage in his hazy features, and it gave Dwight a small sense of satisfaction that he would never dare utter.

As he drifted in and out of consciousness, Dwight could hear himself groan, and each was met with pleased chuckles from whomever Negan had enlisted to help.

Dwight could hear boots shuffling against concrete as they parted to, probably, let Negan get closer to him. 

There was the distinct presence of a threat hovering over Dwight, his instincts told him that by the pressure suddenly in the air, but there was nothing he could do about it. Even if he wanted to move, Dwight knew it would be just the excuse Negan needed to finally bash his skull in like he had wanted to awhile back.

"I don't know what you think you're doin'," Negan breathed above him, his voice deep and ominous. "But I even catch a whiff, have a feeling, that you're tryin' something again, I will kill you in front of her, do you understand?"

Dwight was unsure of how he was supposed to respond when it sounded as though Negan was speaking through a wall.

"You have no idea you're even playing a game with her right now, huh?" The sound of jeans rustling could be heard, and the weight that Negan's presence provided was removed as he backed away. "Now that is exactly why you need to be kept away from her, among other reasons, of course."

Dwight groaned softly, fingers twitching reflexively and digging into the concrete, which causes faint throbs of pain to shoot through his body. It was hard to stay awake, but he was managing, somehow, even if it was against his will by now.

"I'm givin' ya one more chance, don't fuck it up."

Dwight let out the faintest huff of breath as he let himself begin to finally drift into unconsciousness. He could feel the pain from being lifted by the same men that had beaten him, but nothing could stop the smothering weight of sleep that came over him.

---

Dwight was out of commission for three days, and it seemed to upset Csilla, for some reason.

At least, that was what Negan deduced when he was woken from his sleep by a knife to his throat. 

She straddled him, something that made Negan's dick twitch up into her crotch, something Csilla seemed to easily ignore.

"Well," Negan started, licking his lips as his eyes roamed over her stoney expression. "You never cease to amaze me, thought you said you wouldn't fuck me?"

"I'm not," she hissed between her teeth, pressing the blade tighter to his throat and leaning in closer. "Why did you do that?"

Negan felt the muscles in his face twitch as the warmth of blood seeped down his neck and soaked into his hair, his pillow. When he swallowed, his Adam's Apple pressed against the blade and caused its sharp edge to dig in deeper, drawing more blood. 

"Do what?"

"Why did you hurt Dwight?" 

Negan felt that rage pooling in his gut again, the same rage that had him itching to bring Lucille down on that man's head right in his fucking bedroom. 

"So he knows his fucking place, that's why," Negan managed around the blade. "Sittin' in my room with my wife -"

Negan flinched and pressed his head back into the pillows the furthest he could, a fruitless endeavor of trying to get some sort of distance between him and that damn knife. Csilla just seemed to chase him with it, her calm expression something Negan couldn't even enjoy finally seeing given his circumstance. 

"I knew it," he muttered, a hint of glee in the back of his voice. "I knew it the moment I saw you, little bird, that you were special. Like me."

"I am nothing like you," she almost sounded offended. "You could never compare."

"That hurts my feelings, and turns me on, ya know?"

Her stoney expression finally broke and Csilla curled her lip at him in anger, her hand shaking on the handle of the knife.

He had been waiting for this for months now.

A break in the facade, the truth of her nature exposed.

When he had seen her at Hilltop, Negan had known the way she looked at him, the familiar behavior that he had grown used to in himself. 

She was a predator posing as a house pet, and none had been the wiser.

He had wanted her.

No, want was too simple of a word - he needed her, he needed this.

"Don't touch him again, Negan," her voice was calm and cold. "He is mine."

Notes:

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

Chapter 6: Hunger.

Summary:

My daughter,
my last one.
She's my sin.
She's
what I smeared on the world.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos and just everything 😭❤️ it all means so much to us. I mean, it's inspired me to finish these chapters this quickly, I'm so happy y'all lol

When Dwight was ambulatory again, he wanted nothing more than to remain right there in his bed.

Being tucked away from the chaos that waited to greet him in the other side of the door was the most peace he had gotten in nearly a year.

But someone was knocking.

And they wouldn't stop.

Dwight hissed as his fingers were pinched in the buckle of his belt, eyes narrowed in a fruitless glare that pointed towards the door. Holding his sore arm close to his chest, Dwight grumbled his way towards the door, accompanied by the jingle of his abandoned belt hanging from his belt loops. 

When he opened it, and found Csilla on the other side, Dwight felt the blood drain from his face.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" Dwight peeked out into the hall, surprised to find Csilla lacking a guard detail. "You wanna get us both killed, is that it?" 

Csilla tilted her head to the side a bit, eyes flickering over him as if she were taking inventory. 

It had been a few days, hadn't it? 

Dwight had been at Csilla's side, every day, for five and a half months. Three days of no contact had genuinely felt like a month in itself. He had heard Tony was put in charge of her for the time of his absence, and had heard from Tony himself about what a pain in the ass Csilla was to deal with during the day.

Dwight hadn't really had that many problems, none directly caused by Csilla, anyway.

"I told him I would kill him if he hurt you again." 

Dwight blinked a few times, jaw lightly slackened as he processed her words. 

Csilla's expression was collected and calm, her matter-of-fact tone still lingering in the air between them. She almost looked... bored with the effort of relaying her information to him.

"You what?" 

"I did not actually tell him, but he knows," she spoke as if it were no big deal. 

"Now why the fuck would you do that?" Dwight shook his head, a pained wince flashing over his face when he moved his sore arm too quickly downwards. "He'll just kill me now."

Death was starting to sound a lot less scary than it used to.

Not that long ago, Dwight had done whatever it took to avoid such a fate being a possibility.

Csilla didn't say anything for a long time, awkwardly standing in the hallway, which made Dwight's anxiety over the whole situation even worse. 

"May I come in?" 

"Now that is the most dangerous thing you've suggested so far."

Csilla frowned, fingers curling up at her sides, but Dwight did not waver on this one. He was already sweating from the stress of possibly being caught, even if they were doing nothing more than talking. Most wouldn't care walking past them, but if the wrong person saw? Well, Dwight wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore, because Negan would be killing him. Even if Csilla meant what she had said, she couldn't protect Dwight from Negan all the time. 

"He said you would be back on your feet by tomorrow," Csilla said, eyes flickering rapidly back and forth between his. 

Dwight sighed, wincing once more as he adjusted his arm. "Yeah, yeah I'll be movin' around better by then."

Csilla nodded, eyes slowly lowering down to the floor as she was consumed in thought. Her fingers remained curled into tight fists at her sides, and Dwight frowned deeply at the sight. She was so tense lately, it didn't make for a comfortable atmosphere when there was no time to get to the bottom of what was making her act out in the ways she did.

But, Dwight could try.

"Seriously, what's happening?" Dwight whispered, brow furrowed when Csilla looked up at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He thought of what she said, about how she should have just run from Hilltop the moment she thought she should. 

Maybe that really would have been for the best, and not for the obvious reasons.

Nothing about what was wrong with Csilla was obvious.

"Meet me on the roof tonight?" Csilla questioned, her own brow furrowed, as she still seemed lost in her head. "He has no say in it, so don't worry."

Dwight just stared at this girl in amazement.

She made such bold promises for such a small creature.

Dwight was used to the other women that Negan got his claws into - desperate eyes and shaky hands, flinching when Negan entered the room, huddled around one another as if that was some form of protection. Csilla was not them, when she was the one Dwight expected to break the hardest, the quickest. 

Wonder what Negan thinks of this.

"F-Fine," Dwight finally sputtered out, lifting his good arm and scrubbing his hand over his face. "Don't feel like I got much of a choice here."

Csilla snorted softly as she began to turn away, pausing before she spoke again.

"You always have a choice, Dwight," she muttered, before beginning toe all away again. "I just hope you keep making the right ones."

Now what the fuck does that mean?

---

She had seen the girl walk by the door not long ago.

It made Sherry nervous, but also angry.

There were dozens of places she could have been headed to by passing up the wives' little lounge, but Sherry knew, without a shred of doubt, where she was headed.

Dwight.

He had been assigned to the girl for some reason. Sherry recognized it as a situation arranged from convenience and trust, kind of, at first, but it had reached something else the past several months.

All because of her.

Csilla.

Negan had kept her separated from everyone since she had arrived, something the man simply did not do. 

Normally, the girls were introduced and thrown in for the other wives to handle. Sherry could no longer count the amount of girls she had seen come and go, how many she had desperately tried to get and understand what not to do, to stay safe. To stay alive. But, she had not had to do so with Csilla, and, after observing her when given the chance, Sherry was beginning to understand why Negan had such a special interest in her; why he hadn't even bothered with the rest of the wives since she came along.

Sherry looked down from the doorway to the wine in her glass, watching the way it sloshed around when she flicked her wrist a bit.

She'll eat him whole.

While Sherry despised the girl because of her developing closeness with Dwight, she was secretly hoping Csilla would finally get it over with.

How much longer can she stand to share the shadows with him?

When Sherry first saw Csilla, she had known what she was looking at - woman's intuition, or something like that. The men treated her like some delicate flower, but Sherry saw the truth behind her big, doe eyes.

The gentle cannibal, they don't even notice her gnawing on them.

Sherry felt a gentle tap on her knee and looked over to Theresa, who offered her a cigarette, eyebrow arched in question. A small smile came over Sherry's face and she nodded, finishing the last of her wine before she set the glass down and stood to follow Theresa outside.

"Can't believe he still insists on no smoking in there, but we're supposed to be there all the fucking time," Theresa grumbled once they were on the roof, voice a mumble as she kept her cigarette pinched between her lips. "Watch, he'll finally stop by while we're not there."

Sherry chuckled a bit, cupping her hand over the flame of the lighter and inhaling the soft burn of nicotine into her lungs. 

"Not that I want him to stop by," Theresa explained, hissing a bit as she inhaled between her teeth.

"No, I know what you mean," Sherry assured the other woman, exhaling smoke into the air above their heads.

No, none of the women wanted Negan there but, since his preoccupation with Csilla developed, they had not seen him in awhile, and waiting had already been a tense affair. Now, they truly never knew when he would show, and it made the situation impossibly worse. Several of the younger girls had begun to cry from the anxiety at first, with Sherry, Theresa and the older wives having to console them.

At least I can feel like they're my friends, even if it is trauma that binds us.

It was so lonely without Dwight, but the girls made up for it in a lot of ways.

"He hasn't even really been with Csilla lately, been out with that hands-on approach to these killings."

Ah, yes, the mysterious vigilante-type that's been causing problems.

It had been an assumed rumour at first, one of the younger boys tasked with courier business saying he found a whole patrol gutted on his way to one of the refueling outposts. He had entertained a grandiose display laid out across one of the many backgrounds couriers took to avoid being seen by other survivors. He had recounted blood and gore, strange symbols drawn in the dirt, smeared across trees with entrails and viscera. Everyone had laughed at this boy, told him to stop drinking on the job, stop being such a scaredy cat.

Then Negan himself had found a patrol, and it had been all hands on deck since. 

Everyone had been trying to keep it calm and cool about the whole thing, but Sherry could smell the betrayal brewing the longer this continued. If Negan couldn't get a hold on this situation soon, he would have many people questioning just how protected they were here.

"Csilla seemed really messed up when they came back from that mess," Theresa said, shaking her head in empathy. "I can't imagine what that was like, especially after all she's probably having to deal with from that asshole."

Theresa.

"At least he's a good lay, I guess."

"Hey," Sherry started, leaning onto the railing with her left hand, cigarette perched between her fingers. "You've actually interacted with her, yeah?"

Theresa held a look of skepticism as she took a long, slow drag from her cigarette, before she answered Sherry's eager eyes.

"Uh, yeah? Why?" 

Sherry shook her head, lifted her cigarette to her lips and stared out over the dead that littered the gates below. Where to start, without looking so suspicious?

"I've only talked to her once, and she was... a bit abrasive." Sherry was being polite with her words, but the anger was there in her tone.

"Yeah, yeah she's a weird one, from what I remember." Theresa exhaled smoke languidly through her nose, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "But, I think it's just from being out there, ya know? Just doesn't seem socialized anymore."

There was so much Sherry wanted to say, most of it quite rude, and prone to more questions that got her nowhere, but exposed with her intentions.

"Haven't been around her in awhile, huh?" Sherry flicked the last bits of her cigarette over the railing.

Theresa shook her head before she did the same. "Nah, I think it was last month that Negan got me to check on her? She started having these depressive episodes, had to have the doc come in and look at her."

"And?" Sherry crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a chill. "How's she doing now? Anything?"

It was hard to play concerned when Sherry had such strong feelings for the girl.

Sherry had seen Dwight, had seen what Negan had done to him, and just knew it was because of Csilla. 

What did he catch them doing?

Did she fuck him?

The questions had been circulating in and out of Sherry's brain for days now, after seeing how badly Dwight was beaten. The only thing he had been doing was playing bodyguard and escort to the one girl Negan gave special treatment to, whether to be cruel or otherwise.

There was little else this could have been about.

"Oh, I don't know, I haven't been made to associate with her since then, but she seems the same as we've known her."

Sherry nodded, but she wasn't listening, not at first.

"Dwight seemed really stressed out when he brought her back the other day, though, and she shut herself up in that room again until today, so who knows."

"Yeah," Sherry muttered, sighing softly after that. "D got it pretty good for whatever happened."

Theresa gave her a look of sympathy that Sherry didn't really appreciate. "Sorry, I forget sometimes, that y'all were -"

"It's fine," Sherry cut her off curtly, but she smiled in apology for any hurt feelings at her tone. 

"Was that why you were asking?" Theresa leaned into the railing, cocking her head a bit at Sherry. "Hoping Csilla told me what it was all about?"

Now why hadn't I thought of that?

Another smile, sheepish. "I just... I still worry."

It wasn't a lie this time, Sherry was indeed worried about Dwight, but not for the reasons Theresa thought.

It was hard not being able to talk about it with someone.

---

Csilla's fingers twitched in random intervals against the railing along the rooftop of Sanctuary, eyes focused and unblinking on the horizon.

Just itchin' fer it, huh?

Csilla's eyes twitched.

Know what it means, yeah? 

Csilla didn't want to think about it.

She had not wanted to act on impulse in some time.

"I made a promise," she whispered as the wind blew overhead, muffling out her words.

Ah, come on.

Csilla suddenly curled her fingers around the railing, until her knuckles were white, and bone threatened to break skin. 

"I made a promise," she repeated, voice unintentionally louder than before, and it caught someone's attention.

"What kinda promise?" 

Csilla looked over her shoulder, swallowing thickly when she saw Dwight standing behind her.

Just the two of us.

Her palms grew sweaty on the railing; she could feel the paint chipping off at her touch sticking to the skin of her palms, finger pads.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, ignoring his question.

Dwight had an incredulous look on his face, but that quickly morphed into understanding before he began to slowly approach her.

"Yeah, I'm surprised I came up here, too." He stopped a few steps from her, looking around nervously. "Didn't have any kind of escort?"

"You were out of commission."

Csilla knew Dwight's silence and staring was simply him processing what that meant, so she turned away and began to stare out over the treetops around the Sanctuary once again. 

The sun had begun to go down some time ago, leaving nothing but a faint, yellow, line on what little of the horizon Csilla could see beyond the trees. The wind had been rather sparse that night, but it did come through occasionally, rustling the leaves and sending birds into flight from their branches.

"I had been hoping you would get here sooner, honestly," Csilla admitted when the silence continued to stretch on into nothingness. "The sunset was beautiful, it was a shame to witness without company."

"Are you... crazy, or somethin'?"

Csilla looked back at Dwight again, saw the way his face lightly scrunched up in concern, eyes flickering up and down her body.

Well, are ya?

Csilla flexed her fingers, felt the crunch of old paint in every crease of her fingers, her palms.

"I... I should explain, some, yes?"

Dwight blinked a few times, jaw still a bit slack, and he shook his head upon further approach. Csilla returned to leaning against the railing with her arms as Dwight joined her to her left, the silence lapsing between them something familiar and good.

Think imma barf.

"What did ya do, instead, if you didn't straight up tell Negan you'd kill him?" Dwight asked when Csilla did not explain as she promised.

"I kept the knife from my dinner, put it to his throat while he was asleep," Csilla told him bluntly.

"Jesus Christ."

"He knew," she murmured, looking down, to the dead. "He knew, and still hurt you. I couldn't let it go."

She felt his stare burning into the side of her face, no pun intended, but it didn't necessarily bother Csilla. She had expected it, that look, and was sure it would appear more times than this one moment.

There were so many more shocking things she had to introduce him to.

But that could all wait, she had to take her time.

There ya go.

"What do you mean he knew?" Dwight asked, shifting his weight a bit. "How much y'all talk about me? Didn't realize I was such a problem."

Csilla chuckled, but her eyes felt dead when she looked at Dwight. "We never discussed it, but I assure you - he knew."

She had not expected Negan to know, Csilla could admit, internally. 

He was such a dull predator, she hadn't expected him to catch onto things so quickly. Csilla had thought much more highly of him, at first, and was now in mixed company with the emotions that put on her. The fact that he was able to sniff her out immediately had definitely had a hand in her expectations being so high.

"I'm afraid I'm... a bit lost here," Dwight admitted, slowly. "I-I don't get why you're doin' all this."

Csilla rolled her head around a bit, fingers flexing a few times around the railing, sending bits of paint to rain down on anyone's unsuspecting head below.

It was so hard to maintain control.

Csilla had known that.

But then, Negan came to Hilltop, and things had gotten so bad, so fast.

Csilla had made a promise to keep it up, she had run away to keep that promise, and all that happened was she was relentlessly reminded that she could never escape what he did to her. He had spoiled her, disallowed an ounce of control and shame with what Csilla knew was natural for her, for him, for them.

She could have spiraled all night long.

But then, the softest touch upon her elbow.

Csilla looked down at Dwight's hand placement, back up to his face and contorted her own into one of apology.

"I didn't want to do it like this, ya know?" Csilla whispered, turning her body to face him, left hand still gripping the railing. "But, I was never the patient sort."

No, never, especially now.

She had been so good, so contained, but Negan had found her and had been provoking her ever since.

And Dwight, he would probably have to pay the price.

"Huh?" Was all he could manage, his body language clearly giving uncomfortable. 

Csilla smiled a little, but dropped it when it obviously unnerved him further.

Don't scare em, now.

"I really tried." She shook her head. "But, Negan, he won't stop until he gets what he wants, and I was never good at this."

Csilla knew she had yet to explain anything to poor Dwight, but the way she could almost hear his heart beginning to race in his chest, the way she could see him visibly tense at her locked gaze, it was...

Oh, it is exquisite.

She couldn't help herself, she ached to prolong this for as long as she could manage.

"Negan knew, had known what I was doing, and he still thought he could intervene." Csilla grit her teeth, causing the muscle in her jaw to jump a few times. 

Dwight remained silent, eyes a bit wider than before as he began to realize.

I knew you would, Dwight, I did.

"You remind me of him," Csilla started, taking a step closer, moving herself to block him against the railing. "I see it in you, what you want to do, but you think you shouldn't..."

Dwight leaned onto the railing with both hands behind him, eyes unblinking as he watched Csilla draw closer in every sense of the word. If he had any words of protest, he kept them tightly under lock and key. She knew he was shaking because he should do something about it, but he wouldn't, Csilla had known the moment she caught him staring.

"You make me happy," she whispered, pressing her hands flat against his chest. "And I know you dread to hear that, I do, but there's no point in controlling myself any longer, Dwight, not after what happened the other day on the road..."

She could hear him gulp, loudly.

"Wh-What... What do you mean?" He tried to speak, but his voice was more akin to the croak of a frog, and he remained frozen between Csilla and the railing. "The symbol bullshit?"

"Mmm-hmm," Csilla hummed, air exhaled sharply from her nose as she straddled his thigh, rough jeans scraping the insides of her thighs. "I'll be gone soon enough, so... why not?"

The confusion on Dwight's marred face only made Csilla more excited, her hands shaking as she fought not to dig her nails into his chest. 

She never quite knew when to stop.

There was blood on everything she ever loved.

"Csilla, you can't -"

"Are you going to stop me?"

She breathed against his neck, grinding down onto his leg, smiling a bit when he reflexively pressed into the motion. 

Greedy lil bitch still, huh?

This was not what she had wanted from Dwight, initially, not at all, but she had no self control, especially now.

Csilla had been fighting herself since the road, since she saw the familiar entrail graffiti, and it was as though the dam had burst. She tried her best to stifle the flow, but there was little Csilla could do with such fresh evidence. 

It's happening, again.

She could smell the sweat building up on Dwight's skin the longer her slow grinding continued, vigilant eyes focused on his face for anything to satiate that need. Negan could never be enough for Csilla, and neither could Dwight, but the latter was a much preferable option for the crumbling girls current state.

"Fuckin' hell..." Dwight murmured, wide eyes beginning to droop.

"Don't fucking look at me, Dwight," Csilla said in an airy voice, removing her hands from his chest to grip the railing on either side of him. 

When he did as he was told, Csilla shivered, understanding just as to why Negan had kept him as close as he had. 

The slow build to Csilla's orgasm felt blissful, hips rolling in circles every now and again for different friction. Her skin ached where her knuckles attempted protrusion, but Csilla kept her grip on the railing to precent any further misconception as to what this was. 

"I should have never tried to pretend when I arrived here," Csilla murmured, eyes hooded and focused on the side of Dwight's face. "It was a fruitless endeavor, I knew better than to even attempt such a thing."

---

Dwight had never been so conflicted in his entire life, even when Negan demanded that Sherry was his wife after they were returned to the Sanctuary.

He shouldn't have come up to the roof.

His arm was killing him, but Dwight kept them on the railing behind him, unwilling to attempt and look at the predator in front of him, let alone stop her.

He felt her soaking the leg of his jeans already.

Dwight had expected anything but what he was receiving.

Dwight tried to think of any moment, that could have led to this, and came up completely empty. Csilla had never given any indication that this was something she would attempt. He had seen it when he had first approached, but perhaps he had only wanted to convince himself that look she gave him was only because she was tired.

Maybe one day I'll get something right.

The sounds of her were intoxicating.

Dwight could only see so much from his peripheral, and it wasn't nearly enough. His cock was rigid in his pants, aching for whatever stimulated itself against his leg. 

He didn't want to, but Dwight thought of Sherry.

She was his wife, he loved her, but nothing ever felt right anymore. Dwight was sure it had everything to do with the respective situations they had found themselves in when it came to Negan.

But he had been wrong a lot lately.

His indecisive nature could also do with the fact that it was the first stimulation Dwight had had in months.

There were so many reasons for him to stop this, but, despite his conscious reminding him of every one of those reasons, he found himself unable to physically move.

He felt her arms brush against his sides every now and again, and it only made the tease worse. Dwight was sure his dick could break the zipper of his jeans any minute now, and he couldn't even see anything.

Don't fucking look at me, Dwight.

His cock jumped once again at her voice echoing throughout his head.

He heard her soft huffs of breath, body rocking back and forth against his thigh, slowly seeking some sort of release that Negan, apparently, had not been able to provide. The implications only made Dwight's erection worse, and he groaned softly beneath his breath, which only seemed to spurn Csilla on further.

Oh fuck this...

Dwight swallowed softly and hesitantly peeked down toward Csilla, having to fight the urge to inhale sharply through his nose when he saw the sheen of swear forming on her skin. There was little light where they were, but the perspiration shimmered in what made it's way to them. Her head was bowed, the top of her head lightly brushing against his chest every now-and-again.

Holy fuck.

The sight was more tantalizing than he could imagine, and Dwight felt himself lifting his right hand before his brain could process. 

Her hair looked so soft, so easy to tangle ones fingers into.

Before Dwight could prove this theory right, he froze, hand inches above her head when he heard the shuffle of steps nearby.

Heart racing impossibly quick in his chest, Dwight slowly looked up over Csilla, to the shadows of the door leading off of the roof. His eyes had adjusted enough that, vaguely, he could make out a figure in the darkness, but only realized just who was watching them when he stepped a bit closer, the distant light from the yard below showing how Negan bore his teeth in a smile.

Stop, Dwight wanted to say, but his voice was lost somewhere in his chest. He's going to kill me, please, I don't want to die.

Csilla remained oblivious, even when she threw her head back as she came, the look on her face something Dwight was unable to look away from, even with the threat so near. 

What he would do to touch her in that moment, consequences be damned.

As Csilla relaxed her head onto his chest, catching her breath, Dwight's eyes jumped back to Negan, to his hand that palmed the obvious erection beneath his own clothes.

It chilled Dwight to the bone.

Negan's tongue peeked out from between his lips as he turned around and disappeared back into the shadows he'd come from; like some cartoon villain.

What did I just do?

---

It was three days later that the problem hit closer to home, convincing Dwight he would have new things to busy himself with aside from Csilla.

An entire outpost - Simon's, in fact - was wiped out.

They were unsure if it was connected to the sudden string of patrols being downed increasing in frequency, but it was a most likely, so Dwight was sent out to check things out solo.

Or so he was told.

When he saw Negan and Csilla at the truck he was using, Dwight felt white-hot guilt and fear drop into his gut.

But, Negan was smiling as he approached, and Csilla was patiently waiting in the passenger seat. 

"What uh - what's this?" Dwight questioned, one eye closed to the glare of the sun when he looked at Negan.

Oddly white teeth shone back at Dwight when Negan smiled at him, something new to this look he gave. Despite Dwight clearly seeing what he did on that roof, he was terrified that it only meant something worse was in store for him.

He had been waiting for it ever since the roof, but nothing had happened. 

If anything, Negan seemed to have done a complete turnaround, and was no longer constantly in a state of murderous intent when in Dwight's presence.

"Dwighty-boy, I think it's time our little bird took her first real flight, eh?"

Negan tapped Lucille on the hood of the truck, kicking the passenger door shut behind him. Csilla was unfazed in the vehicle, eyes focused on Dwight.

There had not been a repeat of the other night, on the roof. 

She had been her normal self, but with a bit more of an aware type of air about her. She still mostly hid away, but she seemed more comfortable in doing so, whereas, before, she was so tense and seemed to receive friction from whatever she was exposed to.

Dwight had felt a knot in his stomach the entire time.

"Uh, but why -"

"Could ya stop askin' so many damn questions already?" Negan groaned, dramatically throwing himself backwards, before rebounding and shaking his head at Dwight. "I swear to Jesus, you can't help questionin' everything good ya got going for yourself."

Dwight hesitated, looking back to Csilla, seeing her smile a bit, and then he smiled in turn and hung his head. He was unsure of how else to act, how to feel - the situation Dwight found himself in was not an easy one, definitely not one Dwight had ever expected.

"No, no you're right, yeah."

"Of course I am!" Negan boasted fondly, swaggering behind Dwight as the latter walked to the driver's door. "Now, get a move on, and see if ya can't figure out who these pricks are before we have a real problem on our hands."

Dwight nodded, starting the engine. "We'll find out, don't worry."

Negan flashed his teeth again, making Dwight swallow hard in reflex.

"I know ya will, Dwight," Negan's voice was low, eyes narrowed a bit in intimidation before he looked to Csilla. "Sorry I can't join ya for that first flight, little bird, but it's just time to let ya loose a bit."

"I will be as careful as I can manage," was all she said, rolling down her window. "I just need to go."

Negan chuckled, tapping his hand against the window frame of Dwight's door a few times. "I know, sweetheart, I'll see y'all when you get back."

Csilla nodded, and Negan took it better than Dwight expected before he began to walk back towards the entrance of Sanctuary. Dwight looked over at Csilla, saw her staring, and gave her a hesitant, polite, smile before he put the vehicle in drive and they inched towards the gates to, relative, freedom.

They were thirty minutes into the hour long drive before Csilla said anything, Dwight not wishing to try and prod anything out of her like he usually did.

"I haven't been outside some set of walls since before Hilltop," she muttered, watching overgrown homes pass by. "It feels a bit... strange, but good."

"So, you were on the move a lot, before Hilltop?" Dwight wanted to try and take advantage of any opening. 

"A bit, yeah," she confirmed, closing her eyes to the wind that billowed into the cab of the truck. "Had one place, but this herd came through, destroyed the place trying to get out of there. Most of it, anyway."

"Heard a lot of similar stories from the others in Sanctuary," Dwight said, turning right when they reached the third four-way. "Been in Sanctuary so long, didn't really have time to get caught up in that side of this new life."

Csilla shrugged a bit. "It wasn't so bad, for me and the people I was with."

"Big group?"

"I didn't mean the group we were with."

Dwight frowned, furrowed his brow, took a moment to give her a glance. She had that far-off look in her eyes again, though he understood by now that she was fully present.

"Oh," was all Dwight could say.

There was another stretch of silence, though, of course, not nearly as long as the first. 

"There were... these two guys, brothers..." She sighed a bit and looked down at her lap. "I was with them before, and after, and... we lost one, things just got so bad."

He couldn't look at her much, but when he could, Dwight saw genuine hurt on her face. While he did not know Csilla that well - obviously - he had never expected to see such a look on her face.

It was the worst kind of melancholy.

It weighed the air of the truck down, heavily, and Dwight wished he had never pushed for the conversation, for the information he so greedily wanted from her. Even with what had happened so far, she was still so secretive, still seemingly fighting whatever she had promised some ghost she would. And Dwight was surprised with his greed in wanting to know just why things had to be this way, especially when it seemed to hurt her so much.

"I'm sorry," Dwight said, in an attempt to comfort her.

Csilla shook her head, expression remaining calm and nearly unfazed. "It can't be helped, it was near the start of all this anyway."

"Still, though, it sounds like he meant a lot to you."

She was silent again, but only for a moment.

"Yeah."

Dwight shuffled nervously in his seat.

Csilla didn't explain any further, and he did not push for it. Things were better that way, right? If he didn't poke and prod? It had only gotten him into the most confusing and terrifying situation of his entire life, so far.

"I lied, when we found those bodies on the road," Csilla mumbled, finally.

"Yeah, I figured."

It was true, he had seen the look on her face, the way she had reached for the mess with so much want that it made her physically shake.

"You have a run in with these people or something before? When you were with the others?" Dwight asked when she didn't say anything more. "They the ones that gave ya some of those scars?"

What had been found done to the bodies of people Dwight had known were grizzly and dramatic, something that was beginning to cause an obsession within Negan, as if Csilla wasn't enough of one to handle at the moment. If Dwight were right in his guessing, some things would make sense, but then he had her other behaviors to contemplate now.

Still trying to find some excuse for her, huh? Wonder how many people have done that.

The unsettling nature of Csilla was more than apocalypse-based, like Negan.

Dwight had a feeling there was much more beneath the surface, and that it had always been there. She was so comfortable with it, the more she relaxed back into whatever mentality she seemed to have, before the facade of delicacy. This one seemed to suit her better, anyway, this new behavioral pattern she was slipping back into; she seemed less jumpy, less scared, more focused on the right-now and not whatever the hell she was trying to accomplish.

Csilla chuckled when Dwight's question registered, shaking her head. "No, no these were... others, strangers."

Dwight frowned a bit, but carried on.

"What you know about the people bugging us now, though?" Dwight looked over at her. " Anything?"

Csilla looked over at him, but Dwight returned his gaze to the road when he felt the tires hit the rougher terrain off the side of the road. He could feel her stare boring into the side of his face, but it didn't make Dwight as uncomfortable as it normally did. It did not feel as intense, rather more thoughtful and patient.

It started to bug Dwight the longer he thought about it.

"Not much, I'm afraid," she admitted, looking forward. 

Dwight snorted, showing that he knew she was full of shit, but he didn't actually say it. So long as Csilla knew that he did, that was what mattered.

She'd say something, eventually.

Notes:

Yeah, y'all, I didn't expect it either, ya know? But I assure you there is a purpose here and it's not what you would imagine lol

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

Chapter 7: Predator and Prey.

Chapter by FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

Love isn't soft, like
the poets say. Love
has teeth, which bite,
and the wounds never
close.

Notes:

I would like to take the time and give credit to credit quietgold and apple_seed for their consistent support, you guys are literally the best and I hope both sides of your pillows are cold at night lol

We're getting close to the end of Part I and when I tell ya'll I am more than hyped to get into this little series with you guys. I hope you all continue to enjoy, and don't forget to leave kudos and comments!

Csilla had always been hungry.

She had tried her whole life to find something to fill that void, the one that ached and pulled at her internally, but, no matter what her mothers money had gotten her, Csilla had not been able to find that outlet that she was meant to invest in.

Until that day, in the Georgia mountains, where she found some man pretending like his truck had broken down.

It had been spring time, she remembered it so vividly.

With wildflowers and dry brush surrounding them, two predators had found one another, and they had bonded.

She wanted more? He gave her more? She wanted him? He gladly shared.

Yes, Csilla was born hungry, and she had not had to make sacrifices in a long time. She had not had to curb her appetite, as she had promised she would, even longer than that. 

So, when Csilla had found another predator, of sorts, she had not been surprised when she had honed in on the most vulnerable of the ones he surrounded himself with. The surprise had come when she found herself liking Dwight, truly, almost in the same way she had liked them, though she knew it was just simply silly for her mind to even attempt and compare the three of them together.

Dwight was no predator.

He was prey.

So, when their truck was flipped, with the satellite outpost visible over the trees, and Csilla watched him getting dragged from the cab of the truck, she felt the hot rage ebbing out through her veins.

Mine.

Csilla gave a soft grunt as she twisted herself in the seat, broken glass crunching beneath the weight put upon her hands and knees as she drug herself from the ruined truck cab. She felt blood in her hair, and soaking into her clothes, busted lip giving a metallic taste room to roam across her tongue, but that all mattered little compared to the knife at her throat. Her back pressed into the metal of the overturned truck, glass embedded into her palms only digging deeper when she pressed her hands back against the metal. The knife followed her attempt at distance, the woman on the other end of it glaring above the bandana that covered the lower half of her face.

"Don't move, and this will be over quickly," the woman huffed from behind her half-assed mask, eyes too desperate for Csilla to stomach. "I don't want to have to hurt you, but I will."

Csilla's nostrils flared at the strangers words, eyes wide at the sounds of Dwight grunting in time with each hit he received, the clatter of his gun hitting the cracked asphalt when he tried to grab it and defend himself against their attackers.

"That's a real shame," Csilla muttered, breath heavy as she pressed into the knife, feeling the dull blade barely beginning to break skin, despite Csilla's efforts. "Because I want to hurt you."

The woman had little time to register what Csilla said before the girl dug her own blade deep into the strangers ribs.

The strange woman gasped and swung her arm, trying, pathetically, to try and slash Csilla's throat, but Csilla hardly felt the attempt and swung her own arm out to the right, successfully gutting the woman with little effort. Blood spattered in heavy doses across the asphalt, and across most of Csilla, the woman dropping her knife in an attempt to catch her entrails before they succeeded in plopping onto the ground with squishy, wet, noises. The horror and terror on the girls face made Csilla smiled a bit, the look pCsilla watched the woman collapse to the ground in death, flexing her fingers around the blade of her knife as her eyes followed the blood trailing off towards the grass; it was already beginning to congeal with the exposure to a world it wasn't been to be free in.

All she could smell was blood.

Csilla looked up when she heard Dwight again, blinking a few times as she came to the realization that she was not back there anymore.

Looking back over her shoulder, Csilla ground her teeth together, and tightened the grip she had on her knife, when she saw Dwight collapsing to the ground, the masked man assaulting him making eye contact with Csilla over the underside of the flipped vehicle.

She could see the whites of his eyes clear as day.

Csilla closed her eyes and rolled her head around on her shoulders a bit, fingers rhythmically flexing around the handle of her knife. The cold, wet feeling of the blood causing her clothes to stick to her body had every nerve in her mimicking a live wire; it was hard to control her shaking.

All she could smell was blood, all she could hear was Dwight gasping in pain, all she could see was red.

---

Dwight knew what he had seen.

Lying on the side of the road, Dwight stared up at the sky with his right eye; the left one was currently swollen shut thanks to the beating that asshole had given him. His ribs ached, his head hurt, both arms were a bit useless for anything more than the bare necessities now. 

But he was alive, thanks to her. 

Dwight winced as he tried to sit himself up, unsure if he were happy that he had succeeded in doing so. His vision blurred a bit, but that settle quick enough - it was the ache of his bruised bones that gave Dwight the most discomfort. Every movement throbbed and pinched, though not nearly as intensely as it had when Csilla had made him get up and move out of the road, into the trees a bit to not be seen while she moved the bodies away when the heat began to attract flies.

The totaled truck remained, and the blood encircling it.

She was so calm.

When Csilla had come around the side of the truck, knife in hand, and covered in the blood of her next victims partner, Dwight had wondered if, in his daze, he had missed her dying, turning.

She had looked so much like a Walker, Dwight was simply certain that she would be the one to kill him, but not in the way he had expected her to.

He had never been injured so frequently in his entire fucking life, and she seemed to be the cause, even with just her presence alone. From the beating Negan had given him - the one he had already been healing from - to this, Csilla was beginning to feel like a bad luck charm. He could only imagine what would end up happening to him if he continued... whatever this was going on between them.

His eyes roamed to opposite tree line, waiting for her to reappear. 

You're gonna die doin this, D.

Sherry's warning that morning rattled around in Dwight's skull every now and again, the guilt still very much palpable in his stomach, his heart. Looking at Sherry had reminded Dwight of a lot of things, but...

It could never be the same now, could it?

What Dwight had let happen would never be something he could just forget, it would weigh him down until it came out and what then? Sherry was not the forgiving type, not for this, not with Csilla, especially. She had disliked her since she had shown in Sanctuary, telling Dwight to watch himself, but he had thought the same as most everyone else did - that Csilla was the one that needed looking out for. That had changed so quickly, and had subsequently, somehow, consumed Dwight's life in turn. He didn't understand what it was, that kept him fascinated in Csilla still, but it was a more persisting sensation than Dwight had ever experienced.

That happened a lot with her.

When he heard leaves and bushes cracking, Dwight looked up and watched Csilla emerge from the tree line, blood flaking from her skin, but it remained as dark patches across her shirt and jeans. She saw him staring at her immediately, and the smile she gave him appeared so sweet, that Dwight, yet again, forgot just how many motives lie behind such a gesture from Csilla.

"Come on, lets see what your legs are like now that you've had some time to sit," Csilla insisted as she approached, holding out her hands for him to grab.

Dwight looked at her skeptically, but let her, painfully, hoist him up to his feet. When they had first tried this, Dwight had immediately collapsed and had been seeing double, but he stood fairly firm now, and that made them both smile, somewhat. Csilla let her touch linger against his palms before she dropped her hands and went to grab their packs from inside what was left of the truck.

"Should be able to radio back to the Sanctuary, tell em about what happened," Dwight said as he followed, slowly, beside Csilla. "I can try to carry my -"

"No."

Dwight clammed up, not wanting to persist on that one for multiple reasons - mainly that he, in fact, did not want to carry his shit at that moment. He could make it to the outpost, no problem, it was pretty close, but adding more tasks onto that made Dwight's injuries ache.

"He wants us to stay over night anyway," Csilla said after a moment, staring ahead. "There were, apparently, a lot of things they did not take, so he believes someone will return soon to gather more."

Dwight frowned, the overnight part being more new news to him, just as her presence on this trip was. Negan had said all of this in front of his men, making it an official order that everyone was aware of. If it was some sort of plot to throw off a suspected traitor, or whatever, why would he not tell Dwight he was meant to stay overnight, wait for more movement? Unless he was wasn't the one meant to know.

"What's with the change of plans without my knowledge?" Dwight asked as they entered the parking lot of the outpost. "I mean, it's a bit -"

"Because, we changed them last minute, that's why," Csilla said simply, stopping before they were noticed by the Walkers roaming the grounds. "I told him this morning that I wanted to see something."

"So ya had to bring me into it still? Coulda saved me another ass-beating."

Csilla shook her head as she shrugged their packs off of her shoulder, reaching for the axe she had put inside of her own. "Not like I planned either of those, you just have bad luck."

Dwight snorted a bit, watching her twirl the axe around in her hand. "Tellin' me," he mumbled. "Think I'll sit this one out, I'm sure you'll be fine."

Csilla smiled again, suddenly, not at all the reaction Dwight had expected to come from his comment. This one seemed genuine, albeit it quite manic and absolutely vibrating with excitement. He could see her fingers twitching along the handle of the axe, and, yet again, wondered just what the hell was wrong with this girl. The mental whiplash was far more than Dwight could seem to handle, as he still kept thinking that she was normal, due to only a few months exposure to some act she had been trying to keep up.

What was that promise?

What had she been talking about, all alone, on the rooftop that night? Before he interrupted?

"I was really good with one of these, if I remember correctly." Csilla flipped the axe in her hand once again. "Let's see."

Dwight shook his head as he watched her walk away, very much aware of the way she stalked forward like the predator she felt like. Her steps were silent and carefully placed, avoiding the attention of the Walkers until she had downed the first one with a well placed swing to the head. The walker stuck to the blade, but Csilla pressed her booted foot against the corpses back and essentially kicked it off before she immediately spun and decapitated the next that drew too close. Dwight could see the wide grin on her face as she danced around the Walkers at a certain point, teasing them along behind her until she decided on when and how to dispatch them in steady procession.

Even with the stench they brought upon being opened up, Csilla was having the time of her life clearing the yard of Walkers; many of which had the faces of people that Dwight had once known.

She panted softly once she was done, right hand gripping the handle of the axe tightly at her side while she surveyed her handiwork. Despite her utter glee at what she had accomplished, Dwight could see the frustration and disappointment on her face when her carnage had not brought the satisfaction that she had been, apparently, hoping for.

When her head snapped towards Dwight, he gulped loudly at the type of gaze she bestowed him with.

It made him throb, and he wasn't thinking of his injuries.

What kind of fucked up game are they playing? Dwight thought as Csilla slowly approached, steps lithe and precise, a bit more dangerous in appearance than they had been before. There surely has to be some kind of point I'm missin'.

When she looked at him like that, out of fear, Dwight reflexively thought of Negan, and that night on the rooftop. 

He had let Dwight and Csilla go, had even seemed to enjoy it, when Negan was not a man known for being willing to share - with anything. But, he had been suspiciously accommodating to Dwight after the other night, like letting him remain by Csilla's side, letting him go on this little trip alone with her, letting him live. It all seemed too good to be true, and Dwight had waited for the other shoe to drop for three days.

But, he was alone with her now.

That was all that seemed to matter anymore.

As Csilla stood over him, hooded eyes focused on his, fingers flexing around her axe handle, Dwight was pretty sure he didn't give a damn about what happened to him anymore.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Dwight murmured, watching the corners of her mouth twitch at his words.

Her eyes softened, but not in affection, only pity.

"I never do it, that's the thing," she whispered to him, reaching out with a blood-stained hand to brush the hair from his face. "It's why he kept me around the way he did."

Dwight almost asked again, about him, and the things they had done together, but thought better of it. She wouldn't tell him a thing, anyway, Dwight was beginning to realize that. She was greedy, in his mind, wanting to hoard her past to herself. Perhaps Dwight had just been spoiled by so many people looking for an ear to chew off about all the sorrows they had been through. Dwight had never cared for the stories, he had only cared for the information, but with Csilla? Oh, he wanted to know everything. She was too intoxicating, too mysterious; she left too many questions in her wake for Dwight to ever truly give up on learning more about her.

"You're learning," she said softly, patting the top of his head like a dog. "Good boy."

---

Negan had been stewing for days, and not even about what he had found on the damn roof.

Though, he had thought about that too many times to count in the last seventy-two hours.

While he absolutely did not like sharing, what was he going to do? Say no to her? 

Negan could never.

She had looked so fucking hot, even if the schmuck she was thigh-riding like her life depended on it was a bit unpleasant to see on the receiving end of such a blessing. It was hard for Negan to juggle the mental gymnastics of pretending he cared about what Simon was trying to bargain with him about and try to blur Dwight out of his mind so he could enjoy the splendid replay that was the reward of his voyeurism. 

When he had noticed her interest in Dwight, Negan hadn't thought anything would truly come of it. She had been playing a little game of Hide the Monster, and he had thought it would take much longer than five whole months for her to make her move, dispel the illusion that she struggled every day to keep up. However, when he had seen just how focused Csilla was when Dwight was within her line of sight, Negan had tried to throttle his outrage at the mere notion he would have to share her with anything, let alone Dwight.

Fuckin Dwight, who woulda thought he had the balls?

Definitely not Negan.

"...boss?"

Negan blinked a few times, grimacing when he felt the ache from his, not surprisingly, rock hard cock packed tightly into his jeans. He had been so lost in thought, he hadn't even noticed the damn thing.

"Musta zoned out there cus this shit is so boring," Negan said with a sigh, reaching for his half-empty glass of liquor. "What did ya say, man?"

Negan could see the muscle in Simon's jaw jump a few times, a sign of agitation that Negan would really love to obliterate, but he couldn't afford losing such a well-trained and knowledgeable soldier, especially with their little issue accumulating outside the walls of Sanctuary.

"I was saying that my men at the outpost weren't the only ones hit last night, it was Chelsie and Matthew's patrols too." Simon shifted his weight, eyes wide and focused on nothing as he surely thought of the things he wanted to do to the asshole that was slaughtering Negan's men. "Couple of guys called it in over the radio a couple of hours ago."

Negan slammed his tightened fist down on the table, his face calm and collected, but there was a subtle shake to his jaw and shoulders. 

Body after body, and not one fucking sign of some larger group than what they had already been dealing with moving into the area. Negan knew of a decent sized group being spotted by one of their supply runners in a nearby abandoned town, but there were hardly enough of them to do what had been done. This would make perhaps four or five large patrols taken from him in a few, short weeks, and then there was the outpost. Nearly forty men, gone, down the drain, and a decent dent in Negan's prepared numbers. He had plenty to train, but that took time, and whoever was doing this was not giving him a single moment to gather himself back up to plan and strike accordingly.

"It'll start effecting morale soon, boss," Simon said, volume of his voice a bit lowered this time, even though they were the only ones in the room. "People might start getting dangerous ideas -"

"Then you better shut that shit down, huh?" Negan said with a deepened voice, glaring up at Simon from beneath his brow. "If you can't help keep people in line, then why do I keep letting you breathe?"

Simon loudly gulped, now avoiding looking at even an inch of Negan.

"My apologies, sir, I'm just..."

Negan sighed, loudly, and kicked out a leg to use his weight and stand abruptly from his seat. Simon took a couple of steps back, making Negan smile nice and wide, flashing every one his teeth. 

"I don't care, Simon," Negan began, bending down a bit to pick Lucille up from where she leaned against the wall beside his chair. "I really don't, just do what needs to be done while we wait for Dwight to return."

Simon didn't say anything more, until Negan opened the door. "Why'd ya send the girl with him, though?"

Negan froze in the threshold of the door, staring down at the floor as he pieced together Simon's audacity.

Looking back over his shoulder to the aforementioned man, Negan took a step back and shut the door once again, never once breaking eye contact with him. Simon probably didn't even understand what he had done, and that was one thing Negan had to give to Dwight - he always knew exactly how and where he fucked up. 

"What I do with her is none of your concern, Simon." Negan was losing his patience. "Don't ever ask me something so stupid ever again."

The confusion and fear in Simon's eyes made Negan a bit giddy with excitement, but he contained himself. Simon was the type to think that, if Negan did act on that impulse and smiled, that he was out of the woods. 

"Y-Yes sir, I'm sorry..."

There was a slight confused tone to his voice, but Negan didn't press it any further.

He just wanted away from this bumbling idiot.

Shutting the door behind him, and leaving Simon to stew behind it in the room for however long he wanted to, Negan whistled and began to make his way back to his own bedroom. The halls were relatively empty, save for a few of the janitorial settlers he had in Sanctuary, and some of the guards whose faces he hardly even paid attention to on the best of days. Negan's whistle echoed back to him from the empty walls, making for an admittedly eerie atmosphere if one only heard him at a distance.

it was one of his favorite intimidation tactics.

When he entered the bedroom, Negan found it strange to not find Csilla already there. 

Without her analytical gaze combing over him, Negan felt oddly alone. The feeling did not bother him, it only made him think of her, which in turn turned into thinking about what she and Dwight were doing. 

"Least I know he ain't fuckin' her," Negan grumbled as he toed his boots off by the door - he hadn't even gotten to fuck her.

She wouldn't fuck him, but she'd let him go to town on her pussy.

Negan paused in shrugging off his jacket, a smile beginning to worm its way onto his face. "A wins a win."

---

The inside of the outpost was damp and dark, the only sound to be heard being Dwight's soft snoring from his side of the room.

Csilla stared at the door of the room they had holed up in for the night, barely illuminated by the small camping lamp that Dwight had pulled out of his pack earlier. She had been sitting there for awhile, not feeling the gentle pressure of sleep coming any time soon. It wasn't a bad thing, never had been, especially when Dwight had just been beaten all to Hell and back the last week and needed the rest. To rest, he needed to be guarded, and Csilla had no problem watching over what was hers; he was too vulnerable.

Csilla finally took a moment to look away from the door, lolling her head to the right to run her eyes along Dwight's sleeping figure. His back was turned to her, relaxed into the kind of dreams one can only have when they know they were safe.

When ya think you'll take that bite, huh?

Csilla did not cringe away from the voice as she usually did, but she did manage a sharp inhale, pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily to regroup and try to adjust without breaking. She could not break, not again, it had only caused more headaches than necessary, and she did not want to play all of her cards at once. 

One lil nibble won't kill ya.

"It'll kill him," Csilla murmured, head snapping up to attention when she heard a noise in the distance. 

Go get em.

Csilla was silent as she grabbed her axe and was on her feet, her lack of shoes eliminating the threat of her being heard. Her heart thumped with excitement as she inched closer towards the soft taps of someone's shoes on the floor of the outpost, noting the lack of groans from the dead, so it wasn't one of them. As she neared a corner, there was a mildly loud creak as a door opened around the other side, the hall being flooded with the exhaust from their flashlight. The beam swept around what it could reach, the person wielding it being exceptionally patient with their studious observation of an unknown location.

Csilla kept herself pressed against the wall, axe held firmly in hand, as she equally as patiently waited for the intruders next move.

She thought of Dwight down the hall.

Make it quick, wouldn' wanna wake sleepin' beauty.

Csilla flexed her grips around the axe handle once again, preparing herself to pounce as the flashlight clicked off and, oddly enough, they both waited for their eyes to readjust to the darkness.

She was right.

A few soft pats and the intruder entered the building, their silhouette on the wall opposite Csilla showing nothing but a hooded figure approaching. 

When Csilla swung the axe out, she had expected them to duck, but they did one better and fell back on their ass in the dark hallway. Moonlight came in from the open door to the outside, but it did little to show more than the glint of a sickle that was coming for Csilla's gut. Csilla leapt back for distance, growling low in her throat like an angry guard dog, swinging her axe down between the attackers legs, but it only bounced against the concrete and made Csilla's bones ache. But that didn't stop her, as she lifted it again and attempted to bring the axe down on their back, but they had already scrambled out of the way and lunged for Csilla's head with that sickle, but Csilla knocked it away by raising her arm and received a deep slice into her forearm for doing so.

"Fuck!" Csilla spat out, but not because of the pain.

She could smell it as soon as the wound was opened - the scent of her own blood, the foul stench of a predator.

The smell of it had Csilla seeing red.

"You little cunt," she seethed, watching the figure backing towards the door. "I will eat your fucking heart out of your chest."

They ran.

Csilla pursued.

They originally made for the tree line, but Csilla was faster and cut them off, sending them rounding back towards the outpost, despite the fleeing strangers attempts to do otherwise. The silence of the chase spurred Csilla on, making her reaction time impeccable as she herded the fool to where she wanted them. There were several moments where Csilla could have ended it; a throw of her axe would have sufficed, but she continued the pursuit out of enjoyment. She felt her legs shaking, but her strides remained long and true, remaining only a few steps behind her prey on purpose. The adrenaline she felt flowing through her, the sensation of no longer being perceived as that fragile little bird that she had tried to make them see, it all had Csilla on Cloud 9.

When the pair approached the outpost once again, the stranger ran around one corner before Csilla could reach them, and Csilla could hear the pop of a pistol.

Dwight.

Csilla saw the stranger on their back on the ground, trying to slowly drag themselves backwards and away from the gun Dwight aimed at them.

"Tried not to intervene, like ya wanted," Dwight murmured, and left it there.

"You should have tried harder," Csilla snarled as she snatched the gun away from him. "Go back inside, now."

The shock and confusion on Dwight's face was expected, but the lack of questioning why was indeed a bit of a surprise. Negan was right about one thing, Dwight fucking loved asking questions.

After Dwight had shut the door to the outpost behind him, Csilla finally returned her full attention to the idiot still sitting on the ground, waiting. Csilla looked down at the gun in her hand before she tucked it into the back of her jeans and then she, surprisingly, dropped her axe to the ground. The masked assailant's head twitched towards the view of the axe dropping, but only for a second, then their full attention was gifted to Csilla.

As Csilla slowly closed the distance between them, they tried to make more, but Csilla was on top of them before they could make it even a foot further. Csilla dropped down onto them, straddling the strangers waist and pinning their arms above their head. A soft grunt could be heard behind the cloth mask, but Csilla had a hard time discerning whether they were male or female yet. They were strong, she could tell with the way they resisted, even when Csilla did not budge an inch. They kicked their legs, sending gravel and other things showering down on Csilla's back, but she was focused on where their face was, hidden behind a silly mask. The hood had fallen from their head to the ground beneath them, revealing dark, brunette strands of hair to Csilla's critical gaze, but she wanted more.

"You left the shit on the road, huh?" Csilla whispered, voice husky with excitement. "Where did you learn that, eh? Where did you learn to draw that?"

When Csilla had seen the entrails laid out in the peculiar, swirling, pattern, she had been, quite honestly, in shock. The last time she had seen that exact symbol was at the start of things, in that dirty basement with its soft sheets and the odor of sweat and arousal heavy in the air. Csilla thought she had escaped that side of her life, the part that was filled with things Csilla had no clue how to handle. She had thought it merely coincidence when she had overhead some of Negan's men discussing it, but when she had finally seen it, put together the pattern, it was all she needed to decide that the lie she was living would have no choice but to come to an end.

"You ruined everything," Csilla hissed, leaning in to have her face closer to the unknown. "I had a whole buffet, and they were clueless. Now," Csilla paused as she pulled back a bit. "well, now I have to find other sources for my appetite."

Her body ached for the satisfaction, but Csilla had more self control than she wanted most people to realize.

It'd be so damn easy.

Chills had settled over Csilla's skin as her prey squirmed beneath her, trying to get the girl to budge even the slightest bit, but Csilla held firm and did not let them get any sort of upper hand on her. Her mouth was salivating, causing a reflexive swallow more times than Csilla could count, but she refrained and preferred to watch them struggle uselessly. When she moved closer, to inhale the scent of fear, the stranger froze up for a moment, but began thrashing harder than before after the initial shock had worn off. 

"I feel a bit high, I won't lie to you," Csilla whispered, the pleasurable smile creeping over her face causing the stranger to still in their fight. "It's been well over a year now that I have not had the chance to hunt, and I was really hoping it would be you."

Her body hummed like a live wire, every nerve standing on end, every breath ragged and slow. 

You can bite.

No, not yet, she wanted to see their face.

The thrill lay within the display her prey could give, and, while it had been satisfying so far, Csilla wanted to see just how scared they were beneath the mask. Did they begin to cry? How hard were they biting their tongue to keep from speaking, pleading for their life. She had never had such a silent capture before, and Csilla could not stand it. So, if they did not wish to sing for her, Csilla would have to get her release somewhere else.

Csilla released one of their hands to grab for the mask, eyes wide and intense as the stranger grabbed her by the wrist and locked it in place, merely inches from the edge of the mask. Csilla responded with a snarl, pushing past that small gap of space despite the strength exerted by her victim to try and keep her curiosity at bay. 

When she wrenched the mask free, Csilla felt a rush of glee seeing it soaked in drool and snot from their terror. 

However, when she looked down at their face, Csilla lost all feeling. 

The vastness of her victims eye were all-consuming for Csilla, and she did not realize she had loosened her grip on them until she took a boot square to the chest.

Csilla grunted and fell back onto her ass and hands, the mask still clenched tightly in her fist as she cringed. It wasn't the first kick like that she had taken, but this one seemed to actually hurt a bit, a tingling sensation emanating in a way that she could feel the very outline of their boot still upon her. 

When she heard the door swing open behind her, heard Dwight shouting her name, Csilla's eyes snapped open in time to see her prey flee into the darkness of the trees.

---

It took Dwight fifteen minutes to snap Csilla out of whatever daze she had been thrown into, another ten to convince her it was fine to get up and come inside.

She was on him after that.

Dwight could admit, she was suffocating.

It was unlike anything Dwight had ever experienced before, that was what made it so fucking hard to handle. He knew what was up - she was only using him as an outlet of sorts, for whatever other impulses she could not act on. Her touch was feverish against his skin, fingers shaking as they ran up his sides, his neck. Every gesture made Dwight wince a bit, bracing for some damage that did not come, though his body screamed at him that it would be any minute now.

She would be done playing with her food soon.

Dwight shuddered as her thighs squeezed around his, grinding herself down onto him in a slow, methodical way, where Dwight half-expected her to be a frenzied mess in that regard. With her touch being so spastic and randomized, Dwight had thought he would get some sort of different treatment, but she remained rigid in her approach to the situation, forcing him to keep his hands pinned between his back and the wall, eyes adverted, as if it wasn't pitch black in the fucking outpost and he couldn't see a damn thing anyway. He could only hear, could only feel, and that seemed good enough for his body to do as told.

But he was so fucking hard.

Dwight squeezed his eyes shut at the soft moan Csilla released into the dark hallway, the sound of her nails trying to dig into the concrete wall on either side of his head. His self control surprised him, as all Dwight wanted to do was grab her, touch her, do a myriad of things to her that would probably get him killed but who gave a fuck at this point?

If she's what he died for, Dwight was pretty sure he would be okay with it.

It was dangerous for more reasons than death, though, right? Dwight had a wife, one he scarcely recognized anymore, but, with the way Csilla made him forget his former plans of still getting himself and Sherry out of Sanctuary, Dwight really hadn't thought of Sherry as much as he used to. 

He didn't even feel that pang of guilt already.

Perhaps it was because of the way he could feel the wet spot on his pants leg, could hear her softening moans and grunts as she drew closer and closer to her own climax.

It was hard to focus on much more.

Pretty sure she could breathe in my direction and I'd cum right now.

Dwight knew better than to turn his head and pointlessly try to see her through the darkness, he could feel her staring at him through it.

His eyes snapped open once again when he felt her shudder around his thigh, her strangled, mildly relieved, sigh making his cock ache for some kind of attention. When he had tried asking her why, all Csilla would say was she did not fuck anything anymore. What they were doing wasn't the kind of 'sex' Csilla was talking about, she meant anything involving him receiving true pleasure from her.

It's diabolical.

And, yet, Dwight knew he would always let her do whatever the fuck she wanted to him.

It was a scary feeling.

He felt her breath waft over his neck, leaving Dwight to anticipate her lips against his skin, but it never came. He was foolish for even thinking that could be a possibility.

"Better?" Dwight muttered in a joking manner, eyes remaining pointed towards the ceiling he couldn't see.

He could hear her chuckle through the darkness when she had extricated herself from him. Dwight finally uncurled his fingers from behind his back, slowly, as he had, had them curled so tightly back there that his fingers burned when he flexed them. A flicker of light came between them from her lighter, the cherry of her cigarette bobbing in the dark after she had put the lighter back into one of her pockets.

"It did not help as much as I had thought it would," she admitted, her hand finding one of his in the darkness. "We should radio back to Negan, tell him what happened."

Before she could lead him too far, Dwight made her stop; he didn't have to see her to know the look she was giving him. "You're seriously not gonna tell me what that was?"

"I was hoping if I came that the thoughts would go."

Dwight rolled his eyes. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about - you let them go."

"They got the upper hand."

"Stop, Csilla, will you just stop?" Dwight snapped, wishing more than anything that he could see her, because he could feel how tight her grip was on his hand and it was painful. "Who the fuck are they to you? I now damn well, already, that you don't just let people go."

Her grip on his hand tightened impossibly more for a moment, so much so that Dwight almost jerked his hand away, but the instant relief of her relaxation kept him still. 

She had already said as much, so why the hell was she still so tight lipped? When did it end? Just how bad could it be that someone like her was this reluctant to speak of it? He thought of her scars, the ones she said he couldn't see, how she had more than a few he couldn't see. His imagination could run absolutely wild with trying to find any link to the information he had of her.  

"I'm sure Negan will catch them soon enough," Csilla grumbled, tugging Dwight along once again; how the fuck did she know where to go, temporarily blind with the lack of lighting at that? "We'll find out then."

"But you know," Dwight persisted. "Why not just tell me about em? We could probably catch them faster and -"

He was cut off by a loud bang, then another as, what he presumed to be, the door bounced off the wall behind it. Csilla's touch ghosted away from him, and Dwight tensed up at the lack of sensation. But it was only temporary, he could hear her tugging at the generator to get it started, and waited patiently for the lights to come on, keeping his eyes closed to keep from being blinded.

"I can't interfere, not like that," Csilla said after she had gotten the power on to the room, leaning over the instruments of the communications array. "If I had caught them tonight, like I could have done had you not come outside, then things would be different."

"I don't get it," Dwight said, approaching her right side and flipping the radio on. "Why do all that? What's the point?"

Csilla sighed heavily, tilting her head back to stare and contemplate into nothingness.

"I don't think I could begin to explain to you, even if I wanted to."

Notes:

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

Chapter 8: Stranger Things.

Chapter by FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

I am imprisoned by
devotion. I shy away from
people. I am alone. I fall
into obsession.

Notes:

Guysssss we're so close to the end of Part I, I can hardly contain myself.

Negan was a certified tweaker for the six and a half hours that Csilla and Dwight did not respond.

He had attempted to send out another group to look for them, but there were two problems with that - his vigilante, and Csilla. 

The vigilante caused the ever-present threat of any men he sent out to possibly not even make it to their destination. And Csilla... Csilla would see it as him not believing she could handle whatever happened. 

The more Negan had thought on it, the more he had realized it was the worst decision possible to try and send someone like her any sort of back-up. So, he had sat down, waited patiently with a walkie in hand for six and a half God damn hours before any news came over that handheld radio. When he had heard the static belch through, Negan had gripped the sturdy plastic enough to cause a loud crack somewhere along the surface.

"The fuck you mean they got away?" He growled into the speaker, glaring into nothingness as his brain processed the information, tried to come up with the beginnings of a new plan. "How in the holy fuck did you of all people lose them?!"

Negan was glad he had retired to his room early to stew beforehand.

Had he been in the presence of others, who knows whose head he would end up bashing in. Negan had known better, and had exiled himself only an hour before that call had finally come through. Negan almost regretted the exile now that he heard the bullshit news Csilla had for him, and her indifferent tone to her voice; it would be worth it to take his rage out on a nice, squishy, body. Simon came to mind, then Dwight, perhaps that obnoxious doctor that Negan had consistently seen eye-fucking his wives.

Would love to see that with her.

"Look, I'll explain when I get back, but we'll have to walk."

The unflattering noise Negan made in the back of his throat caused a tired sigh to come from Csilla on the other end, which in turn made Negan chuckle. Something about annoying her pleased him, though that was no new trait of Negan's, it just meant he had a new favorite target. Though, it was one he practiced on quite sparcely.

"So annoyed ya had to make me listen to that sad, sad noise?" Negan purred through the phone, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Why ya gotta walk back? They get that, too?"

There was a pause. "We don't know who these people were, but they're no longer a problem."

"Oh, I'm sure." Negan was the one to pause this time, brow furrowing. "You think it's just them?"

"Definitely not."

"With such certainty she says it," Negan hummed, pushing himself up to his feet, eyes lingering on Lucille laid gingerly on the bed. "That have to do with what you'll explain as soon as you get back?"

"Yeah." She paused again, the one minute long stretch of silence making the hair on Negan's nut sack stand on end. "We'll be leaving here in about thirty minutes, bringing back some of the more dire stuff that was left behind, in case they still try to come back."

Negan nodded, despite being completely alone in the room, his mind working on over drive as he clung to one plan, then another, unable to truly peg a solution to this situation. At that moment. He felt as though Csilla would be the key to fix his stumped position, and he absolutely detested having to wait for what he wanted. 

"Just get back here, fuck the stuff, we'll send ya out with some of the boys whenever you're ready." Negan reached for Lucille, softly twisting her back and forth before he spoke into the walkie again. "Don't have anymore time to waste on this horse shit."

There was more silence from the other end, Negan assuming Csilla was speaking to Dwight when those lapses in communication erose. He was curious to know what they had to say to one another that warranted the silence Negan was receiving, but, he surprised himself with keeping his questions and frustrations to himself. 

It was the opposite effect he had expected Csilla to bring out in him.

She had done no such thing as tame him in some sort of way, more like -

"Dwight will show up alone, I want to look at something first," Csilla finally said, after a cough of static. "I'll be back after sunset."

"Hey, hey, hey," Negan barked, fingers flexing around the walkie, trying his best to not crush the damn thing in his hand. "Where the fuck do you think you're going? I didn't allow for any -"

"Knock it off, Negan," her voice was cold and threatening, even through the harsh filter put upon it by the walkie. "I do not need your permission to do a fucking thing and, now that I know what I do, this is completely out of your control."

Negan stared, a bit listlessly, at the wall in front of him, the walkie shaking perhaps an inch or so from his lips. He did not blink, he did not speak, he just listened to the static of Csilla's patience from the other side, and grit his teeth until the subconscious fear of cracking one came to mind. Closing his eyes, Negan felt as though he had been standing there, putting her on hold to listen to him breathe heavily in rage, for at least twenty minutes, but it hadn't even been one minute that he had everything processed and regulated.

"You gonna actually kill the son a bitch this time?" His voice was low and hungry, though he didn't know exactly why this time.

"Not yet," Csilla said. "We need to get going, Dwight will have the walkie."

Negan almost protested, but thought better of something for once, and just nodded despite her absence. "Fine, just get it done."

"I always do."

"I'm sure," Negan mumbled once he had cut the walkie off.

---

Every huff of breath had begun to sting by the time they had felt safe enough to pause for a moment, at least try and catch their breath.

It hurts, the thought had pinged around inside of their thumping, overheated skull several times since they had begun running. Fuck, it hurts so... so damn badly.

The awful, sharp, pains that splintered throughout their chest had begun to lessen, but that did not mean it was the lesser of two evils, or anything of the sort. They had never been one for the outdoors in general, but the apocalypse had been absolutely testing them for years now; was it truly years, or had they so lost their sense of time that what had felt like eternity was only, perhaps, a year or so? 

Babbling to yourself and then correcting yourself is a wild chain of events given the current situation, you understand that, right?

A soft wince, and then the distant rustle of dried leaves being pressed upon, though it was hard to determine just how much weight was behind the step. While the forests grew quiet in the cold months, they were, at the same time, never more noisy. Sometimes it felt as though even too harsh of an exhale would cause the leaves to crackle, a twig to snap.

"Should've listened to him," they whispered between haggard breath after haggard breath, back pressed against a wet pine tree. 

Warned over and over again that their excursion was an awful idea, that they had already pressed their luck and enough was enough, but... it felt as though there were far more things to do for this to be over. There was not a single hard piece of evidence that this Negan had even been there. The people they had killed felt more like lackeys, grunts, the help and the like. Any that had the chance to speak had told them that they were the mythical Negan, which was a pretty clear indicator as to what these Saviors were all about.

Adjusting the mask on their face, the Stranger eased their gaze around the tree, back the way they had come, as their chest labored with breath still.

There was a reason they had waited so long before they had stopped to catch some semblance of a breath, and the uneasy feeling in their gut said this was most likely a bad idea in itself. Despite the, most likely, miles they had ran, they knew that there was no such thing as being too careful. 

Especially when it was her.

"Of all the fucking people to run into up here," the Stranger grumbled beneath their breath, getting to their feet and beginning a careful trek through the flat forest; not a bit of underbrush or growth in sight, aside from the tall, skinny pines. "How the hell am I supposed to -"

A subtle crack in the distance, almost far enough that they considered convincing themselves it had been the wind, but every hair stood on end, every nerve writhed beneath their skin, and they began to creep a bit faster in the direction they were sure was the right one. There were no following sounds when they would stop and listen every now and again, but something insisted upon continuing without another break. They could not run again, not like that, they would be run to exhaustion if so, but they felt as though that had been the point of the initial chase.

There was an abandoned suburb on the other side of the small patch of woods they had trekked through, overgrown kudzu and ivy beginning to stretch over every home and into the streets. The wind blew soft and persistent through the town, giving the Stranger a chance to be just a tad less careful the noise they produced. Leaves rolled across the ground as tree branches trembled in the wind, the vines lifting and shaking, so sound bloomed from all around, and a misplaced crunch or two could easily go unnoticed. They crept towards one of the homes at the end of the cul-de-sac, leaving the door in the same position of open as they had found it, before they creeped, carefully, up the stairs to the second floor and found a window they could keep watch from. 

"I wait, I see, I go home," they muttered after they had blocked the door a bit with clutter that could look like it had simply been ransacked in such a manner. "I just do not listen, now do I?"

He's gonna get mad -

Let him, it's a waste to leave all of that behind.

"I'm sure I've been tattled on by now," the Stranger sighed softly after they spoke, eyes fixated on the street outside.

The plan had been to spend some of the night hauling supplies to a safe spot in the woods, and then get a larger group to bring it the rest of the way home. There already being someone inside had been quite the surprise, considering it had only been a few hours since the Stranger had their hand in the destruction that occurred. Squatters, or whatever you wanted to call them now, were common place in the apocalyptic world they found themselves in, but it was still quite a speedy reaction.   

Upon the realization that it was her, however, things made more sense.

She was with the Saviors, a fact not all that surprising in the grand scheme of things, but it was still quite a shock to see her after all this time. It had been, what, nearly a decade? Anyone would be shocked, especially given that the last time they had seen one another was states away.

The last person I want to see, the Stranger thought, watching the long, dark, shadow beginning to stretch across the street in the moonlight. 

As Csilla crept up the street, the Stranger watched her flexing fingers and jerking movements, face covered in shadows when the moonlight was only able to hit her back. She carried a hatchet in her right hand, letting it sway back and forth at her side. She stopped halfway to the very home that the Stranger sat in, sniffing at the air judging by the light bob of her head, the tilt of her chin.

Csilla had always seemed to be more animal than human, and she seemed persistent on proving it at any given opportunity, but there had never been an active decision to do so.

This Negan guy must be bad news.

If Csilla saw him as someone she could follow, even temporarily or out of survival - though it was surely the brutality that drew her in - then he couldn't be good at all.

"I know you're here," Csilla could be heard, softly speaking, though it echoed a bit in the emptiness of the neighborhood. "I am trying my best to... simply not, but you being here... "

There was a pause, where only the wind and the rustle of detached leaves spoke to one another.

"You are not my hunt, unfortunately," Csilla finally said, and the Stranger so badly wanted to ask what she meant by that. "It makes things complicated, ya know?"

No response, and did she truly expect one? Probably not. The Stranger was sure Csilla not only was not bluffing when saying she knew they were there, but they knew that Csilla knew exactly where they were, and was simply flexing her surprising control. 

"You need to tell whoever you have managed to get to take care of you this time to pack up and get the fuck out of here if you don't want to be one of the horrible things Negan has done," Csilla said lastly, axe resting on her shoulder before she turned and began to walk away.

The Stranger, having long since pulled out their personal journal and the small GPS device they had taken from their armory, closed the journal quietly after writing down their first set of coordinates to work back from. They had made a dangerous decision, one to follow Csilla back to this supposed Sanctuary, only doing so from a great distance. If it all went as they had planned, and things had so far when it came down to the grittier details, then they could have a better plan concocted to handle yet another bullshit situation.

Their idea took them nearly eight hours of patience, waiting until the crunch of leaves, and Csilla's mumblings, faded into nothingness, and then a little bit longer, before they would begin slowly walking in the same path left by Csilla herself. 

The sun had begun to rise when the Stranger had begun to hear everything - the Walkers, the men shouting to open a gate, the soft pop of guns at target practice somewhere behind nice concrete. Keeping their distance, the tops of a factory were visible through the tops of the trees, and down the slight slope of the hill they hid behind their tree upon, Csilla could be seen approaching a gate. It was a bit disorienting, but, as the Stranger drew closer, they realized that they in fact had not seen the trees writhing in agony before them, but Walkers pinned in random spots around the outsides of the gate, stretching rather far, but also pinned to the chain link fencing itself. They counted at least half a dozen guards manning posts from this angle alone, and they all carried some form of heavy gun in their hands.

"That might be a problem," they mumbled, pulling their satchel from their back and reaching for the GPS and journal once more.

---

It was quiet in the room that night, waiting for Negan to finally grace Csilla with his presence.

For someone so demanding, he sure likes making me wait.

She knew he was just throwing a bit of a fit in the only way he could, and the absence only gave her a bit more time to think on her own, so it wasn't wholly an awful arrangement she had resigned herself to. 

For the moment.

Csilla sat in one of the chairs near the windows, legs crossed and she stared at the necklace she had found in the parking lot of the outpost when walking Dwight back to the flipped truck, before they went their separate ways. Dwight had asked about the look on her face when she had seen him pick it up, but Csilla had just brushed him off as she usually did. He had not fought back this time, most likely too tired to do so.

Sighing and adverting her gaze from the window, Csilla looked down at the necklace coiled in her lap.

The black lace used to tie it around one's neck had begun to dry rot, most likely the reason it had ended up on the ground during the struggle, as the knot that remained was tight and secure. The lace held a heavy, ornate key, with an embossment of swirls on the end not used to place into a lock. It had been polished recently, judging by the shine and the smell that clung to it, and the texture was smooth as buffed metal when Csilla absentmindedly rubbed her thumb across the swirls.

"What are you doing so far North?" Csilla mumbled, looking up when she heard someone's hand rest on the handle of the door. "Ah, there you are."

The way Negan looked at her irked Csilla, something about the way he looked so pleased about her shift in demeanor. 

"So, what was so important that you couldn't say somethin' over the radio last night," there was a sight edge to his voice; upset about being treated as nothing more than another face in the crowd. "Must be juicy."

Csilla sighed heavily and propped her left elbow onto the windowsill, leaning her head into its hand as she lifted the key and let it softly swivel itself back and forth. Negan's teasing smile dissolved into something a bit angrier, more serious and focused, as he sat on the couch across from Csilla. His eyes were heavily focused on the key, the wheels turning in his head at an awfully slow speed, but Csilla couldn't find herself getting frustrated any further - he had no idea what he was looking at.

"This key means a lot to me," Csilla said with a monotone voice, drawing the key closer to her face; she stared blankly at the swirls. "It means more to your problem."

Negan's gaze flickered from the key to Csilla's face a few times, before he sighed himself and slouched back into the leathery cushions of the couch. "Tell me about it?"

Csilla thought to shake her head no, initially, but paused instead, slowly lowering the necklace back down into her lap. She rotated the key between the fingers of both hands, brow furrowed as she thought of what to say and do next. 

"I thought," Csilla began, her voice low and soft, careful with what information it revealed even when it seemed like a pointless endeavor at this stage. "I thought that I could at least give that promise a try, ya know?" She lifted up the key to the sunlight, seeing her dull reflection distorted on the surface. "She told me I wouldn't be able to. Said it was out of my control, didn't know how she knew that, but she had promised she just did."

"Who?" Negan urged, obviously trying to control himself; it was all too obvious how frustrated and itchy he was for her to speed up her confession. 

Csilla considered getting up and walking out of the room, just to piss him off further.

Think it's the smartest option, suga?

"My sister," Csilla admitted, eyes analyzing Negan's face for his full reaction.

Though his facial muscles contained impeccable control and he looked only mildly surprised, Csilla could see his giddy, greedy excitement in the way his pupils dilated. It annoyed her, but Csilla was wholly unfazed by his reaction - it was just the way he was, the way most people were, especially when it came to Csilla and her past. They, meaning the majority of people she had interacted with, were always so damn greedy about things that did not concern them, and they had always regretted her confessions.

She hardly left them alive long enough to feel that way for long, however.

"Well, now that is some juicy information," Negan purred out, the corners of his mouth curling up into a devious smile. 

Csilla rolled her eyes, aforementioned features narrowed at the man as he leaned forward onto his knees, to get a bit closer; thankfully, the coffee table was between them and kept him at a distance Csilla could tolerate. 

What do ya see in this idiot, girl?

"I can imagine there's a lot of reasons ya don't wanna talk about life before ol' Gregory and Hilltop," Negan began, eyes unflinching from Csilla's own eye contact. "She one of em?"

Csilla stared at Negan in silence a bit longer, the only sound in the room being the soft click of the clock above the bathroom door, and the faint shouts of orders out in the courtyard. 

Good question, is she, Csilla?

"I... I killed her," Csilla muttered as she looked back down at the key, the frustration on her face too obvious. 

Both of Negan's eyebrows raised at that, the surprise in his expression genuine; he almost looked sorry for her.

It made Csilla's teeth ache, as she grit them nearly to the point of chipping one.

"Why?"

She thought of lying, she had already done so; too many times too count, at this point. However, there seemed to be no point to it anymore. What would more lies get her? How much of herself did she truly need to hide from them anymore? By now, she had been more honest with Dwight than she had with Negan, though the latter felt more temporary than the former. Csilla was sure Negan had realized by now - and if he hadn't, she might just have to kill him herself from sheer annoyance - that Dwight was no longer his, but instead Csilla had taken him. While she was certain he knew that, she was also sure that he did not understand exactly what that meant for him and his place on Csilla's list of priorities.

Standing from her chair with a soft sigh, Csilla moved closer to the bed, and turned her back to Negan, eyes remaining fixated on that damn key.

"She stopped me from killing our mother," Csilla said in a tone with equal rage and sadness to it, shaking her head. "Even now, I can't forgive her for that... it made me so fucking angry... it just happened."

There was a moment of silence from Negan, which was a bit shocking, admittedly.

"And the key? It was hers?"

Csilla nodded, turning back towards Negan and twisting the key between her fingers a few times. "It's the key to our old house. I had one too, lost it before I found Hilltop."

Negan sucked in air between his teeth, leaning back into the couch cushions again, this time slinging an arm up and over the back of it. He was silent again, thoughts probably crowding the inside of his head to max capacity, and Csilla let him have his moment to catch up and sort out what he needed to. This was definitely not her favorite topic to speak on, so she could be patient and wait for him.

"So... How the Hell did this little vigilante of ours get that key?"

"I do not know," Csilla said, shoving the key as deeply into the back pocket of her jeans. "But, I intend to find out."

---

A week came and went, with Csilla being absent from Sanctuary more often than not, the only explanation Dwight receiving when he asked being hunting.

Hunting... what, exactly? 

Dwight knew the answer all too well, but pretending that he didn't had far more appeal than the startling reality of things, so denial it was. Dwight knew Csilla was a predator, had figured that out awhile ago now, but lately she had been something else entirely. Tense was not the word for it, but it was a start in describing whatever kind of funk had laid upon her. 

Ever since the outpost.

Whatever secrets clung to that key she had found, from her tussle with the stranger that had caused her a first time moment of pause, were the source of her unease.

That's the word.

Uneasy, like a caged predator in a zoo, watching tender meat smile and point, tap upon it's glass, tease it with an easy meal. The overstimulation was nearly as bad as the under-stimulation she was receiving by needing to wait.

Dwight sighed heavily and flicked his cigarette butt over the chain link, watching it hit the puddle of guts and gore dripping from the Walkers, hearing it hiss as it fizzled out from the rush of liquid. He stared at it for awhile, oddly enough, the snarl and snapping of the dead that manned their walls having blended into a harsh hum, one Dwight supposed he was used to it by now. Though it caused chills, caused his heart to thump a bit heavier when he neared them sometimes, Dwight hardly gave them a second glance anymore, no longer only heard them when he opened his windows every now and again.

"Hey, Dwighty-boy!"

Now that... that was not something Dwight could ignore, could never, ever get used to.

Composing himself, Dwight turned around and tucked his hands into his back pockets, expression one mimicking true curiosity in what Negan could want from him. If the aforementioned man doubted his sincerity, he didn't show it, swaggering up to Dwight with that wide, wolfish, grin and Lucille slung over his shoulder.

"Need ya to do me a bit of a favor," Negan lowered his voice a bit, as if they weren't alone, or the Walkers would end up telling someone. 

"Uh, sure, what is it?" Dwight took his hands from his pockets, fingers on his right hand twitching subtly enough to go unnoticed. 

Negan smiled a bit wider, though Dwight did not see how it were possible in the first place. It was in the same, confusing ballpark as how he managed to keep his teeth so shockingly white.

"A group of our boys hasn't responded in well over an hour, want you to quietly grab a vehicle and go see if it's what we think it is."

Dwight wanted to say they knew damn well it was, but he was smart enough to keep his lips firmly sealed, and nodded in confirmation on his new orders. Negan nodded, that terrifying smile still plastered on his face as he pat a heavy hand onto Dwight's shoulder to give it a couple of pats before he turned and walked away. Dwight was thankful to not have the interaction dragged on much longer, always feeling a deep unease himself when Negan was in that sort of mood. It wasn't threatening, it wasn't sadistically playful, but it was tense and volatile, the wrong word enough to get Dwight thrown into the incinerator.

"Oh!"

God dammit.

"Dwight," Negan turned around to address him once again, though he did not approach again. "Save the bullets, take that crossbow ya found awhile back."

Dwight frowned, the soft throb in his shoulder not only reminded him of how he had just barely healed fully from the events of last week, but he also thought of how fucking hard that crossbow kicked. But, Dwight also knew that they were a bit low on bullets, and if he was also killed by these people, they couldn't get ahold of more guns and bullets from the Sanctuary. Dozens upon dozens of guns were gone, and the ammunition was a sensitive topic amongst Negan and the outpost leaders.

"Got it," Dwight assured Negan, nodding a bit as well.

Negan's gaze flickered a bit skeptically up and down Dwight, the latter clearly seeing the formers want to say something threatening, or perhaps just a bit sarcastic, but all Dwight received was a click of Negan's tongue before the man turned around and began to saunter off towards the door he had seemingly come from. Dwight waited for a moment or so after the door had shut to turn and head towards the armory, trying to think of what he would need to say to anyone that asked so as to not arouse any suspicion, something Negan could easily confirm when he had not given Dwight his own cover story.

He wasn't sending anymore groups, this was it.

The last time they had sent anyone out before this one, and they had only been gone three hours, maybe, was nearly a week and a half ago now. It would begin affecting the entire Sanctuary soon, but Negan did not need the panic to set in compound wide just yet, that's why send one man.

Quietly.

Dwight had not thought about the crossbow in months.

It had a bit of dust to it when he picked it up, his fingers leaving distinct smears around the stock. 

Not for me to choose.

"What the hell did he mean by that?" Dwight muttered, brow softly furrowed.

In between those burnt out trees, Dwight had been given an awfully generous second chance, from a man that seemingly spoke in riddles. It was surprising, because he looked like a normal redneck Dwight had seen a million times at gas stations since he was a kid, their truck broken down at the gas pumps, or they're being loud as fuck with their speaker system to the point that their back bumpers are about to rattle off.

This one was different, though, obviously.

The way he looked at Dwight had been so confusing, until he had met Csilla. 

Dwight understood, finally, just how many predators he had truly brushed against in his life.

---

The quiet that would be disconcerting for others felt like coming home for Csilla.

The sounds of the dead and equipment had been replaced with the soft rustle of the wind in the dead leaves upon the ground, and the soft snorts of deer somewhere nearby.

Csilla had found a small creek to rinse the fresh blood from her hands and fill her canteen, but she had found herself enraptured by the peace she had found within the forest that day. She had been slowly but surely extricating herself from Sanctuary over the last week, subtly leaving more and more, for longer periods of time, and this was the first time she had finally let herself step into the forest like this. Chasing the stranger, it had been easier to stick to the narrow roads to catch up than it was to follow them through the patch of woods they had chosen as their escape route.

She had the small thought that, if she had stepped into such a place once again, that she would not be able to return.

It was a complicated enough feeling to remember that Csilla frowned into the faintest bird call in the distance, and flicked the water from her fingers as she stood back on her feet again. She grabbed the axe from where she had set it on the ground beside her when she had found the small creek, giving the stream of water one final look before she turned around and began to retrace her steps back to the road.

She had found what remained of the convoy Negan had tried to send out, an attempt to retrieve ammo from a waystation that she had tried to talk him out of before she herself had slinked away from the grounds. 

"Gettin' pretty creative," Csilla mumbled as she came to the scene again, eyes dragging over the blood-stained road carefully. 

The swirling patterns had been made from a mix of body parts and smeared handfuls of blood, the streaks from fingertips visible the closer Csilla examined them. The men had been killed, obviously, all five of them left to turn, but they were nothing but torsos that groped at the air, their legs apart of the gruesome collage following Negan's men up and down every road now. The dead were truly dead now, even Csilla feeling her own sort of grief for the two teenagers she had to put down as well.

"How will you justify this one, huh?" Csilla murmured, nudging one of the boys limp arms with the toe of her boot. "Can't wait to hear just why they had to die, this should be good."

Csilla had thought this little song and dance had ended a long time ago, but it seemed as though this would not end; not until one of them was dead, perhaps. None had ever become involved before, however, and Csilla thought of what this meant for Dwight, his life, how long she could have him. He would surely become a target, when the smoke cleared. Csilla knew this was not about her, not at all, but it would be, once they had finished whatever problem they had with Negan.

"I wonder if you realize how difficult that will be," Csilla muttered as she turned to observe the vehicle approaching her. "Even without me here."

While Negan was a posturing fool to Csilla, he was every bit of raging predator to the people beneath his heavy hand, and that raging monster had a true army at his disposal. They had already begun arriving since the second convoy was killed, and Csilla had gathered that there were even more at various outposts and waystations, simply waiting for the call over the radio that they were needed. It was a smart play, keeping at least some of one's army on stand by, especially when Negan and his men were so privy with the information on where these other outposts and such could be.

"What are you doin' here?" Dwight asked as he shut the door to his truck, eyes squint against the sun as he approached. 

Csilla gestured with her axe, towards the gore on the road a bit behind her. "Found em before the blood could congeal or dry, put them all down myself."

Dwight sucked in air between his teeth after he had taken a long moment to stare past her and take in the sight before him. He did not seem particularly shocked, but more so annoyed at what this all meant.

Ah, I see why ya like him, girly, it's cool.

Csilla rolled her eyes, and Dwight gave her a confused look, but he didn't say anything about it. "Guess we can patrol the area together, eh?"

Csilla frowned a bit, but then she nodded, transferring the axe from her right to her left hand, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in her back pocket. She pulled the lighter out from the inside of the pack, plucking one of the three cigarettes left out with her teeth and sighed into the first inhale. It made her throat burn, and she hated the taste, but sometimes it just felt like a necessary thing for Csilla. She had never been a smoker - she had been smoking on the same pack for over a year - so getting used to the side effects was simply not on the table, and Csilla coughed a bit, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut as she did so.

"Hey, you good?" She heard Dwight ask, his voice and footsteps growing louder in his approach. 

Csilla waved the hand he tried to place on her shoulder away, shaking her head and taking a deep breath before she tried to blink her eyes open again. The light tears that had swelled up from the pressure made her vision a bit blurry, so she did not let her initial assumption of what Dwight held take hold until she dug her knuckles into both eyes, wiping away the tears into the collar of her shirt as she did so.

Her assumption was proven correct, however, when she could properly see.

Dwight seemed to notice the way she went rigid immediately, and his face turned to one of firm caution, but she saw his hands trembling on the strap of the crossbow he carelessly had slung over his shoulder. 

She almost swung the axe at his head, but Csilla managed to retain control over herself.

"Where did you get that?" Csilla whispered, her expression one of barely restrained rage, the calm trembling at the edges every now and again. 

Dwight did not move for a moment, though it felt like an eternity.

Only his eyes moved at first, flickering to the edge of his vision, where the strap was, then to Csilla's face. 

"Shelly and I tried to leave once," Dwight admitted after that silence, his fingers still fidgeting around the worn strap. "Few months before you came along, was trying to get her sister out of here, and ran into this guy in the woods."

"What was his name," Csilla whispered, eyes a bit wide and unsure.

"I don't know," Dwight muttered, head slightly bowed when he could no longer look at her.

Csilla's mouth had never been so dry, her throat contracting with the same sensation as rubbing sandpaper on a raw wound. Her fingers flexed and squirmed around the handle of the axe, her breathing beginning to pick up in it's pace as her gaze slowly tore itself from Dwight and flickered to random fixations around them; a raven flexing it's wings overhead, the ripple in the tall grass when the wind swept through, a dead limb falling from a tree in the distance.

"You get him killed?" She asked after another torturous stretch of silence between them.

Dwight immediately shook his head. "No, no he...he got away when they caught us."

Csilla inhaled deeply, the exhale doing nothing to quell her shaking, and that seemed just fine in the moment. Her mind was an encapsulation of emotions, mostly ranging from rage to desire, something pulling her off into the distance, though she knew not which direction it wanted to take her.

There was also something else there, though, beneath the surface, something Csilla had never thought she was feel before - trepidation. It soaked into every fiber of her clothes, every follicle of her hairs, every pore in her skin, the sinew of her bones. There was a tension in the air that Csilla had not been able to place, haphazardly misplacing the feeling on her own cravings and the old ways she was currently re-transitioning to. Her calculations had let to the logical conclusion that her unease was due to any other factor but the most obvious, because Csilla did not believe in the simplistic. The answers had never been so for her, in any aspect of her life, so why would they do so now?

"Was he -"

"I need to think," Csilla cut him off, staring off down the road, opposite Sanctuary. "I'll be...around."

Dwight tried to say something to her, but Csilla only raised the axe in genuine threat, continuing to walk away from him as she did so.

He's alive.

"I knew he was alive," she whispered, eyes focused on the distance and unblinking.

Go find 'im.

"He will come to me," she said it with concerned conviction.

---

"We need to do something about this," the Stranger muttered, watching Csilla distancing herself from the burned man.

"I ain't doin' anything about her," their partner muttered, eyes wide and a bit unfocused on some memory from before. 

The Stranger sighed, but did not push the subject any further, reverting back to the silence the pair had been sitting in for the last several hours, waiting for their work to be discovered. Their partner had begged for them to move on, go home, tell everyone just how bad the situation they had gotten themselves into was, but the Stranger refused to retreat.

It was foolish, they knew, to waste the second chance Csilla had given them.

And, still, they sat there, they refused to retreat.

This will have consequences, the voice whispered in the back of their mind, but the Stranger ignored it.

"We could grab him?" Their partner suggested half-heartedly.

The Stranger looked over to the burned man, the one still staring blankly after Csilla, even though she had been out of sight for awhile now. Even from this distance, they could see the confused, lost, sadness in his face. He looked so defeated.

They wondered how long he would sit there, waiting for his master to return.

"No," the Stranger muttered, reaching back without tearing their gaze from the burned man as she searched for their journal. "No, we don't need to go anywhere near him."

There was silence between the pair for awhile, as the Stranger scribbled away into their journal pages and tucked it away once again. The thing had become a heavy weight in her pack, especially now, with recent events imprinted upon the pages. 

While they had known this situation would end up being a larger problem than the rest of their group had thought it would be, coming across Csilla had escalated it far past their expectations. Following her to Sanctuary had made it far worse. They needed to be careful, as there was no escaping what they had already started, but the urge to simply pack everyone up and flee was strong. If the others knew Csilla was here, the situation would spiral into something unstoppable, something where no one but Csilla won.

Can never have that, can we?

"We need to head home," their partner urged, the fear evident in their voice, but the Stranger remained unmoving. "Au-"

The Stranger turned with surprising speed, hand covering their partners mouth, expression virulently pointed at them; their partners wide, blue eyes were filled with trepidation. The behavior was not entirely out of character, but just enough so that the emotion was valid in the moment. 

"No names," the Stranger insisted in a stern tone, eyes lifting to look around a bit, assure they were unwatched still. "We cannot break our own rules just because we are nervous."

There was a slight pause, and the Strangers partner nodded, a frown in place when the Stranger retracted their hand. They both looked to the burned man after that, the soft trill of birds and the rustle of wind in the leaves the only things willing to break the silence. He had not moved still, but he was staring down at the toes of his boots now, and it was hard to see the expression he retained at the moment. They were losing time waiting for him to make his move, and the Stranger was sure that Csilla was somewhere nearby, just close enough to hear something trying to kill her precious prey.

"We can't just sit here forever," the Stranger murmured, shifting their weight a bit to prepare to get on their feet. 

"What do we do now?" Their partner asked, mimicking their movements.

They lapsed into silence once again, the pair slowly shuffling their way from their hiding spot without disturbing the foliage and such so much as to give away their presence. The question had not been forgotten, still hanging in the air between them, patiently waiting to be answered once they were in what they deemed a safe spot to begin whispering amongst themselves again. It was an old shack they had decided to stop at, the rotten remnants of wood still standing straight from their cobblestone foundation green and slimed, festering with a myriad of insects that were so obvious that the locale was a questionable one, even with such few options.

"I am still set on waiting for the others like we had planned, but," the Stranger paused as they fished the battered walkie talkie they had buried within their bag. "something tells me that is a worse idea than leaving."

If they left, they lost their eyes, they lost the heads up that was provided by eyes in the field, but staying continued to push them towards the various dangers roaming this domain. Csilla was out here somewhere prowling around, keeping a watchful eye on her prey, and for new. And Sanctuary was beginning to mobilize. There was a true army preparing itself against what it only sees as the unknown, when in reality they were going to destroy what little the Stranger and their sparse people had.

"Hey," they said softly into the walkie speaker, eyes flickering around the distance they had eyes on; their partner held their rifle tight, nervous gaze scouring the trees and such as well. "Hey, you there?"

There was a pregnant pause before any words came through, causing a rush of relief to attempt and push the anxiety from their body. "Yeah, we're here, but we got a problem."

So much for the relief.

"What's wrong?" The rush of anxiety that followed her words was nearly palpable in the air. "Is everyone okay?"

"We don't know, we're going to Hilltop to see." Another pause, faint, garbled words in the distance on the other end. "Dad and the others are packing up right now, how far out are you guys?"

"About three hours away," the Stranger groaned, sweat beginning to build up between their skin and the clothes they were. "Fuck."

"Look, we'll be headed that way, just start heading towards Hilltop. We'll be waiting for both of you."

The Stranger nodded, though they could not see it, they realized, and cleared their throat before they could respond again. They had not expected anything out of the ordinary when checking in, and that was yet another foolish comfort to rely on - they knew by now how unpredictable their world was, before and after the end of the world.

"We're coming," they finally said, licking their lips. "Be safe, okay?"

A soft chuckle from the other end, the deepness to their voice a sad reminder of the passage of time; where that realization had come from was unknown, but it lingered in the air without being spoken on.

"You too, we'll see each other soon."

Nodding again, they turned off the walkie and looked to their partner, pausing in their action as ice itself seemed to flood their veins. The sudden onslaught of fear was far more intense than what they had felt moments ago, hearing of even more complications to their lives.

"I told you to leave," Csilla said, bored gaze languidly moving from the Stranger, towards where her axe glinted against the soft skin of their partners' neck. "I thought you were smarter than this, but I guess you need more time, huh?"

"Don't -"

Csilla cut them off with a sharp look, the glint in her eyes begging them to give her an excuse. 

"Perhaps I overestimated you, thought you, at least, were smart enough to not make assumptions about what I am," Csilla continued, the blade of the axe slowly dragging down the others' neck, causing them to whimper. 

The tension was so thick in the air that the Stranger was sure they could have cut out a slice with their knife. They tried to formulate a plan that didn't end with one of them dead, but not a single scenario played out the way they wanted it too.

Csilla would win.

She always wins.

Notes:

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

Chapter 9: Birds Of A Feather

Chapter by FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

oh honey. Inside my blood and bone
and their network of tendon and meat
we have,
you and I, our histories of hunting
and being the beast.

Notes:

Gosh, it took me FOREVER to get back to this, but I finally did.
This chapter was a particular pain to get out because it, sadly, was always destined to be a bit shorter than these last few were meant to be. But, the next chapter is a MONSTER, so there's that lol

"I was nineteen when I met him, the one that helped me understand just what I was."

Stale air and short, rapid breaths - it was something that utterly delighted Csilla. 

An enraptured audience for her baleful monologue, there was scarce that gave her such pleasure. The way her victims recoiled in silent protest to her proximity, their wide eyes unable to look away from her beautiful, grotesque view of the world and hobbies. None had yet to deny Csilla the attention she craved. As impossible as it seemed, Csilla had long ago become something of a modern day siren.

"He was a powerful predator, one that did not shy away from the life he knew he was meant for - did not shy away from what he was meant to be. Everyone has their role in society, and ours was culling the herd; we were your so-called natural selection, or, at least, one of its ever-reaching hands. Like, his first bitch, for example - why would she get in a vehicle with someone like him? I'm sorry, neither of you got to meet him, right? I forget. Let's just say, he was the thing your parents warned you to look out for when alone at night, and this stupid gash hitches a ride with him. Ha! Now, would you not consider that natural selection?"

Her body was heated with pleasure, the taste of blood fresh on the backs of her teeth, despite the lack of the substance.

Memory did that to her.

Every remembrance was as fresh as the moment it had happened, despite the years that stretched between then and now. Remembering was not something Csilla had cared for when she was hiding, because here memories triggered every part of some creature like her did not need when she could not hunt. Hilltop was no hunting ground, neither had being alone on the road, though she had her fun along the way.

Negan had been a temptation she had not been able to resist, despite the show she had put on for Paul. She truly did like the man, though he was not prey; a complex relationship Csilla did not want to pursue.

"We were wanted for awhile, I can't tell you how many years. They all seemed to blur together at a certain point - up until the end of the world, ya know? I had made him bring his brother into the mix, he was still trying to resist his natural urges until then, and after that he was a masterpiece. We were proud of him, I more so than him, and we had plenty of feasts throughout our Hunt. That one I had to pull out of them, though it was less of a fight than getting the other to simply give in to The Hunt. Of course, his younger brother was the last to consume, but he did not hide his delight in the finality of transitioning into what he truly was, which... I will admit, it made me adore him even more than I thought possible."

The listless, yet fond, sigh Csilla gave at the memory was surely something to squirm about, and they did plenty of that, but remained fully, horrifically, enraptured by the web Csilla weaved before them, the confessions she had let them become privy to. They seemed more alarmed at the blissful smile that had been lingering on her face this entire time. She supposed it wasn't every day you ran into someone that would probably be studied by psychologists for millennia, but stranger things had happened - like literal zombies - so why were they so shocked?

Especially you?

The brunette before Csilla had remained steady in her shock since Csilla had rounded on them on the roadside, where they had been watching Dwight, but she wondered just what part was so shocking at this point? The confessions? The reunion? The situation? There were a myriad of other reasons as well, and Csilla was beginning to have the faint realization that it was, most likely, all of the above.

"What the fuck happened to you," they asked her, and that made Csilla chuckle menacingly, brows arched together in pity. "You weren't -"

"You didn't know me," Csilla cut them off, a bite to her words, a sharpness in her eyes. "It's as simple as that, you silly girl."

The words visibly stung the brunette, but Csilla only tsked in disappointment. "You saved me?"

Now that made Csilla's jaw clench, if only to corral the words that threatened to spill forth, but the tension had already filled the shack she had found for them in the dark forest. It had been deathly quiet without Csilla's rambling monologue no one had asked for, not even the sharp snap of twigs or rustle of leaves in the distance to break the silence. It made for an uncomfortable atmosphere on it's own, but, without Csilla's merry confessions spewed forth, it was worsened as her mercilessly calculating gaze no longer wavered from their face. 

"I cannot save you this time," Csilla finally whispered, once the faint croon of a raven had faded into nothing once again. "You understand that, right? I cannot intervene."

"But you can -"

"I would never interrupt another's hunt, not like this," Csilla cut them off again, standing from the chair she had drug across the otherwise empty room upon their arrival. "You started it, this time, and I am not here to clean up your messes."

"Consequences of your own actions and all that bullshit, yeah?" The brunette scoffed, eyes flickering towards the shattered glass of the only window that lay on the floor. "You choose now to be -

"You -"

"Stop doing tha -"

"You," Csilla slammed the head of her axe into the wood of the floor, making the pair before her stiffen up, the brunette glaring at her in silence. "started this. What? Thought you were were so big and bad that you were unstoppable? That none would meet you with the same resistance you would give? That is silly."

It made more sense now, however, where the sense of strength came from. 

Made me feel unstoppable, too. 

"You'd actually... kill us?" The blonde spoke, finally, big, doe eyes something Csilla had not missed.

"You especially," Csilla said, leaving the axe handle to wobble slightly as it remained upright, her attention pulled outside. "He's back."

There was only silence that followed Dwight, something Csilla had not realized he was so capable of; given his past altercations. He had gotten his ass beaten so many times, in such a short amount of time, that one could easily believe he had no idea how to handle himself. Csilla smiled softly as she watched him merge through the darkness, the moon flickering her gaze upon him occasionally in his approach, until he was inside of the shack, enveloped by subtle darkness once again. 

It was better in the dark.

When he looked at the two women, on their knees, with their hands tied behind their backs, Dwight's expression remained one of distance. Csilla had questioned his ability to handle this, but she often forgot he was a Savior for a reason.

Perhaps Csilla simply waited for him to prove unworthy of her attention.

Dwight shook his head and looked up to Csilla, fishing the walkie from his back pocket and holding it out for her to take.

"Didn't find anything out there, time to call it in," he said, slouching into the rickety chair Csilla had been sitting in. "He's gonna be tickled pink, eh?"

Csilla chuckled, nodding as she leaned back against the wall behind her, lifting the walkie to her mouth. "Hey, ya there?"

Silence.

Csilla and Dwight shared a glance, but when he shrugged, she just called again and waited.

"One day you'll pick up," she teased into the other end of the speaker, eyes shifty as they observed the still forest outside.

Those within the ruined shack remained silent as they all eagerly waited for a response from the other side. Csilla watched the pair shuffle and spare each other glances that conveyed useless planning. Dwight was busy watching Csilla, and the door, but mostly her, and the increasingly fidgety response from her body that the silence induced within in her. A finger tapping against the side of the walkie-talkie, toe of her boot tapping just lightly enough to be of little importance to their hostages. 

Hostages, Dwight mulled the word over and over again in his mind as his eyes slowly dragged over towards the pair. What kind of hostage stares at their captor with such well-rounded resentment?

The one with the dark hair consistently shared venomous glares with Csilla, though she recoiled when the latter stood from her chair, only teasing the other girls with her presence, taking an abrupt turn and rounding back towards Dwight at the last second. Dwight saw the disgust on the blondes face once Csilla could no longer see her, but Dwight saw.

"Hey, what the fuck is going on?" Csilla snarled a bit behind her words, standing in front of the door with her free hand clenched into a tight fist. "Someone better answer this God damn walk -"

"Hey!" When Simon's grating voice came through, Csilla's shoulders tightened up. "Sorry about that, thought Negan woulda told you - the big man himself let me borrow his."

Dwight stood from the chair, approaching Csilla to speak over her shoulder as she held the walkie up for him. He couldn't hear her breathing, her gaze somewhere far away, but present as well, the heat of her skin radiating in their closeness.

"The fuck happened to yours?" Dwight asked.

Simon could be heard grumbling something beneath his breath, the quality of the speakers making it impossible to decipher what he had said then. "Dropped mine while we were preppin' the roads, damn log rolled right onto it and squashed it."

"Where is Negan?" Dwight asked, taking the walkie as she gestured for him to. "We got two of em already."

"Well, isn't this a fun coincidence, Dwighty-boy! I also got a few of em myself."

Dwight released the button on the walkie to sigh without Simon hearing him, unable to handle prolonged conversation with the arrogant prick. Even as he acknowledged his role in his new life, he still tried to act like he was owed more, as if Negan would somehow step down and put Simon in charge if he just deep-throated Negan's boots a bit more. It was exactly why Dwight had inserted himself into the conversation when Simon picked up - Csilla would kill this stupid motherfucker.

"Fuckin A, man," Dwight tried to sound even a bit enthused by Simon's success, but he was too focused on the sound of Csilla prying her axe from the floor of the dilapidated shack to be devote his attention completely towards the conversation. "We'll take these two to the meet-up, yeah? Try to get word to Negan to call back -"

"And fucking hurry," Csilla spat out, a snarl to her tone, wrenching her axe from the floorboards and swinging it around to point at the girls. "On your feet."

The girls shared a glance, causing Csilla's right eye to twitch a bit, her knuckles going white around the handle of her axe. The brunette seemed to notice this, as she nudged her blonde companion and they struggled to get to their feet with their hands tied behind their backs. The glare shared between Csilla and the brunette made the air in the shack heavy, thick with tension and... something else, something Dwight couldn't quite put his finger on. 

The blonde knew.

The way she looked between the women in front of her, the blonde knew exactly what this was and... she looked absolutely terrified of what would come next, not what could.

They know each other.

Dwight kept his composure when Csilla reached forward and grabbed the blonde by the arm, eliciting a sharp yelp of surprise. The brunette no longer glared at Csilla, her eyes filled with fear instead, knowing full-well what the monster was capable of; perhaps more, judging by the way her hands instantly began to shake. Csilla's expression morphed into something like pleasure, eyes going soft and hazy as she finally got the reaction she was looking for in the brunette. Dwight could see her tremble some herself, though it appeared as little more than a full-body chill; one that curved her spine, and made her knees a bit weak for a moment. The soft sigh that escaped her lips caused her to relax, but her grip around the blonde's arm only tightened more, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Csilla -"

"Shut," Csilla cut her off with a soft pop of her lips, her expression pleasant, but her eyes as sharp as ever; forever a predator. "the. fuck. up." She looked over to Dwight. "Get the door, and take this one."

She shook the blonde a bit, causing the girl to wince and brace herself, fingers tightening into non-threatening fists' against the small of her back. Dwight did as instructed, grunting when the blonde was thrust towards him the moment he had the door open. Csilla grabbed the bound wrists of the brunette and shoved her forward as well, making Dwight and his hostage the leader of their little party. 

The soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots once outside caused Dwight to cringe a bit, wondering just how far the sound carried, but he refrained from letting the worry get too out of control.

Csilla was here.

The silence that overlapped with the sounds of their steps was occasionally disturbed by far off commotion - soft pops of deliberate gunfire, the chilling crunch and collapse of trees being cut down, the harsh cackle of machinery it's unharmonious partner in the chaos.

There was more than all of that, though, all four of them knew that well enough. There were other roads to be cut off, other stops to be made, more of their party to be rounded up like cattle to the slaughter.

When they had gotten word that an RV filled with strangers had been spotted headed towards Hilltop, it was all hands on deck. 

Familiar faces, familiar enemies, and Negan would not be swayed from his hunt. Resistance was not something he could let go, could never just move on, so they needed to be reigned in, in whatever insane display was deemed necessary to the boss.

Csilla had sparked the first of the movements, calling in not long after about how she had caught the prey she had been hunting for so voraciously. Negan's joyous giggle over the radio was enough to send anyone's heart racing, the sound filled with the unrelenting joy of what he was now able to do, what he had been aching to do since they had lost the first group of men out on the roads. Walkers didn't leave scorch marks so deep in the asphalt that its impossible to peal the severed limbs from it, but people could, and Negan did not like others touching his things, not like that.

"You'll just let him die then, huh?"

The brunette has some balls on her, jeez, Dwight thought, shaking his head, but refusing to give into the urge to look over and see Csilla's reaction. He could hear her teeth grind together through the silence of the woods, and perhaps that was enough for Dwight to know just what kind of reaction it had elicited. 

"I would never," he heard Csilla say, but still kept his eyes forward; who are they talking about? "I'll get him out, without spoiling the other ones fun. He's been lusting after you in particular for awhile now."

That seemed to finally clam up the brunette, drawing Dwight to break his restraint and glance back at her a bit.

Her eyes were a bit wider than when they simply rested, and there was a deer-in-the-headlights type of emotional mix within them. Even looking at her, Dwight could tell she had cotton mouth already, her lips visibly dry in the moonlight that dared to peak at them from between the clouds just on the horizon.

It was just in time for the show.

"You can stop this, you know?" The blonde mumbled softly at Dwight's side, as if that mattered.

Csilla's soft head tilt towards their direction was indicative enough that she clearly heard the girl, but the fact that she didn't say anything yet made Dwight curious. So, he indulged in the stupid girls pleas.

"Oh yeah? After you killed a bunch of my friends?" He snorted, his words filled with a half-hearted honesty. "I don't think so."

"If we'd known -"

"Wouldn't make a difference," Dwight grumbled, nudging her ahead of him a bit more. "Woulda been hunted soon enough."

"H-How bad is he?" The blonde whispered after a short moment of silence. 

"Compared to... what, her?" 

The blonde's soft nod made Dwight chuckle a bit, which earned him a glance from the pair ahead of them. He wanted to say something about the way both Csilla and the brunette shook their heads at the same time, but he was, honestly, more focused on what a ridiculous question he had just been asked. Only once Csilla and the brunette had turned around did Dwight look over at the blonde again, seeing the glassy, fearful look in her eyes.

"How do ya think anyone can compare to that, if you know her?"

The blonde stared forward, presumably at Csilla, with her lips lightly parted in a retort she couldn't complete.

---

Negan had been eagerly awaiting Csilla and Dwight's arrival for around an hour, fiddling with things here and there within the RV they had easily overtaken the moment those assholes had split up off of the road.

Thought they could still get away, Negan's inner monologue giggled in the otherwise silent space.

Negan was too giddy to think of much more than that, his hands shaking as he held the can of Spaghetti-O's he had found in the cabinet overhead. He sighed and tossed the can aside, listening to the dull thud it made when bouncing off of the carpet, his attention brought to the drivers seat, Lucille in the passengers seat. He sunk down into the drivers seat, leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers around the steering wheel.

"Shoulda sent them with a vehicle," Negan grumbled, hearing the silence outside, knowing Csilla and Dwight had not arrived yet. "Shit's taking too long."

Csilla and Dwight were far from the only ones to not show up, but they were, of course, the ones Negan was most eagerly waiting for. 

I have her.

Three magical words that had turned Negan into a kid on Christmas morning. 

Ever since the first display was discovered, Negan had found himself obsessed with the "artist". He had wanted nothing more than to get his hands on them, twist them up, show them what it meant to do such things to his stuff. Csilla had graciously put in the footwork for his little endeavor, and, boy, had she fucking delivered.

"I do love my little bird," Negan hummed, flipping down the vanity mirror and smiling into the reflection, the lights that warmed his face. "She's the best huntin' dog a man could ask for."

Csilla had done in days what had taken his men weeks to even scratch the surface of.

"Guess there's a reason she has her own lil posters," Negan muttered, closing the vanity and shrugging his way out of the driver seat, plucking up Lucille as he did so.

Negan had seen the wanted posters, the news stories, the special broadcasts made by Most Wanted and all that - Csilla was a wanted woman before the apocalypse.

When he had seen her at Hilltop, Negan was sure everyone else had thought his interest was lust, but it was more like a teenage girl seeing their boy band idol in the flesh; Negan had felt his heart skip a damn beat. He knew damn well Csilla had seen what he was, seen what he wanted from her, and the fact that she had went along with this little charade as long as she had was surprising. 

How she hadn't ripped Gregory to shreds was beyond Negan's comprehension. 

What kind of promise did you make, Little Bird?

Negan pulled down the blinds a bit, peering out into the small clearing they had set up shop in, smirking a bit when he saw Eugene all slumped to the side, though he remained firmly on his knees. Fear was a big motivator for this one and, soon, it would be for the rest of his little group.

A sharp whistle caught Negan's attention, a curious, yet bored, expression melting over his features as his eyes roamed towards the direction of the noise. Negan smiled a bit when he saw Simon and his boys shuffling in, the annoying pride on Simon's face being shown as a cocky, wide, smile that he flashed back and forth to the lower ranking men around him. His own group of men rolled their eyes behind his back as they pushed the blinded captives out of their van, but they were all business as Simon instructed where to force them to their knees. 

"Turnin' into quite the line up," Negan muttered, eyes drawn to the flash of lights through the trees in the distance. "Just in time..."

Csilla and Dwight came through slowly, Csilla pushing the captive she was guiding along towards one of the men and barking muffled orders at him before she began her approach to the RV. Dwight shook his head as she stomped ahead, doing the same with his own hostage before he morphed into the crowd that, slightly, hid within the tree line; it must have been getting close, the big finale.

When Csilla entered the RV, she slammed the door shut behind her before she collapsed into one of the bench seats where the fold out table was. Her axe remained firmly gripped in her left hand, the annoyance on her face something Negan couldn't miss. She was silent, staring forward, but not at anything in particular. Negan didn't hesitate to say something to her, he just gave her a moment to stop breathing like a caged animal; as if she wasn't the one that had come in, in the first place.

"What's wrong?" He asked after a few moments had passed.

Csilla didn't look at him right away and, when she did, she only peered at him from the corner of her eye. 

That particular moment seemed to stretch on forever, definitely far longer than Negan was comfortable with. He had yet to be uncomfortable around Csilla, so this was not something Negan wanted to last much longer. But she insisted upon it, unmoving and unrelenting in her piercing gaze, the utter loathing settling within there not directed at him, but unsettling nonetheless. Eventually, Csilla looked away, and Negan had to compose himself before he almost let out that heavy sigh built up in his chest. 

"We have a few problems," she muttered, shaking her head a bit. "Nothing I can't handle, but problems, still."

Negan furrowed his brow. "What kind of problems?"

"I know who they are," Csilla said, her voice soft and lost in a layer of old thoughts and memories. "Some of them, anyway."

That explains her rage. 

Csilla preferred to keep her past to herself and, now, it would have no choice but to boast of it's life before Negan found her perched over Hilltop. How many of these people still knew her? Just what did they know of the elusive beast? Negan was giddy with the thought, but that could all come later. Csilla could keep her past to herself just a bit longer - it was almost like waiting for that perfect Christmas present. 

Negan hummed a bit beneath his breath, lowering Lucille down to press the tip of her into the carpet of the RV, slowly closing the small gap between them until he could lean onto the table in front of her with his left hand propping him up. Csilla stared forward still, an unimpressed expression resting on her face now; who was it for, exactly?

"Well, what you wanna do with em?" Negan asked, his voice low and steady, not needing to verbally express his desires.

Csilla's gaze flickered over to him, if only for a moment, before she sighed and shrugged, nudging him out of the way so that she could stand once again. Negan obliged her want, stepping out of the way, but remaining as close as he was sure she would tolerate. The heat radiating from her body was delightful, her hands scarcely shaking through the darkness that enveloped them so nicely.

Oh, Little Bird...

"Kill them."

I'll do anything for you.

---

The moist heat of her breath against the cloth bag brought up more memories than her captors perhaps realized.

While it used to make her panic, the brunette had come to find the memories as something to ground herself, and it kept her thinking clearly. It kept her focused on their surroundings, kept her aware of every separate set of shuffling feet and huffing breath, the soft whimpers of familiar voices so close that she felt as though she could reach out and touch them, but her restraints reminded her of the contrary, and it made her angry.

Her heart had already been keeping an irregular pace for well over an hour before they had been found.

When they had gotten the call about an emergency run to Hilltop, over the baby of all things, there was already enough stress. They had not been there to help, and she felt like it was her fault they would all be caught, and the baby would be lost. 

The echoing call of a raven overhead caused her to tense up.

Forty and two... Another call, from both sides. No... more than that.

She could hear them all talking, just far and low enough to be hard to make out more than a fear chunks of their individual sentences at a time. Nothing made sense the more she listened, so she tried to focus on something else, anything else, but the impending doom that was steadily coiling up in her gut. Despite this effort, the weight of that feeling still sat heavily within her, causing only more dread to pile onto it with the anticipation that stretched into the unknown. 

Are we going to be killed?

It was the most likely outcome.

How many of us did they get? All of us?

She could only hope some of them made it out of these woods, but that hope was swiftly followed by doubt when she thought of Csilla.

She would never let them get away.

Even when she swore off this hunt, Csilla was still rounding up her new boyfriends prey. 

Suppose we can be grateful it is not her hunt.

The scattering cacophony of ravens caused the brunette to perk up, but not in a positive manner, as slowly, but surely, the Saviors surrounding them began to whistle. 

"Welcome to the show," Csilla's breath ghosted over her shoulder.

Notes:

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

Chapter 10: Cataclysms.

Chapter by FloodFeSTeR

Summary:

The only time I ever see
her
is when she's behind me
in the mirror.
Even from a distance, I
can hear her.
Try to listen, but her
whispers make my ears
hurt.

Notes:

It was so hard to be patient and get to this lol I'm so excited to get to the later portion of this long ass story we're trying to tell you guys.

!! Please Read !!

Now, things do indeed have to get a bit *serious*, I guess, because this is where the tags need to be taken VERY seriously. The tags I put on this story are not meant to just fill anything out just because - this is a VERY DARK story, so please PLEASE read the tags again to remember what can come up.

Like, cannibalism, for instance. VERY GRAPHIC cannibalism.

The scent of blood was thick in the air, a moist heat for it to cling to with the humid Georgia winds wafting in and out of the open windows. 

A small, nearly rundown, shack in the middle of the mountains none were thought to live in echoed with a soft, lilting voice; the open windows and doors only carried the woman's voice further into the trees, caught between the ridges of the mountain. No vehicles sat in the yard - she was alone and that was just what she had wanted; some time to tend to her most fascinating of hobbies. She had such little time lately to simply indulge herself.

Life had become so hectic since she and her two partners had moved into the mountains.

Even going to the store took upwards of two hours with the drive alone, and that was if traffic was easy hat day or not. But, this girl wasn't too bothered by the small, every-day things like that, not right now. No, what bothered her was what she had heard on the radio a few hours before, about the increase in officer related shootings in nearly every city or town across the country.

She hated cops.

"...hush a bye my baby go to sleep on daddy's knee..." a soft grunt as she closed the tools around bone, breaking the femur she was working on in half. "Journey back to Dixie Land in dreams again with me..."

Blood dripped slowly from her elbows when she lifted bone to her eyes for inspection, her pupils dilated in excitement. The floor she sat upon was covered in a thick tarp, taped up against the walls for extra clean up ease, and blood made the plastic slippery, but she had no need to get up. Cold air drifted in the sliding glass doors to her left, and out of the windows to her right, causing the fresh, dead, meat to emit a faint steam; even the blood on her hands seemed to smoke, that in her hair as well. She found this fact extra fascinating, rushing her hand to disrupt the steam every minute or so, dispelling it over the fresh flesh laid before her. The lifeless eyes that stared at her from the nearby severed head made her skin crawl, but only because she was ashamed she had forgotten it so easily when it was only just out of her line of sight.

She took great pride in her work, and forgetting was not something she was okay with.

Reaching with parted teeth, she pried off a splinter of bone that hung from one end, gnawing it softly between her sharp teeth as she delved back into the corpse splayed out before her, bare hands feeling through for whatever her mind told her she needed to find - nothing ever seemed to quell this particular hunger, not yet, anyway.

"Oh, it seems like your daddy was there once again," she continued to sing, a stark contrast to the acts she performed. "And the old folks were strumming that same ol -"

"You know I hate that fuckin' song," the sudden boom of a male voice did not startle her, but made her perk up instead. 

She gave a chuckle before she spit the splinter of bone from her mouth, craning her head back to watch him approach, looing up at him with a mischievous smile when he stood over her. She could see the hard bulge in his jeans, but it meant nothing more than for show; that was never a line they cared to actually cross. They only knew it was there, following them everywhere they went, as though it taunted them.

"Now, what kinda project ya got goin here, honey bun," he asked as he ruffled her messy hair, crouching down beside her. 

She shrugged, looking back down at the mess she had made. "I was getting itchy waiting for you two to get back." A pause, her head tilting to the right a bit as she examined the body. "I saw him at the bus stop outside of town a few times. I couldn't resist any longer."

A gentle chuckle for her; only her. "That's fair enough." He grunted as he stood back up, looking back over his shoulder when they could both hear someone else's boots stomping across the floor. "We didn't find shit out there, but something's goin' on in town."

Her brow furrowed, carefully pushing herself up to her feet on the wet tarp, her toes squishing through the gore. "What do you mean?"

"Military rolled in over night," the older man informed her, the pair looking to the doorway as the younger male of their trio entered the room. "They'll be lockin' down the roads and shit soon, so we gotta skedaddle 'fore anyone knows we're even here."

She nodded, her expression stern and focused. This day would have come eventually, as it had done so many times since they had been hunting together, but they all knew it was different this time. Yes, they were concerned about being recognized with the sudden influx of miliary presence, but they also knew something big was happening. They had seen the newspapers, heard the gossip around town, but had yet to run into the virus that was spreading like wildfire through the country. 

"Can you feel it," she whispered, a grin beginning to spread over her face. "Can you both feel it?"

"Feel what, baby?" The older man asked, earning a deadly glare from the younger one. 

She shook her head, giggling a bit. "The end."

---

Eyes closed tight, breath held until her lungs were fat and full, burning for release, Csilla tried her best to conjure up any memory similar to how this moment made her feel.

She could not.

Csilla's life had been a long, sordid mess of major events, and yet none had quite made her tummy coil up the way this one did. 

The whistles echoed between her ear drums, brain processing the melody into something comforting, where she was sure it was having the opposite effect on their captives. That was the intent, after all, to instill fear and doubt, perhaps some shock and awe, but Csilla could only see the show performed before her. Negan and his dramatic entrance were only stopped by the flimsy door in front of him, the moron too busy hyping himself up to notice Csilla leave the RV; even if he noticed, she did not care.

Lights flooded the clearing, turning the tree line into nothing more than a dark, cold expanse where no faces or shapes could be made out. The light made it seem as though the whistles came from nowhere, the steady rise in volume enough for Csilla to know there was an order to this, an almost practiced method of dealing with the ones that couldn't tow their line in the new lot life allowed for them. 

Csilla's predatory eyes strayed across the line up being laid out before her, her steps bringing her closer and closer as the captives were forced to their knees in the dirt, the bags over their heads flopping as they turned their heads back and forth, as though they would be able to look through the sacks if they just found the right angle. This effort only served to make them look foolish, causing Csilla to simply shake her head in second-hand embarrassment a she stalked down the line, analytical eyes trying to note familiarity in the rest of their bodies.

She stopped before one of the captives, the last in line to her left, and crouched down before them. Wrapping her arms around her legs, knees snuggled up to her chest, she listened to their panting breaths through the sack and the whistling - a woman, unknown. Csilla reached forward, plucking the bag from the strangers head, and stared blankly into the startled black woman's eyes for a moment before she stood and moved onto the next in line. A big man, with a mean expression, one she had seen a few times in her life - military, perhaps? It didn't really matter, she knew Negan would kill this one - he would be too much of a problem.

Csilla did not even have to move to see who was next, they made eye contact from where she stood in front of the strange man. 

She was sickly, gray and shaking, hair cut off, but there was no mistaking the face looking up at her in a delightful mix of shock and horror.

Their eye contact was only broken by the sound of doors opening, and Csilla saw two people being pulled from the back of the nearby van, only finding one unfamiliar face within. The pair looked terrified at first, and then they saw her and it was shock, confusion and the look of finally that Csilla had been patiently waiting to return to her.

"Cs-Csilla?" Glenn whispered, his eyes a mix of unfamiliar emotions. "What the -"

Csilla looked away, realizing the others had stopped whistling when the van had been emptied, and saw the door to the RV swing open.

"Now, baby," Negan began, emerging from the shadows within the RV, his pleasant smile the first thing she managed to see. "Startin' the party? Without me? The birthday boy?!" Negan shook his head upon approach, snickering a bit. "Spoiler - it's not my birthday!"

Csilla rolled her eyes, reaching out for her axe that he presented. "You were so engrossed in looking your best, I did not want to interrupt. Plus," she paused, looking over at the others being unmasked. "just wanted a minute with the old gang before, well..."

Negan chuckled and pat her on the shoulder, but his eyes were combing over the faces before him, lingering on each of the women in particular.

When Csilla had told him she had caught his little rabbit, she could not help but tease him with one of the most important details - for him, anyway. He had already been obsessed before, Csilla was sure it wouldn't have mattered if it was a man doing this - he had found a kinship in whatever message he saw in those mosaics of horror. Negan just wanted whomever had been marking up his territory, wanted to bond with them, and it being a woman was just the cherry on top of it all for someone like him.

"Now, which one of you has been leaving their nasty fuckin' calling cards all over my roads and my men?" Negan cooed, a darkness in his irises that mingled with his giddy curiosity. "Come oooon, I just wanna have a one-on-one with ya, shoot the shit and all that."

The line up remained silent, their eyes flickering more towards Csilla than Negan as she stalked back and forth behind him, her axe lazily dragging in the dirt behind her. Negan arched an eyebrow when he noticed this, looking back and watching Csilla for a moment, then back to the line up, and back to her again before he sighed and shook his head. 

"So, new topic - hi there, I'm Negan, the one that has ya on your knees?" Negan arched an eyebrow. "I wanted to have a little meet-n-greet before I had to bash one of your brains in, for the principal of it."

That seemed to regain some of their attention, though it could have been just because Csilla finally stopped pacing and now just watched. Negan didn't know what to do with it, he had never had the attention snatched away from him like that. Sure, most in Sanctuary looked at her in preference of him, that same awe there, though not mingled with horror like what was before Negan. And he had lost Dwight to her so quickly, though Negan didn't care all that much about him, anymore. But, the way these people looked at her? It was infuriatingly transfixed, with more than just history between them, and Negan has to grind his teeth to keep his composure when he still did not retain full attention at his threat.

But, he did not know what they knew, not even half.

He may have known about before, what the media would release, but that was when she was working within the confines of the law. Without it? Oh, Negan was sure this group had seen enough to cause a worthy case of shared PTSD when Csilla was involved.

They looked at her like one looks at a wild animal: wary with its intent, curious to it's next action, some asinine hope that they were special.

"Now, who is my little artist, my Picasso?" Negan looked to Csilla fully this time, catching her undivided attention, as he so enjoyed. "They act like imma kill one of em, or something."

Csilla snorted, a ghost of a smile flitting across her face, before she raised her axe from where she had stuck the head of it into the ground and walked around Negan, past the boy with one eye, and to a brunette woman that had yet to take her eyes off of Csilla. When Csilla tucked the head of her axe beneath the girls chin, she tried to jerk away, and Csilla twisted her grip a bit to better press a part of the sharp blade towards the brunette's throat. She stilled then, lips a bit curled back over her teeth as she glared daggers at Csilla.

"This one," Csilla said, emotionless expression enough to make Negan's dick swell in his jeans. "Augusta."

Negan sucked in air between his teeth and smiled as he approached, his pearly white teeth seeming to make the girl uncomfortable when she stared at him too long. 

"So," he crouched down in front of her after Csilla had retracted her axe. "You're the one thats been stringin' my men up."

His deep, angry, voice made Augusta visibly tense up, but her eyes fought to remain hardened when looking into his. She still did not speak, keeping her lips tightly puckered inwards, gaze flickering over to Csilla every now and again before Negan snapped his fingers to catch her full attention once again. When Augusta looked at him, her eyes were immediately drawn to the bat he settled between them, digging the grip of it into the ground as he grinned widely.

"You see this? This," he grunted as he pushed himself up to his feet, adjusting himself to be standing directly in front of her. "This, is Lucille, and she...is awesome." He twisted her back and forth in front of his face a couple of times, smiling down at Augusta. "She's a woman of many, many, talents - getting you're fucking attention being one of them, but she can do so much more! Bashing in brains, for example."

He pointed Lucille down towards Augusta's face, watching it fight to refrain from showing any reaction, but her nose and lip curled a bit, and she couldn't stare at it for too long without having to quickly look down at the ground, but she made quick progress in the minute that passed and was preferring to look up into his eyes instead of down at the ground. It made Negan arch an eyebrow, this little display of hers, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what interest this had peeked in him.

Then, she had the nerve to try and attempt to look bored with his display.

It made his teeth grind together a bit.

"It ain't gonna suck itself, ya know?" He bit out, the reaction he gave even seeming childish to him, but Negan stood by what he said and gave her the most venomous glare he could muster.

He could see her hesitation to retort, but it was as though she could not help it herself.

"Yeah, that would be what gets your panties all wet, huh?"

Negan felt his brow twitch. 

"You two are seriously going to have this kind of conversation right now?" Csilla barked at them, her livid expression making Negan snap out of whatever had come over him. "I told you to kill them, and you said you would do it."

Negan swallowed thickly, his expression smoothing out into something icy and cold, unlike the warm, but dangerous, persona he had on moments ago. Looking back down to Augusta, he made sure she saw it as well, and he could see the regret of her outburst truly sinking in now that the heavy silence was all that hung between any of them. Then, the sound of Csilla's boots shuffling over the dirt and rocks, the subtle sound of her axe handle slipping across her palm as she adjusted her grip with one hand, approaching the massive man with the red hair in front of her. 

"I want them all dead," she whispered, unblinking in her eye contact with the strange face.

"Csilla, what the hell?" Another one of the captives piped up, making Negan throw his hands in the air a bit. "We haven't seen you in -"

"It doesn't matter," Csilla cut him off, hand raised and shaking; she was trying her best to keep herself contained. "None of this... matters."

"Excuse you," Negan interjected, his expression one of disbelief. "This is my party, and you're that kid that wants to blow out my candles."

Csilla rolled her eyes again, but snapped out of whatever she had found herself in, moving back and closer to the pair that had been pulled from the van. Negan grumbled a bit, adjusting himself and running a hand back over his hair, thoroughly annoyed with the break in character - how badly did she not want these people to talk? He knew she was a hungry little bird, but what did they know of her that she so desperately did not want spoken of? What part of her past did they have a hand in that she wanted erased so badly?

Or did she just prefer living in the mystery? 

No, she wouldn't have helped him hunt if that were the case.

"Now, if you are all done with your little outbursts?" Negan looked around, waving Lucille in a wide arch over their heads; their wincing gave him butterflies. "See, we aren't just here to catch up on old times, or plead for your lives - we're here to settle. this. shit."

Negan enjoyed the attention that returned to him, but he didn't let that show on his face. It remained stoic and firm, his eyes slow and methodical as he raked over the desperate faces before him. The shock of Csilla was slowly beginning to wane, and Negan could see the reality of their situation fully sinking in. His eyes lingered on one of the men, his quivering shoulders, his feral-dog type of expression. Looking over at Csilla, she nodded before Negan had even fully turned his head, which caused him to grin and return his own attention to the terrified masses before him.

"As you just gotta know, this one right here?" Negan took a swaggered step back, hand landing upon Csilla's patient shoulder. "Is an excellent fucking hunter, I mean wow - the progress! My men have been trying to reach you for weeks, and you've been declining like they're one of those old spam calls." 

Negan tsked and shook his head, but gave them a wide grin.

He was so happy he was shaking.

"But I finally just let my Little Bird out of her cage and she. fucking. delivers."

The looks of betrayal pointed at Csilla made Negan chuckle a bit, but only because of the annoyance clear as day on her face when he peered at her from the corner of his eye. If they had known her, why were they so surprised? Did she hide herself from them too?

"Now, now, don't get mad at her - that's just what she is," Negan scolded them, pointing at them with Lucille.

When she bobbed closer to their faces, each one of them cringed away from it, save for the giant red head, of course. No, he was looking at Csilla, and Negan could tell exactly what he was doing - he did not know her and, therefore, thought he could do something about her. Negan arched an eyebrow at this, fully looking to Csilla to see her reaction, and she was keeping an eye on him as well. Despite this, she was relaxed, at ease in her newfound freedom.

One of these the one you made that promise to?

Negan's eyes roamed over their heads as he stepped away from Csilla, slinging Lucille up onto his right shoulder upon approach. Most of the attention was drawn back to him at this action, but the red head continued to hone in on Csilla.

"Lil Red Riding Dick over here is pissin' me off, I gotta be honest with ya, folks," Negan ground out between his teeth, the red head finally looking at him again. "You really think this is where you need to test your luck? I mean, you already tried that on the road, and it didn't work out very well now did it?"

Negan saw the muscle in his jaw tick slightly, but the red head kept his little worm lips tightly sealed. Negan grit his teeth, fingers tightening and flexing around the handle of his bat, but he didn't swing like he wanted to. No, no that would be too predictable, and Negan wanted to really shock them. They had to be made to never forget the consequences of breaking Negan's shit, and that meant he had to think outside the box a bit with this situation. 

"Sweetheart," Negan chirped, spinning around on his heels rather abruptly. 

Csilla looked away from the group, her hazy gaze making Negan smile a bit wider. 

"How much force do ya think would be appropriate for this little transgression, hmm?" Negan sauntered closer to her, watching her gaze slowly move back towards the people kneeling before them.

Csilla remained silent as she adjusted her grip on her axe, lifting it up a bit so that it did not scrape against the ground as she walked closer and closer. Her steps were silent across the dirt and gravel, muscles flexing and rolling like the stalking little monster she was, and then she stopped in front of the man with that feral, scared, dog look on his face. His eyes had been focused on nothing, lost in that head of his, still trying to figure out a plan to get him and his people out of this. When Csilla stopped in front of him, the brunette, Augusta, tried to rise from her knees, but Csilla rushed to put her in her place, kicking the girl in her knees and sending her face-first into the dirt. Augusta grunted angrily as Csilla pressed her boot against her right shoulder, keeping her pinned down with minimal effort. Augusta attempted to struggle though, dirt flying up around her face as she exhaled in and out at sharp, heavy, intervals.

"You need to learn your place," Csilla said in a monotone voice, pressing her boot down into Augusta's shoulder until she gasped and stilled herself. "You continue to pick the worst moments to be stubborn."

"Fuck you," Augusta huffed, eyes squeezing shut as Csilla pressed down more.

"I will break every fucking bone in your body, Augusta, do not test me." 

Csilla's tilted her foot back and dug her heel into Augusta's shoulder blade, causing the girl to cry out in pain, loud enough to make the man with his scraggly fucking beard nearly have the thought to rise to his feet. However, Csilla knew that he was smart enough to remain right where he was, his priorities showing clear in his eyes when he looked at the boy next to him, and then to Augusta writhing on the ground beneath the violent woman's boot. Csilla tsked, and suddenly lifted her foot from Augusta's back, causing a gushing sigh of relief to send dirt flying up in her face; though it temporarily blinded her, it was preferred over the pressure Csilla had exerted upon her. 

Csilla lifted her axe to her left shoulder, making unblinking eye contact with the man with that scraggly fucking beard growing on his face. He trembled a bit as she took the two steps to close the distance between them, hesitant to lift his head and look at Csilla.

"I told you, Rick, that if I ever saw you again, I would kill you, yeah?" Csilla crouched down, tongue snaking out to wet her lips, head cocking softly to the side. "So, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Rick blinked a few times, mouth agape as he floundered, trying to find the right words but coming up short. When he closed his mouth to gulp loudly, Csilla shook her head in a disappointing manner, scratching at the back of her neck as she did so. Rick shook softly as he lowered his head, the mix of emotions on his face something one couldn't quite describe right. There were too many memories, too much history, between her and these people that Negan wasn't quite sure what to call that expression currently resting on him. 

When he looked up at her again, Rick could only muster one word. "Why?"

Csilla tensed up a bit, as though she did not expect such a question, but that faded quick enough and was replaced by a smile. 

Finally, Rick had settled on an emotion - fear.

"Because I said I would, silly goose."

---

It was hard to hear above the sounds of her fathers radio behind her, but there was a soft trickle of dust with every step that moved above her, and it made the brunette tremble once or twice in anticipation of her own next move, let alone the intruders. 

The soft crackle of jumbled voices that spewed from the radio made her hands tremble, knowing it could be heard through the otherwise silent home; father was out back, preparing with the others to leave on the helicopter they had sent for the pair. She was alone in the house, and giving away her position to the stalking monster that grew ever closer, shadows stretching across the cheap wood paneling of the basement staircase. Her hands shook on the table as she braced her back against it, her mind and body screaming at her to turn the damn radio off, but she simply could not.

Her body was currently noncompliant.

And, besides, would it matter? Now? With the looming figure moving steadily closer, their descent of the stairs theatrically dramatic, giving away their identity and only making the girl even more terrified? There was no point in trying to hide herself by now, and it would never matter - the monster was always close behind, and never lost her trail. 

"... it seems like your momma was there once again, and the old folks were strummin' that same ol' refrain..."

The lullaby that trilled out from the intruder was achingly familiar, but she did not know its name, and it was the least of her concerns at the moment, huh?

When the monster came into view, emerging from the shadows like some demon looking to make a deal, the brunette completely froze. Her lungs burned not long into this response, her eyes the only things able to function as they soaked in the bloody visage before them, and the equally bloody axe clenched tightly in their wet hands. The smile on their face was sickly sweet, brimming with excitement and surprise - they had not expected to find her? They swayed on their feet, head tilting back a bit when they both heard a door swing open somewhere upstairs, the soft chatter of someone talking to themself being muffled out by the radio that still spilled useless, garbled, words behind the brunette.

"You are not supposed to be in here." The intruder purred, canines showing brightly through the blood that dried on their face. "What will daddy dearest think?"

"You are not supposed to be here," the brunette retorted, though her breath trembled when the words tumbled out. "Father -"

"About that dear ol' dad of yours," they began, lifting the axe to cradle it with both hands, twisting it just enough to catch a glare from the fluorescent lights hanging above them. "What do you think he'll do if he sees me first, huh?" They looked up at the brunette. "Do you think he'll choose you or himself?"

A fair question, but one the girl could not answer, only because they both heard the door to the basement open once again. The intruder grinned widely, spinning on one heel to look up the stairs and wave up at whoever it was that had opened it - the brunette knew it was her father, though, judging by the monsters excitement. 

She's always been crazy, hasn't she?

The brunette grit her teeth, braced herself, and dared to launch herself at the monster just as her father came down the steps. The look of shock and horror on his face as his daughter got the intruder to the ground was something she had never seen before, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered but surviving, and that was not something she could accomplish with the monster in her way.

"Augusta!" Her father shouted, his hand coming down to wrap painfully into the bend of her elbow and try to drag her away from the monster. "Get away from her, now!"

But, the monster had a tighter hold on Augusta, teeth bore and glaring with their face inches apart due to the grip she had on the hair at the nape of her neck. It was unsettling to be so close, to have to look so deeply into the eyes of true evil, but it was thankfully over in a surprising amount of time as the monster... let her go. 

The sudden release caused Augusta and her father to tumble into one another on the stairs, but Augusta was not nearly as slow as her father with reaction time and she began to drag him away and up the stairs. The monster slowly rose to her feet at the bottom of the stairs, the harsh scrape of metal against concrete as she dragged her axe along in her rise; she had not broken eye contact with the petrified father the entire time. 

"You won't see her there, you know?" The monster growled gleefully when the pair stopped at the top of the staircase. "Whose blood do you think this is, anyway?"

Augusta's stomach rolled as the monster cackled this belly-aching type of laugh, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes as the laughter began to die down and she smiled up at them. There was little of her not soaked in blood, so Augusta's imagination could not conjure up what the scene must look like, wherever her remains may be. 

"I wanted to eat her heart," the monster said wistfully, swinging her axe up to her rest upon her left shoulder. "But, you know, she didn't have one."

Father stumbled backwards from the door at the confession, shaking his head back and forth softly, lips parted like he wanted to say more, but he was never able to speak to this one. 

I know he loved her, Augusta thought, eyes going back to the monster. He'll break...

"Go," the monster ordered, expression smoothing out into something Augusta did not quite understand, so she did not know what to call it. "Do what you must, I guess, but I will find you, Augusta," the monster promised. "You don't have much longer, anyway."

Confused, but smart enough to know when to take her openings to survival, Augusta grabbed her father tightly by the sleeve and began to drag him from the lodge.

Safer with my own monsters, eh?

---

"Man, you have to say something," Glenn whispered just behind Negan, who listened with greedy intent. 

A harsh snort from the man beside him, the one draped in a ratty blanket. "The fuck you want me to say to her?"

"Anything, man, come on," Glenn urged, the panic settling in his voice only making Negan want to smile even more.

Silence from the other man, and a frustrated groan from Glenn ended that conversation.

Negan looked over his shoulder at them, Glenn not noticing at all - too focus on staring at the shaking, sweaty, woman just down the line from him. But the other one, oh, he noticed before Negan had even turned his head. When they made eye contact, there was no expression to his face, but the stranger had enough placidity to make Negan furrow his brow a bit. He wanted to turn on him, swing Lucille down in one, quick, blow to end that annoying fucking look, but a firm grip on his wrist brought him down from that train of spiraling thoughts rather quickly. 

"Focus," Csilla said, her tone giving absolutely zero wiggle room for push back.

Negan looked over, not realizing that Csilla had approached him, and he felt a chill run through him at the emptiness within her oversized pupils; they made her eyes seem black. 

"I am -"

Before Negan could finish his sentence, Csilla was turned and braced for the impact of the red Head after he had launched himself up from his knees. A loud roar came from the bear of a man as he tackled Csilla to the ground, the growl coming from her throat something near inhuman as she was easily dwarfed by him. Negan jumped back, holding up a hand and pointing to those remaining in the lineup when they tried to stand so they could be rushed and forced back to their knees by the Saviors.

"Interfere and you'll only piss her off," the man behind Negan said, causing him to look back into that same, annoying, placidity he had wanted to bash in before.

However, Negan listened and merely watched as Csilla and the man struggled on the ground, her lanky body exuding much more resistance than anyone would expect. When she managed to get her legs between them, Csilla kicked with all of her strength, headbutting him in the process and causing the red head to fumble back onto his ass. Csilla's top lip quivered and curled up as she rose to her feet, wiping the blood from her nose and reaching down to grab her axe from where she had dropped it in the process. Before she could raise the axe though, he kicked a leg out from under her and brought the girl down, his experience exuded in every movement as he worked to try and corral the snarling young woman. 

Does he think they'll get out of here if he wins against her? Negan wondered to himself, side stepping as the pair rolled back to where he had been standing, the red head holding back the bar of the axe Csilla tried to press into his throat now that she was on top of him. No, that's not it, now is it?

Csilla stopped suddenly, panting heavily as she straightened her back and glared down at the red head. 

He knows that if we lose her, we lose an advantage.

The red head remained still on his back, lips drawn into a tight line, but his own panting breaths stuttered and, when Negan saw the blade sticking out from the other mans ribs, a tingle of pleasure radiated up Negan's spine without hesitation. The red head shakily ripped the knife from his side and Csilla leapt backwards from him when he tried to strike at her with the pitiful knife.

Once back on his feet, there was some sort of satisfaction in the red heads eyes, until there wasn't. 

Csilla had struck forward in his effort to stand, the entirety of her left hand covering his face, and she used all of her strength to throw him back down to the ground. The knife clatter away, and blood formed balls of dirt beside him, the small beads dispersed in tiny spatters of blood when Csilla slammed her boot down onto his chest and caused the red head to flail on the ground a bit. Csilla's nostrils flared at his attempts and adjusted her foot to dig the heel of her boot into his sternum, causing blood to now spatter up against the back of his teeth and lips. 

"Stop!" One of the women in line shouted, foolishly tempting to stand, but she was dragged back down to the ground by her hair from Dwight. 

"I did not say you could fucking do that," Csilla hissed at the red head, her eyes filled with malicious intent. 

Negan groaned a bit beneath his breath as he watched her work, jaw lightly slack and lifted into a faint smile at the corners, eyes sparkling when she lowered herself down to straddle the pitiful bulk of a man. Csilla raised her axe to look at, shrugging and tossing it off to the side, to land at Rick's knees, before she returned her gaze to the man beneath her. The fluidity in which she moved was serpent-like, in a way, though Negan still caught glimpses of the wolf running it's meal ragged before the kill, the cat teasing the mouse before the final strike. When she caressed the hair and cloth from the mans neck, Negan had nothing appropriate to say, so he fought like hell to keep his lips as tightly sealed as the red head.

But, for a brief second, she looked at him.

Negan felt the hatred flicker within his chest, eyes momentarily locking with placidity once again, before he saw Csilla sink her teeth into the red head's throat.

The man's eyes went wide, but nothing came from his mouth but the overflow of blood with nowhere to go anymore. A shriek came from one of the black women, her face a mixture of sobbing horror and devastation. Rick and the others, save for Augusta and that man, looked on in utter horror; Eugene vomited all by his lonesome near the RV. Skin went pale, chills were visible from all that Negan could see in the shine of their lights, and it made Negan more giddy than he could explain; he didn't even know why this chain of events had turned him on so much, Negan wasn't really one for cannibalism, but whatever flicked her bean, so long as he could follow dutifully behind the monster.

When Negan looked at Dwight, he wondered why he was getting that same look in his eyes that Negan had. Why was he suddenly so achingly familiar with the level of violence that Csilla adored to indulge herself within? 

When did ya fall in love, Dwighty-Boy?

Negan could hear the beginning of her laugh, though it wasn't something one would first deem happy unless they knew this girl at all. Slow to grow in volume, it was a sharp and almost hysterical-sounding thing; her teeth shone through the viscera that had accumulated in the short time she had been clawing at the - now dead - man beneath her while everyone watched on in horror. The blood and tissue dripped from her hands as she lifted her right hand to her neck, eyes fluttering closed as she rolled her head around on her neck for a moment or so. She was in her own world, one even Negan did not understand, but he just adored seeing her happy, and this was the first time he had ever seen that.

He had never seen the look on her face anywhere else, save for in bed.

Her audience continued to watch her performance, the silence of the forest around them only adding to the heavy nature of what they were witnessing.

Steam ebbed out from the mans gaping chest, from the fresh blood Csilla smeared upon her skin, the heavy spray that ended up in her hair. Negan was transfixed as she sunk her teeth into his heart, the whites of her eyes seemingly gone, consumed by the flex and flare of her pupils and iris'; it was almost unsettling in itself. Her feast was all that could be heard, wet noises and trills of happiness that none could believe they were witness to.

As Csilla flicked the small remaining chunks of gore at the ground, she began to laugh again, the look on her face almost sad, though it also resembled some sense of relief, as though she were saying finally. 

Notes:

So whatcha think? You love it? You hate it? Let us know!

I know it only took about a million years to get here, but I really do hope you all enjoyed the beginning of this series. Part II will be posted not too long from now, and it will have more information on the story as a whole (such as series length, *possible* crossover status and such, just as examples).

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of I, Carrion