What Have You Done? Negan X Reader

Part One: Chapter Twenty-Seven

As everything calmed down, (Y/N) finally got a chance to rest. Daryl dragged her to the infirmary before she could say anything to anyone. She had so many questions about everything.

But it would have to be for another time. She layed down on the hospital bed and someone she didn't know began treatment on her thigh right away. Sewed it up, told her to rest, the usual shit.

She thanked them and yawned, settling under a thin blanket. She closed her eyes, telling herself she was just resting them.

...
She woke up the next morning.

Rick was in between her bed and Michonne's, holding Michonne's hand rather than (Y/N)'s. She was glad her father was happy again, he deserved it. She didn't mind at all.

Daryl and Carl crowded near her, anyways. Daryl was resting his chin on his palm, his eyes closed and calm breaths escaping his lips quietly. She sat up, the blankets rustled and woke Daryl up with a soft start.

A small smile crept onto his face for a moment before fading, as if he realized the gravity of their current situation. "Hey." He said in his normal, raspy voice. His hand slid onto her arm weakly. Carl beamed at her as Rick spun around.

"I knew you'd pull through, kiddo." Rick said, ruffling her hair. She closed her eyes as she smiled.

"It was only a gunshot. I've had my fair share of those wounds." She mentioned casually. Rick offered a dry chuckle, but a genuine smile was on his face. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, sitting up and arching her back. She felt her back crack a few times satisfyingly and she smiled at all of them.

"We should do something." She said decidingly before throwing the blankets off her legs.

"No. You need to rest." Daryl said, as if he was Rick. He tried to push her back down against the bed, but she squirmed her way out. She was surprised that her leg didn't hurt more, it just felt like the skin was pulled tight, and there was a slight ache to her muscles. At least her jeans were cut into shorts, courtesy of the doctor who stitched her up. Other than that, it was okay. Nothing unbearable.

"I did rest. How long was I asleep for?"

"A day. You need more than that." Daryl grabbed her arm and pushed her back down on the hospital bed. She slumped over herself, giving him a glare.

"Fine. But, not because I think you're right. Just because I'm tired. And my leg kind of hurts, or whatever." She said, kicking her legs back over the edge of the bed and laying down flat. She winced slightly, sighing and settling down onto the bedding.

"Can I have a book or something?" She asked after a minute of silence. Rick slowly stood up and walked to a nearby bookshelf, browsing silently before picking an intresting enough looking book.

He handed it to her, and the title read What Have You Done? (not the 4th wall break again). She raised an eyebrow at the book, flipping it over and read the backside.

She shrugged and opened the book, settling herself down into the blankets and began reading. Daryl slipped out as she turned the page.

~
She couldn't sleep. How could she when she knew her home was still in shambles, and she was here, doing nothing. The darkness pooled into the room, the moon light streaming in and illuminating the foot of the bed.

She sighed heavily, tossing the blankets off her legs. She just wanted some fresh air. Just a second, a breath would satisfy her and help her sleep better.

She kicked her legs over the edge of the bed, silently grabbing her boots and slipped her feet in one by one, hastily tying the laces in thick knots. She glanced around at the other patients, all of them asleep. Michonne was lying sound asleep, Rick laying on the edge of the bed next to her, almost falling off. She smiled at them before slowly getting up, her muscles cramped from laying in one position all day.

She silently picked up her gun belt from the beside table, hooking it around her waist. She tried her best to be quiet as she walked to the door, but the clunk of her heels hitting the raised wood slabs was so loud, it almost seemed to echo.

She closed the door behind her and let out a breath. She wondered what time it was as she strolled to the edge of the patio, leaning against the support beam, inhaling and exhaling heavily. A smile crossed her face as the faint sound of crickets chirping made her feel relaxed even more.

...
Okay, this was boring now. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the state of her home. Blood, bullet casings and bullets holes, bodies still around. She shook her head, bawling her fists at her sides. Negan. The cause of everything. If they had never met him, everything would be okay. Her belly would be full right now, she would be laughing at the dinner table with her freinds and Judith would be on her lap, laughing along. If it wasn't for him, Abraham and Glenn would be alive. Sasha. Sasha and Abraham would be happy. Maggie's baby would have a father.

She shook her head, deciding to do something about it. She failed last night, to kill him, she failed many times. But, she wouldn't this time. She took one last glance in the direction of her father, she could see his silouette through the tinted glass doors, his chest rising and falling slowly. She gave him a smile before pulling out her gun and cracked open the barrel. Empty.

She cursed under her breath, stuffing her gun back into its holster. She straightened herself up, glancing around at the guards on the towers as she casually strolled down the street. Looking inconspicious, she took after Carol, playing it sweet and innocent. She walked briskly, yet took her time turning down the street of which Olivia lived on. Lived.

Olivia would still be alive if it wasn't for Negan, too. Eugene...well, who knows about him.

She quickly shuffled into the open garage door, hurrying back behind the racks of pretty empty shelves and back into the amory. No one was there, to her surprise. She opened and closed the door behind her, taking a breath before turning around to look at the guns before her. She calmed herself, then grabbed a couple boxes of shells and a nearby satchel, dumping them inside. She grabbed the nearest shot gun, slinging the satch over her shoulder.

She turned around and headed out, her knife sheath bouncing against her thigh as she walked. It gave her frusteration, as it was her wounded thigh, and she could feel the sheath pressing into her stitches with every walk. She groaned and angrily pushed it to the side of her belt instead, so it rested on her hip as she walked. She traced her steps back to the infirmary, quietly heading inside. She scrounged for a paper, napkin - anything to write on, and something to write with. She eventually settled with a red pen and a blank page she ripped out from What Have You Done? She let out a breath before leaning over onto a counter, the pen in her right hand, ready to write.

You know where I went. You know what I have to do. I love you all.

-(Y/N)

She scribbled, before setting the pen down and setting the note on her pillow. She smiled at her father, and the woman who she considered her mother, almost, but not quite. Lori would always be her mom, her mommy, but Michonne was a close second. One day, (Y/N) knew she would call Michonne Mom, just as Judith did now. She smiled at them before heading back to the door, making her way to the border of Alexandria. To the wall.