No Sanctuary For Old Men [18+] |Negan| ✔️ Complete

XXXV • Silence

Flames licked the sky hungrily, consuming the slaughterhouse in a fiery grave. It would be a tomb of ashes for their fallen friends.

They'd found Primo, gunshot to the head, sprawled just outside the front door of the outpost. They'd brought him back to Molly and Simon had pulled up just as Regina was lighting the match.

The moustached man stood tall on his good leg as the building burned. The concrete shell would remain, but the crates inside and the roof would ensure incineration of everything else.

Arat took his hand as she stared into the flames, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. Regina knelt in the dirt, tears wet on her cheeks, eyes closed against the heat. Daphne fought her own tears, not ready to deal with this just yet.

She wanted to go home. Lock herself in her room with a bottle of whiskey. Smash something.

They convoyed home, Daphne driving what had been Paula's truck. She found Primo's Black Sabbath album in the CD player and screamed along to it three times over the entire way.

She cut the music as they approached the Sanctuary, and gave Joey a somber nod as she passed him at the gate.

Negan stood with a handful of Saviors by the front door, and stepped forward at the lieutenants' approach. Ariadne was behind him, red-eyed and pale faced, Simon's empty wheelchair in hand.

Regina flew out of the Jeep, leaving the door wide open. Negan opened his arms and she leapt into them, clutching his jacket in an almost violent way.

Daphne relinquished the truck to Joey, who had decided he was on parking duty to give himself something to do.

It was eerily silent as Arat led Simon limping toward the group, Daphne in step with them. The other two Saviors that had been paired with them went straight into the bigger group, exchanging quiet hugs.

A sob ripped it's way from Regina's throat and Negan held her tightly as she gasped something unintelligible into his neck.

"It's okay baby girl," he crooned, and what was left of Daphne's heart shattered at the sight. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay."

Ariadne manoeuvred her way around Simon, and Arat lowered him into his chair. She nodded to the nurse and took the handles, wheeling him inside the front doors.

"Does Talia know?" Daphne asked the short nurse quietly, and the woman nodded, taking in a ragged breath.

"She hasn't told the kids yet." Ariadne crossed her arms as if she were cold, even in the warm sun. "She's buzzing around like a manic bee, tending to the pregnant women with Lily on her hip."

"Trying to keep busy," Daphne said, eyes still on Regina. "It'll catch up with her hard."

"I'll be there," the nurse promised, and she patted the lieutenant's arm softly. "I'll let you know when's a good time to visit." She turned to slip back inside just as Regina was recovering herself, pulling back from Negan's embrace.

"Are there still Nomads left?" she asked, wiping her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

Negan grinned. "Oh yes, there are lots to fuckin' choose from," he told her, spreading his arms.

"I'll take the biggest one, in the biggest room." Regina bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, stretching her arms out. "And have one on reserve in case the first doesn't live long enough."

Daphne headed upstairs as Negan led Regina down to the cell block. She took them two at a time, all the way up to his penthouse, hoping to pilfer a bottle of something strong to take back to her room.

She burst inside, out of breath, and stopped short at the squeak of surprise from the bed.
A wide eyed redhead in a black dress sat curled up on the middle of Negan's bed, looking extremely uncomfortable at the sight of the woman who had been picking off wives.

"Are you supposed to be in here?" Daphne asked casually, turning towards the bar in the corner.

"Um, yeah, Negan asked me to wait here in case Regina needed me," the woman replied, wringing her hands.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "He whores out his wives to his lieutenants?" She plucked a full bottle of Irish whiskey from the shelf.

"No, no," the redhead said quickly, putting her hands up. "I'm a massage therapist."

"Ah, Frankie, right?" Daphne cracked open the bottle and took a long swig, relishing in the harsh burn on her sore throat.

"Yes." The black clad woman picked at the hem of her dress, avoiding eye contact.

"Well, Frankie, Regina is venting her misery by beating people to death in the basement." The blonde spread her arms, reminiscent of her swaggering leader. "So you're off the hook for now." She took another deep drink, and walked to the balcony, opening the ridiculously ornate glass doors.

She managed to climb the ladder with the bottle still clenched in her fist, and stood atop the Sanctuary in the blazing sun. It wasn't fair how beautiful the weather was. She wanted thunder and lightning and rain pelting her face.

Negan found her an hour later, sporting the beginnings of a sunburn, trying to shoot an empty whiskey bottle with the crossbow. The wooden table was in splinters all over the place, as if a tornado had hit it.

"Strawberry," he began, but immediately ducked when she turned to face him with the crossbow loaded. "Point that thing at the fuckin' ground!" he cried, and she lazily dropped her arm, eyes glazed.

"Not like I could fuckin' hit you anyway," she slurred, and sat down hard on her ass. "Ow."

Negan strode over and plucked the weapon from her limp hand, leaning it against the couch. He hooked an arm under her and dragged her, staggering, over to a copse of shade. He sat her down with her back to the bricks and plopped down next to her, dropping his jacket next to him.

"S'Regina ok?" Daphne asked, head rolling back and forth.

"I've got three brand spanking new corpses on the wall, workin' on a fuckin' fourth." He grinned.

She patted his arm weakly. "Y'a good boss." She peeled her eyelids open wide, blue orbs trying to focus on his face. "M'sorry I said you were the worst, y'not, y'the best."

Negan laughed, and pulled her head down onto his shoulder. She wavered a bit but found a comfy spot in the crook of his neck, and he slipped an arm around her waist to steady her.

"I don't fuckin' feel like it today," he admitted quietly, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

She barely heard him in her haze, and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of leather and cigars and Negan.

The scent of home.