I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

'Cause I'm Negan

Shit.

Five minutes ago they had just been enjoying a leisurely drive back to the Sanctuary and now here they were, with a man standing in the middle of the damn road holding a machine gun, which was now pointed directly at them through the windshield.

Blake swallowed hard, her green eyes flicking over to Negan who looked absolutely furious his jaw set and his brow furrowed darkly.

"GET OUT!" yelled the man pointing the gun towards them in a thick voice, gesturing with his gun. "BOTH OF YOU."

The man before them was tall and well-built, with a slicked back brown hair, and bright beady eyes full of something malicious.

"Negan-" Blake said in a quiet voice, barely moving her lips as she spoke.

She didn't want to move. For she knew what their fate may be if they got out of this truck.

But perhaps they didn't have a choice, because before Blake could utter another word, a loud scream escaped her lips as the man fired his gun three times into the windshield between the pair of them, showering the interior of the truck in glass.

"SHIT!" yelled Negan, shielding his face and turning one way as Blake turned the other, trying to hide her face from both the bullets and the shards of falling glass.

"I SAID, GET OUT," shouted the man again in cool voice. "NOW. OR I'LL MAKE SURE I WON'T MISS THIS TIME."

Blake sat up again, swallowing hard and chancing another look at Negan.

The dark haired Saviour looked livid, his eyes full of rage and anger, glare fixed on the man before them.

But Blake knew him well enough by now, seeing the cogs turning inside his head, already working out a plan.

"Do as he fuckin' says, Darlin'," Negan muttered under his breath, not moving his eyes, but obviously feeling her gaze on him now. "An' jus' follow my lead."

Blake breathed hard but did as Negan said, her hands fumbling for the door handle and giving the truck door a slow shove open, as Negan, over her shoulder, did the same.

But she stepped out to find the truck now surrounded.

People of all shapes and sizes, varying in age and sex, likely fifteen in all, stood all around, with clenched fists and wary stares. But Blake quickly noted that none of them seemed to be carrying weapons, save for the brown-haired man up front, who spoke once again.

"Thaaaat's it," he said in a harsh drawl, sounding smug. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"

Blake gave a scowl at the arrogance in the man's voice, turning and stepping around the truck, noticing the tall and looming form of Negan, on the truck's left hand side, do the same.

But Negan's visible anger, that had been there just a few seconds ago, seemed to be gone, replaced now by something else completely.

And Blake could only lower her chin, hand resting on her belt, just over the sheath that her blade was housed in, as Negan spoke suddenly.

"Well damn, Son," came the dark-haired Saviour's very recognisable voice, ringing out clear across the quiet dirt road, loud enough for all the listening group to hear. "Did you really have to go shootin' up my shit like that? I mean, fuck, that leather upholstery in there was damn-near antique. I mean it smelled like it at least."

The man, with his gun still held aloft, blinked suddenly, looking slightly taken aback by Negan.

For who wouldn't be?