The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter eight

The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow, metallic bang.

Nathan stumbled forward as Merle gave him a shove between the shoulder blades, sending him into the dim room. Maggie was pushed in after him, the Governor following last, calm as ever, with Merle lingering near the door like a bad memory that refused to leave.

Nathan barely had time to register the pain in his wrists before his eyes snapped up.

Glenn.

He was slumped against the far wall, hands bound, face bruised and swollen, one eye already darkening shut. Dried blood marked his mouth. For a split second, none of them moved—just stared, like seeing something unreal.

Then Glenn huffed out a breath that might've been a laugh.

"You look like shit."

Nathan let out a shaky exhale, relief and horror crashing together in his chest. "You don't look so good yourself."

Maggie rushed forward as far as the restraints allowed, dropping to her knees beside Glenn. "Glenn," she whispered, her voice breaking. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm here. I'm here."

Glenn leaned into her, just enough to prove he was real, still breathing. "Hey," he murmured. "Told you I'd stick around."

Nathan stayed standing, scanning Glenn from head to toe, cataloging injuries, swallowing the tightness in his throat. "They didn't—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Glenn shook his head slightly. "Not yet."

Merle snorted from behind them. "Aww. Family reunion. Touchin'." He clanked the door shut fully, the sound echoing. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

The Governor folded his hands behind his back, observing them like pieces on a board. "You see?" he said calmly. "I keep my word. You're all alive."

"For now," Maggie snapped, lifting her head.

He smiled at her, unbothered. "That depends on how helpful you decide to be."

Nathan's jaw tightened. He stepped closer to Glenn and Maggie, subtly putting himself between them and the door as much as the space allowed. The three of them formed a tight, defiant knot on the cold floor.

Glenn glanced up at Nathan again, managing a crooked smirk despite everything. "Guess we're still doing runs together, huh?"

Nathan nodded once. "Wouldn't miss it."

Behind them, the door clicked as it locked, sealing them in—but for the first time since being taken, Nathan felt something other than fear settle in his chest.

They were together.

And that meant they still had a chance.

Nathan's eyes drifted past Glenn's shoulder—and then locked.

The walker lay slumped in the far corner of the room, half-collapsed against the wall. Its skull was caved in, jaw twisted at an unnatural angle, dark blood smeared across the concrete beneath it. Splintered pieces of a wooden chair were scattered nearby, jagged and stained, like the remains of a bad idea that had almost gone worse.

Nathan's stomach dropped.

He looked back at Glenn slowly. Really looked at him this time. The way his shoulders sagged. The tremor in his hands he was trying to hide. The way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast.

"You..." Nathan swallowed. "You fought that?"

Glenn let out a breath that turned into a dry, humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Merle figured it'd be fun." He nodded weakly toward the broken chair leg beside him. "That was all I had."