» Time In A Bottle «

» SING ME A SONG PT.2 «

What If...Belle Went To The Sanctuary Instead Of Carl (707, not canon)

Rad-Ass, Bad-Ass Belle

There was a subtle metallic smell throughout the whole Sanctuary, and I couldn't help thinking it reminded me of blood. Distant sounds of steel banging on steel filled my ears, machinery whirring and people bustling. From the entrance I couldn't see much, but I had a feeling Negan would change that.

"You're gonna love it here, kid." He mused, slowing to a stop beside me. My gaze followed his as a string of workers filed through the room, my breath catching at the sight of one particular man.

Daryl looked so broken, his hair hanging in his eyes as they gleamed with fear. Dirt covered every inch of visible skin, shallow wounds standing out on his hands and face. He wore the same unwashed uniform as the other prisoners, torn sweatshirts and forlorn expressions.

My lip trembled as my hand unconsciously reached towards him, any words I wanted to say faltering as he met my eyes. We shared the same worry for each other, his brain searching for an answer as to why I was there. I was probably the last person he expected to see with Negan. I silently vowed that this would be the last time I saw him like this.

An arm rested on my shoulders, Negan pulling me to him and away from my father. He was smirking but I could see the danger in his features as he took me to another room. It was probably the nicest part of the building, but that didn't mean it was particularly amazing.

The walls were still the same cold stone, but furniture and accessories had been used to decorate, making it appear like the colour scheme was purposeful. Strange ornaments perched on strong metal shelves, pushed against each wall along with a king sized bed taking the centre of the room. I had a feeling this was Negan's own bedroom.

He gestured to two comfortable looking couches, facing each other with a polished table between them. He took one for himself, his stern gaze prompting me to sit opposite him.

His gloved hands were brought together in a clap, his eyebrows drawn in a curious expression. I couldn't do anything but sit, my back straight as a board and unable to relax. In the back of my mind I thought- 'these couches are way nicer than the ones at home'.

"How old are you, Annie?" He wondered with a smile. I swallowed hard at the nickname, hoping my nerves would suppress.

"Seventeen, I think." I could never be too sure these days.

"Seventeen? Wow, you are...older than I thought." He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. I held back my eye roll, having been told this many times by many people. "What're you doing here, seventeen-year-old-Annie?"

My teeth grazed my tongue as I held my glare, trying to force him to drop his amused attitude. It didn't seem to work, which made sense. He had all the power now, ever since I was discovered on that roof. He had the people, the weapons, the leverage. He could do anything he wanted and I wouldn't be able to stop him.

"I want Daryl back." I replied shortly, my words biting.

Negan's eyebrows raised in disbelief. "That's not all, now, is it?"

I shook my head, dropping my eyes to the bat that rested by his side. The surface was completely clean of blood, his memories of that night washing away with it-

"I came here to kill you." I admitted firmly. "Maybe Dwight, too." I hadn't forgotten the way he murdered Denise, even if the tragedy happened a while ago.

He frowned with an understanding nod, fingers lacing together. "Did Rick send you here?" I knew that question was coming, and I had already prepared my answer.