thirty eight. kneel

thirty eight˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ kneel ↲

─── ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 carl ❞ ───

BLINDING BEAMS cut through fog the way a creature's eyes do at midnight—soulless, sharp, and unforgiving.

Not long ago, the crickets had come out from their daytime burrows, rubbing their wings and singing their sundown song.

Oh, how I envied their fearlessness. The headlights had not stopped them, nor had the whistling, or the fifty men circling the black forest as if we were being offered up in some sacrilegious ritual.

I knelt against sharp rocks and gravel, a reminder of where I would someday return, if not tonight. I pictured the dust in my mouth, filling my lungs with heavy debris. When I took a short breath to banish the thought, the air did not satisfy my chest in the way I intended. Night had slipped into my throat and left me without voice or reason.

I hadn't heard a word from the man standing in front of us. A cloud of breath trailed from his lips, and his mouth was moving, but all I could pay any mind to were the chirping insects. Their hypnotic humming took each sense of mine, one by one, until I thought perhaps I had melted into the vibrational frequency itself.

The man in leather was grinning. Spinning a bat in his gloved hand, the swoosh of it breaking through the stilled air. Something silver coiled around it and jutted out in long spikes. It gleamed in the harsh man-made light as he took a step at my father.

"This—" Negan started, moving the weapon near his face, "is Lucille. And she is awesome."

Beside him, Maggie trembled, her skin as ghastly as the quarter moon above our heads. Her decline in health was unmistakable, hardly able to stay on her knees at this point. It had only worsened as the day dragged on, our attempts to get to Hilltop's doctor defeated with each roadblock the saviors had meticulously placed.

If she hadn't yet lost the baby, she would, soon.

My mother once carried that same look in her eye before we'd sliced into her and ripped my bluing baby sister from her womb.

Negan moved to the right as he continued his deliverance, uncovering the figure between the sickly woman, and Abraham. She gripped Maggie's hand like her life depended on it, chin tilted down as if acknowledging the earth below us.

Her long, dark hair shielded the side of her face like a shroud of mourning. I wanted to push it back and look her over properly, but she was impossibly far from my reach, and I knew any amount of time that our eyes met would result in a loss of my composure.

Cyn and I had it out today.

She was with Maggie when it happened. She'd ran straight into our home with hair shears still in her hand, screaming for Rick. Speaking wildly about horrible possibilities, and how she could not begin to treat her with our lack of proper resources. On top of that, no help from the recently deceased Denise.

I'd begged her to stay behind, but she was a force to be reckoned with. When suggesting she stay, she lost it on me. Told me she was the only person who could provide Maggie even the slightest amount of comfort on the road—which was true. She had all those medications, and more than enough wits to use them. She'd called me dense for suggesting that she couldn't take care of herself, which is certainly not what I was implying.

I knew better. Cynthia was a multitude of things. But weak? Weak was not one of them.

Even though she would never admit it, I knew she'd committed some kind of crime for the vials in her bag. Death shined through its bringer like sun against the night sky. It grew between her teeth all while she lied.

This winter, she'd put a bullet in that savior's head after swearing up and down she wouldn't. I would have killed him, too, but I never would've promised him a fate and given another.

I didn't understand her cruelty until now.

It was the only thing that would keep any of us alive. It was time for me to catch up. To be a man once and for all, and bite the hand of whomever taunted the ones I loved.

Negan came close, boots crunching the gravel below, eyes on me.

"You got one of our guns—"

He stopped in front of me, slowly coming down onto his knee. He looked to the gun I'd surrendered. It was engraved with a wire-wrapped bat, one of the many weapons we'd ransacked whilst slaughtering his saviors.

It was the gun I planned on using to kill him. It was only fair he die by the same Lucille that threatened us, and many others.

"You got a lot of our guns." He added.

The muscles along my cheek tightened, my eye narrowing on him. The empty socket beneath my bandage ached at the sight.

"Shit kid. Lighten up." He smiled, pushing the weapon into his waistband. "At least cry a little."

The crickets seemed to go up an octave. Or maybe it was only the rage I felt buzzing between the bones of my skull.

He stood again, his shadow running across us like an eclipse. His steps were slow—intentional. I swore the palms that kept me upright felt each moment his soles touched down, as if I were buried beneath shallow floorboards.

He taunted Maggie next. Cyn's head snapped up, her eyes filling with a kind of madness that I had never before seen. There were no tears rimming her eyes. Not a single tremble at her lip. Her hands dug into the earth like she pictured her fingers wrapped around Negan's neck.

I shifted, afraid she might strike. But she didn't.

The man brought his bat up near the two. At my place of kneeling, there would've been no way to tell who he wanted at its mercy, if not for his comment about putting Maggie out of her misery.

Then Glenn was up, running for her. He was down in an instant with a crossbow aimed straight into his throat.

"Nope." Negan's voice went cold. "Nope. Get him back in line.

A blonde savior pulled him. He thrashed in protest, eventually stopping once he was back in his place to shout and wail at the sight of his sickly wife.

Negan only chuckled at the man's pleads to leave her alone. His sucked his bottom lip in after, looking to the starless night above. Heat rushed from his nostrils.

"Alright—listen. Don't any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down, no exceptions." He snapped. "First one's free. It's an emotional moment. . .I get it."

Glenn panted in his spot.

I looked to my father, and for the first time in my life, didn't recognize him at all. He sat at Negan's feet like a reprimanded child—trembling, pale, his eyes locked on something none of the rest of us could see.

That was how I knew it was over.

Someone was going to die. Maybe all of us.

"Sucks, don't it?" The leader asked him. "Moment you realize you don't know shit."

Dad only swallowed harshly.

This mirrored the road before Terminus, only, worse. My father would not tear a man's jugular with teeth this night. Matter of fact, he couldn't bear them at all.

Daryl was not coming through the greenery to talk the saviors out of this, or give us enough time to revolt, like that night. He sat at the end of the line, body slumped in defeat.

My back straightened as Negan took a step at Cyn. He looked at her long and hard, mouth set in a line. With the patch against my right eye, I was forced to torque my head further to make up for the loss of peripheral vision.

I was suddenly just as troubled as Dad.

My mouth went dry. I forgot how to swallow—how to breathe. All of it left with the curve of his mouth at my girlfriend. She looked strangely like a rattlesnake, one coiled and ready to strike if he got any closer. A suicidal one. If she lunged, she would go down before she could swing.

I would go with her if it came to that.

"Look at you," He spoke, lifting the bat inches from her chin, "watching me like I've just killed someone."

He let out a laugh. "Those festivities haven't even started. At least lighten up until then! Nobody wants to see a pretty girl frown."

She sucked her cheek inward before spitting at his feet.

The organ in my chest stopped beating prematurely. I pictured him striking—bringing the weapon down on her head and putting an end to her existence. I shifted all of my weight onto one knee in preparation to rise and fight. Watched for any twitch in his arm that showed he would bring down a blow, my muscles tensing as if I'd already entered rigor mortis.

He only let out a curious hum in response, tilting his head at her. Something that almost said, well played. He began to turn away, but, ultimately decided against it. He gave her a wide smile before looking past her shoulder.

"Hm—Tin Man! You have got to check this one out. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she came right from your sack."

Something shifted from behind—likely one of the many saviors who could not see our faces. At the sound of gravel crunching, my eyes shifted back, neck torquing to get a look at the man breaking past shoulders like he were Moses walking amongst sinners.

He was important—that was the first thing I noticed. The other saviors stayed clear out of his path, their chins lowering as he passed.

It didn't seem to be out of fear, though. It looked more like respect.

He could've been carved from the same block as Negan. Same beard, only, this man's wasn't flicked with salt yet. It was trimmed short, the edges straight, like he'd worked with a blade for many minutes to get it to his liking.

He was taller than most, a solid, muscular frame. Long brown hair pulled back into a bun of practicality, the front strands loose and waved. His eyes made slits as he coldly observed the lot of us like he were counting the number of graves to dig.

"There's my guy!" Negan ushered him forward with a slap to the back as he passed us by.

"See?" He pointed at Cyn with Lucille. "Ain't that somethin' else? You both got the same exact murderous look. It's uncanny!"

Tin Man stopped, and he looked straight through Cynthia like she were a looking glass for something else. Not her—but, something close, like he were remembering some distant version of the girl knelt before him.

Cyn was fearless in front of Negan while the rest of us shook and cried. She sliced and stabbed at walkers with ease. Shot her gun at you without blinking, if you were the wrong person.

But in front of this man—she trembled like a kitten caught in a storm.

The carlights wrapped around the back of him like a rear facing stage spotlight. It highlighted features I'd initially missed on him. The sharp of his nose, his pronounced brow ridge, and the neutral position of his mouth.

Though I hated to admit it, Negan was right about one thing.

They carried the same look in their eyes.

I suddenly feared she'd caught whatever Maggie was ailed with. She was drained of color, panting like a horse who hadn't had a lick of water in days. Glistening with perspiration as her fingers dug into the sharp rocks.

It took all but one sentence from him to bring her into a complete panic.

"She really looks nothing like me. But, her mother. . . well, that's a different story."

The earth seemed to rumble beneath us as I came to the realization that this was her father. But she'd told me he was dead. Said she'd watched a walker tear into him, and that she didn't stop it.

It made no sense.

None at all—until I noticed the way his shoe fit against his foot.

It was a prosthetic.

Plastic gleamed in the space between the cutoff of his jean, and his sock.

I thought back to that night at Alexandria's welcome party. The one where we were warm and dizzy off Deanna's punch bowl, sitting outside, claiming the porch like it was our own.

I remember thinking, during that very first kiss, that we could build a life just like theirs. Then, every night, it would be just her and I, wicker chairs, and the stars above.

She said something under that moon that stuck out to me now: if Hell was real, she would see him there.

A brief thought passed. Perhaps the RV had rolled on the way here, and we were now occupying hell. Maybe this was our punishment. The sun would never rise, and each one of us would be beaten to the ground, only to wake in the same spot and endure it all again.

"Oh—shit!" Negan exclaimed, the revelation on his tongue. "God damn, I am touched! I just started a family reunion mid-reckoning, everyone!"

No one rejoiced.

Not at this finding. My group knew better than to think this was a good thing—that it was something she wanted.

Cynthia's demeanor spoke through her silence.

Her eyes were glassy with something other than rage. Jaw slack, gaze fixed right through him. She sat completely rigid as if she were preparing for an impact that the rest of us knew not of. Her head shook, once, then twice, trying to unmake the image of him.

But he was real, and could not be erased.

"Go on, give her a hug. Tell her you love her in case Lucille picks her for dinner." Negan encouraged.

I grit my teeth to keep them from chattering. Nausea swept at my insides, my head dizzying as I realized there was nothing I could do. If I made any movement at all, I imagined Negan would kill her out of sport.

A small price to pay in regards to the gun I'd brought.

He knew Rick was my father, too. He'd already made that connection. And what better way to send a message to the leader than by hurting him through his child?

Breaking his son into pieces over a girl.

So I forced myself to still. Made myself to stay that way, even as her father approached her slow, like he feared she might run off. He got onto his knees once close enough, lowering his head so that he could see her better.

But, she didn't offer him that luxury. Her face was only a foot from the dirt, close enough to make me wonder if she were praying for the bugs. His hand came around the side of her face—something my own father would do to console me.

Daryl twitched in his spot.

I released the sharp stone I'd been absentmindedly gripping, paying no mind to the open wound it left. The sting was nothing in comparison to the pain brewing in my chest.

He lifted her chin. A sharp zing! came from her waistband as she fisted her fathers hair, pulling a blade to his throat. Saviors immediately broke position to manhandle her back, but before they touched her, he lifted a hand to stop them.

Negan stepped back to let the scene unfold, rubbing the back of his head tentatively. The other saviors haulted at Tin Man's request. He was quick to overpower her, pushing the weapon from his skin, and leaving it clattering at Negan's boots.

She was unarmed, now.

"Daddy," She whispered manically and breathless, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, "tell him to stop."

He pulled her clawing hands from his shirt, keeping them bound with just one of his.

Nobody was supposed to touch her like that.

Fuck shooting Negan. Her dad was first on my list.

"Sweetheart," he started, "if you wanted my saving, you wouldn't have left me for dead."

His next line came like a gut-punch. "The only one who can spare you now, is God."

I understood her hatred towards him, now. Her father couldn't warm her hands. They would go frozen before he'd ever offer love.

Something flicked in her tear-filled eyes. Rage, so intense that it made me wonder how it would feel if she looked at me that way. Did her dad experience the same unease I imagined, or, did her feelings mean so little to him?

"He's not real!" She screamed, thrashing to free her arms. "Fuck you! You should have died!"

His free fist cracked against the side of her face, hard. It violently jerked her head to the side, her jaw coming to a stop against the top of her shoulder.

The ruthless action clicked me from the present, body suddenly no longer my own. I began living out a scenario in my head: summer—maybe one we would get to have this year. Her fingers were stained with pink berries. Juice dribbled down her chin, and she used the fabric on her shoulder to wipe her face clean. That was why her head tilted at a strange angle.

However, it wasn't real. Her father had just struck her, and there was no summer to live out. Her chin was still rested in the crook of her neck like how a child would fall asleep in the car, mandible flexing to relive the awful ache.

I started up.

Before I could reach my feet, Aaron was yanking me down, shaking his head, wide-eyed in panic. I opened my mouth in protest, but Daryl was already charging at her father, returning the favor.

He landed one solid blow before getting slammed down by saviors, forcefully dragged back into line thereafter

"Yikes!" Negan commented. "Sorry to cut this short, Justin, but business is business, and I have work to do." 

Justin. I would remember that name.

He lifted his head, slowly, fingers moving to the split in his lip. The corner of his mouth lifted as he pulled away to examine the crimson on him. The lighting cut his face in a way that made me question if he were sane. His eyes were too empty. They scanned over all of us, spending an extra second on Daryl as he found a spot in the circle.

"Brr—That was pretty icy!" Negan reclaimed his position, rubbing his arms as he stopped near Cyn. "Sorry, kid. I had no idea how bad your daddy issues were. . ."

When she turned his way, I could see the blood dribbling from her nose. The side of her face was red where her father's fist had landed. The edge was already turning a sickly purple.

"Or, how bad your daddy's issues are." He falsely winced, "Rest assured! I'll have a chat with him later about what happens the next time he hits a lady."

He backed away now, eyes scanning all of us.

"Lucille, however, can hit whomever she wants. And that little trick your hill-billy friend just pulled? Getting up after I already told you I would shut that shit down? Yeah—that's not going to fly—"

He ran his glove along the barbed wire. "Because of that, She eats twice tonight."

A pointed metal edge caught the leather for a breath. He then lowered the bat, swinging it loosely in his hand as he went up and down the line, whistling a tune into the quiet air.

My eyes found hers, finally. And I almost wished they hadn't. They were full of a type of defeat that I only ever witnessed in people who had nothing left. Sadness so strong that it may have sent her to a grave, no weapon needed.

But she had me, I wanted to remind her. Maybe that just wasn't good enough anymore.

"I simply cannot decide." Negan paused, thinking hard before continuing. "I got an idea!"

Our gaze broke from one another.

I thought about summer, again. About the willow tree we would lay beneath as the heat took everything around us. The meadows that we would try to catch wild horses in, and the creeks that we'd wade in until our breath returned.

He stopped at my father. "Eeine."

"Meenie." He moved to Maggie.

Cynthia was next. "Miney."

His lips widened into a smile at Abraham. "Moe. . ."

But it was only an illusion.

A beautiful fantasy.

By morning light, Glenn and Abraham were painted against the land in colors of deep vermilion and smushed mulberry—the girl I loved, resisting and weeping while forced into the back of a savior vehicle, unwillingly given into her father's custody.

I had a cruel epiphany that we wouldn't make it to June.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 3,545 words • 12:24 pm

this is justin, cyn's dad! justin is a cannon savior!

& daryl absolutely rocks his shit in season nine. just thought this was a fun little touch 😝

sincerely yours, 𝓜 ᥫ᭡.