Wrath

Warmth.

That was the first thing I felt as I stirred awake. The sun peeked through the cracks in the curtains. But it wasn't the sunlight that made me linger in that space between sleep and waking. It was him.

Daryl's arm was still wrapped around me, his chest moving steadily beneath my cheek. His hand rested low on my back, fingertips pressing against my skin. For the first time in what felt like forever, we were waking up knowing Negan wasn't looming over us.

I tilted my head, finding him already awake. His hair was a mess, strands falling into his eyes, but the moment they met mine, something shifted. Relief. Maybe even disbelief. Like neither of us quite trusted that Negan was actually gone.

But even without him, it wasn't over.

Not yet.

"Hey," I whispered.

His fingers brushed along my jaw, rough and tender all at once. "Hey."

He hadn't even finished the word before his lips were on mine. Slow at first, like we were both savoring the taste of the morning and the weightless quiet that came with it. But then his grip tightened, and I melted into him. The kiss deepened, every lingering ache and exhaustion from the past few days fading beneath the pull of him.

I ran my fingers through his hair, and he exhaled softly, the sound vibrating against my lips. It wasn't desperate - it wasn't about needing to escape or forget. It was something else. Something that felt like relief. Like gratitude.

We broke apart just enough to breathe, but his nose stayed pressed to mine. The scent of him, earth and smoke, lingered.

"He's gone," Daryl said, his voice low, like the words still felt strange to say.

I nodded, brushing my thumb along his jaw. "He's gone."

Daryl swallowed hard, his fingers tightening against my sides. "Ain't over."

"No," I agreed softly. "But it'll be easier now."

The Saviors had followed Negan because they feared him. They thought he was untouchable. But we proved otherwise. Without him, their strength was fractured. They could fight, but we'd fight harder.

Daryl's thumb traced along my cheekbone, his gaze searching mine. "We'll finish it."

"We will."

He kissed me again. Slower, softer. Like we had all the time in the world.

His hands moved, fingers tracing the curve of my waist, then slipping beneath the hem of the old shirt I'd slept in. His calloused palms were warm against my skin, rough but careful. He kissed me deeper, his thumb dragging slowly over my hip. My own hands roamed up his chest, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the heartbeat that still thudded strong and steady.

But then he slowed. I felt the hesitation before he pulled away, his forehead still resting against mine. His breath was ragged, lips parted, but his hands stilled against my sides. I opened my eyes, finding his filled with something I couldn't quite place. Guilt, maybe. Or worry.

"Ya okay?" His voice was low, almost timid. "Since..."

He didn't say it.

He didn't have to.

My chest tightened a little. I knew he was thinking about the miscarriage, how my body had barely begun to heal. And now, even in this moment, when it was just us and everything else felt like it had fallen away, he still put me first.

"Daryl," I whispered, cupping his face. "I'm okay."

He swallowed, his gaze flicking down before returning to mine. "When is it okay... when can we..."

The question came out so shyly, his cheeks just a little pink beneath the scruff of his beard. My heart ached, but I smiled softly.

"Whenever we're ready," I said, my voice steady. "And I'm ready. I feel fine."

His jaw tensed, like he wasn't sure whether to believe me. "Don't wanna hurt ya."

"You won't." I brushed my thumb over his cheek, grounding us both. "I promise."

He searched my eyes, still unsure. But I leaned up, kissing him softly, reassuring him without words. His hands tentatively resumed their path, fingertips skimming my waist as I arched into his touch. It was gentle at first, but that spark between us grew. Every lingering fear and weight we'd carried seemed to melt away.

My nails grazed down his back, and he groaned into my mouth. His hands roamed with more confidence now, pulling me closer until there was nothing between us but warmth and want.

But before we could lose ourselves, the sound of distant commotion shattered the moment.

Voices. Yelling. Muffled but urgent. It was faint at first, but the sharpness of it clawed through the walls.

Daryl's body stiffened, and I felt it too - that instinctive knot of worry.

He was straight on his feet, tugging on his boots without hesitation. I moved just as quickly, the adrenaline from days past surging like it never left.

The yelling grew louder, echoing through Hilltop like the distant rumble of a storm. Daryl and I didn't waste time. The peace we'd woken up to was gone, shattered by the reality that Negan might be dead, but the rest of the Saviors weren't.

And they weren't going to take this lying down.

Daryl yanked open the door open. I caught the hard set of his jaw, the frustration brewing behind his eyes. The man who had collapsed into bed last night, utterly spent, was gone. In his place was the one I knew all too well - the fighter. The protector. My husband.

The shouting grew louder as we rushed outside. My heart pounded in my chest, the remnants of warmth from Daryl's touch long gone.

We didn't speak as we crossed the yard, the weight of what was coming hanging thick in the air. People gathered near the gate, a mix of fear and determination etched on their faces. The guards kept their hands close to their weapons. I spotted Carol among them, already scanning for us, her expression tightening with concern the moment she saw Daryl.

"S'goin' on?" he asked her.

Carol shook her head, her lips pressed into a grim line. "Saviors. One of 'em's here. Said he wants to talk, apparently. Don't know who."

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Talk?"

I could almost hear his thoughts. The Saviors didn't come to talk. They came to threaten. To demand. And with Negan gone, they'd be desperate to prove they still held power.

Rick emerged from the crowd then, his face just as tense. "We're not givin' 'em a damn thing. Not this time."

"Damn right," Daryl muttered.

But I saw it in him - that barely restrained fury. Negan may have been the one to swing the bat, but the Saviors were the ones who enforced his rule. They burned homes. Took from families. Stole lives. Just because Negan was gone didn't mean the fight was over.

Glenn climbed the guard tower, needing to see for himself who the visitor was before he'd grant them entry. His face was unsure.

"It's Dwight." He called over to Daryl and I.

We looked between each other.

Daryl considered for another few moments, then, "Let 'im in."

"You sure?" Rick asked.

Daryl nodded, and the guards began opening the gates just enough for Dwight to enter on his motorcycle, closing them again behind him. The bike rumbled to a stop, dust swirling in the morning light.

He kicked down the stand, swinging his leg over and landing on the dirt. People gathered quickly, half in curiosity, half in dread. He'd helped us end Negan, but the man still wasn't welcome here - not after all he'd done. Not after the suffering he'd helped inflict.

But Dwight wasn't here to fight. I could see that much. His hands were raised slightly, though not in surrender - more like he didn't have the energy for anything else.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice tight. His eyes flicked to me before settling on Daryl.

Daryl didn't answer. Not at first. The tension between them was suffocating, like a storm teetering on the edge of breaking.

"Then talk," Daryl finally growled, his voice low.

Dwight swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. "Simon."

The name alone was enough to make Daryl's fists clench. Merle stepped forward, his usual scowl deepening. Rick was there too, silent but watchful.

"I went back," Dwight continued, his eyes never leaving Daryl's. "To the Sanctuary. Grabbed a few things before anyone could find Negan."

A ripple of realization passed through the crowd. Negan's body would surely have been discovered by now.

Dwight's face was tense, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Simon's already makin' his move. I heard him talkin' - he's told 'em Negan's dead, and now he's in charge. He's rallying what's left. They're comin'."

Rick stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with steel. "When?"

"Soon. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow." Dwight shook his head. "He's gonna hit hard. Make an example out of ya."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. People murmured anxiously, fear flickering across their faces.

"We'll be ready," Daryl said, his voice steady but seething. "Ain't nobody takin' this place."

Dwight nodded, though the doubt lingered in his eyes. "I came to warn you. You can believe me or not. But Simon won't stop until he gets what he wants."

I searched Dwight's face, looking for any sign of deceit. But all I saw was exhaustion. Regret. Maybe even shame.

Daryl didn't say anything else. He was staring straight through Dwight like he was still deciding whether the man in front of him was worth sparing. But there was no denying the truth.

Negan was dead. But the war wasn't over.

I moved closer to Dwight, keeping my voice low. Daryl followed me automatically. He wasn't about to let me be alone with him.

"Have they found him? Do they know?"

"Seems that way," Dwight replied. "I didn't stick around long enough to find out."

"Go back," I said firmly.

Dwight shook his head. "I can't. They could know I was involved."

"You want to keep trying to make up for what you did to my husband?" I didn't wait for an answer. "Then go back. Find out more."

Dwight sighed in frustration. He glanced at Daryl.

"They'll kill me if they know."

I scoffed. "I don't care."

"Okay..." He took a deep breath. "I owe you all." He glanced at Daryl again. "I owe him."

"Yes. You do. So go."

He nodded, more at Daryl than me, then turned and walked away.

~

Dwight returned the same afternoon, bearing not only information, but a map. It detailed the Saviors' plan - roadblocks designed to trap us. Worse yet, they were already putting it into motion.

"You've probably got an hour," Dwight said grimly. "Then the plan is to attack when all your escape routes are cut off. Simon isn't taking any chances."

Rick's jaw clenched. "So we get there first. Take the groups out one by one before they know what hit 'em."

"Leave 'em lower on numbers," Daryl added.

"We'll have to do it quietly," I said. "No alerts. Hand-to-hand."

"Will have to be anyway," Daryl grunted. "We're damn near out of ammo."

So here we were - me, Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Merle, Tara, Siddiq, and Rosita - crouched low in the trees. Everyone else able to fight was back at Hilltop, preparing the defence.

We took down the first group without much effort. They were few and weak. It played on my mind - it was easy, too easy. But when Rick pulled another map from one of the bodies, showing an extra location, there was no time to dwell on it.

"New location's closest," Rick announced. "We head there next."

A field stretched wide ahead of us as we approached. Long grass swayed in the breeze. Rick led with fierce determination, while Daryl stayed close, crossbow ready. Every muscle in his body was tense - like he could feel it too.

Something wasn't right.

I gripped my knife tighter. The map pointed us here, but it felt wrong. Too open. Too quiet. No birds, no insects - just an eerie stillness.

And then we heard it.

A sound that made all our blood run cold.

Whistling.

It cut through the air, distant at first but growing louder. That sick, twisted melody I'd never forget. My breath caught. Memories slammed into me like a punch to the chest.

Hershel. Abraham. That night. The clearing. Negan's bat.

The ground beneath me felt too solid, too familiar. I forced myself to breathe, blinking through the panic. But the whistling continued, curling through the air like a cruel taunt.

Daryl heard it, too. His face darkened, teeth clenched. "They knew we were here!" he growled. "They fuckin' played us!"

I glanced around. Everyone looked terrified.

A crackle came through Rick's walkie, sharp and mocking. Then Simon's voice.

"Thought you were clever, huh, Rick?" His laughter dripped with satisfaction. "Hate to break it to you, but you fell right for it - you're surrounded. Again."

I whipped my head toward the ridge. And there they were.

Saviors. Dozens of them. Lined up across the crest of the hill, guns raised. The sunlight gleamed off the barrels.

Eugene. He must've made bullets for them like he was supposed to do for us.

My stomach twisted. We weren't just outnumbered - we were trapped.

"Shit," I snarled under my breath, my voice trembling with barely restrained rage. "We've walked right into their hands."

Daryl's knuckles whitened around his crossbow. His eyes flicked across the line of Saviors until they locked on one figure. His lip curled.

"Dwight."

But something was off.

"No," I said quickly, grabbing Daryl's arm. "Look."

Dwight wasn't standing with the others like a soldier. He was bound. His wrists were cuffed, his face bruised and smeared with blood. They'd caught him.

"They're makin' him watch," I whispered.

Daryl swore under his breath, guilt flickering through his glare. Dwight had tried. He'd warned us. And now he was paying for it.

"Count of three," Simon's voice crackled again, smug. "Then we paint this field with whatever's left of ya."

My heart pounded.

"One."

Daryl's breathing grew rougher. Rick stayed still, jaw clenched. My gaze flicked to Daryl, and his eyes met mine. Was this really how it would end?

"Two."

I tightened my grip on my rifle. If this was it, I wouldn't go down without a fight. Daryl moved closer, grabbing my hand. Two squeezes.

I'm here. Love ya.

"Three."

The Saviors fired.

Or tried to.

The first cracks of gunfire were quickly followed by chaos. Rifles exploded in the shooters' hands, metal shrapnel bursting in every direction. Screams rang out. Some dropped, their weapons malfunctioning catastrophically.

Eugene. He did it.

Simon's smug grin twisted to horror as Rick's voice boomed, "Go!"

We charged.

I sprinted alongside Daryl, the rush of adrenaline drowning out everything else. My heart pounded, my hands steady. Daryl moved like a force of nature, his crossbow deadly and precise. The rest of us were using knives, slashing and stabbing as soon as we reached them.

Through the smoke, I spotted Eugene - the traitor - but he wasn't fighting. A female Savior charged at him, her face twisted in rage.

Then, a shot rang out. The woman crumpled.

Rosita.

She lowered her rifle, her face set. Another shot. Another Savior down. She didn't hesitate.

Wait. Were the malfunctioning guns orchestrated by Eugene? It would make sense.

Daryl's voice snapped my focus back. "Rick!"

My gaze followed his, and I saw them - Rick and Simon. Bloodied and desperate. They grappled near a tree, a cracked stained-glass window hanging from its branches like some twisted monument.

Simon slammed Rick back, his grin twisted. "You thought it was over, huh?"

Rick didn't answer. His chest heaved, his hands trembling. But then, his gaze flicked down. A jagged shard of glass lay beneath the window.

In one swift motion, he snatched it.

The glass plunged into Simon's neck. His eyes widened in shock as blood poured from the wound. He staggered, clutching at his throat, but no words came. Just the sound of his own choking breath.

Rick stood over him, chest rising and falling. Simon crumpled to the dirt.

It was done.

Rick's voice rang out, loud and resolute. "Savior rule is over!"

The remaining Saviors, their weapons ruined, slowly raised their hands. Some collapsed, too wounded to stand. Others simply stared, stunned.

Rick pointed to the distant horizon, where the shambling forms of a massive walker herd shifted.

I hadn't seen it until now, and the sheer size of it made my jaw drop.

"You want to survive?" Rick called out. "Then you fight with us. Or you die."

No one argued. What remained of the Saviors were surrendering.

Rick's words still echoed in my head.

Savior rule is over.

I felt it physically - the weight we'd been carrying for so long finally lifting. No more looking over our shoulders. No more fear of what came next. It was done.

Daryl was next to me, his chest heaving, his crossbow hanging loosely at his side. Sweat streaked through the dirt on his face, and another fresh cut along his temple still dripped, but his eyes - they weren't filled with rage or pain anymore. Just relief. Pure, undeniable relief.

For a moment, we just stood there, both of us breathing it in.

Then, without a word, he grabbed me.

His hands tangled in my hair, rough and desperate, as he crashed his lips to mine. The force of it nearly knocked the air from my lungs, but I didn't care. I gasped against him, my fingers gripping the leather of his vest.

It wasn't gentle. It was fierce, needy. His lips moved against mine, hungry and relentless, like he'd been holding this in for far too long. Every ounce of fear, every moment we'd fought and bled for this - it all poured into that kiss. His hands roamed, clutching at my waist, dragging me impossibly closer.

A low growl escaped him as he deepened it, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before his tongue swept against mine. My knees nearly buckled, but he held me steady. Daryl kissed me like he was drowning, like I was the only thing keeping him afloat.

The surrendering Saviors could've been watching. The whole damn world could've been watching. But I didn't care. I tugged him closer, moaning softly into his mouth as his arms wrapped tighter around me. My body burned under his touch, every part of me aching for him.

"I love you," I whispered against his lips, the words tasting like freedom.

"Love ya," he rasped back, his forehead pressing against mine. His voice was thick, shaking. "God, I love ya."

He kissed me again. His fingers brushed along my cheek, feeling me.

We stayed like that, breaths mingling, the world blurring around us. Somewhere in the distance, Rick was shouting orders, calling for help for the wounded. But for now, none of it touched us.

Daryl's thumb traced along my jaw, his lips lingering at the corner of my mouth. A shaky laugh escaped him, and he brushed a strand of hair from my face. His eyes softened, that small flicker of disbelief still present.

"It's over," he murmured.

I smiled, my chest tight. "It's over."

And this time, it really was.

A/N: The Saviors are no more!

It feels like they've been around forever. I was getting a little bored of writing about them, I'll admit. 😂

Thank you for reading. ❤️