"Negan!" Laura shouted as she approached Negan's room in the Sanctuary. She banged on his door. "Negan! She's gone!" she shouted.

The door swung open and Negan stood on the other side, Lucille leaning up against his shoulder. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

"The girl. She's gone," Laura informed him, her voice tense and slightly scared sounding. Part of her worried that he would kill her right then and there for losing the one prisoner- even though Negan always claimed she wasn't a prisoner- she was responsible for.

"Rosie?" Negan clarified, his jaw tense. Laura nodded. Negan let out a breath and his face morphed from frustration to fury. He pushed past Laura in the doorway and started heading towards where Rosie's cell was. "When?" he asked, his pace quick as Laura followed behind him.

"I don't know. Sometime during the night," Laura said, walking fast in order to keep up. He was mad, but he hadn't bashed her head in just yet, so that was a good sign. If he'd bash her head in for anything, it would definitely be for losing Rosie. "Last time I saw her was when I took her to the bathroom. I came back in the morning, the door was unlocked, and she was gone. She must've picked it or something," she explained quickly.

"Yeah, she picked it? With what fucking lock pick?" Negan asked rhetorically. He got to Rosie's cell and swung the door open. "I looked through all her shit before giving it to her. God damnit!" he shouted. The only things left in the cell were the pillow and blanket, and Negan was fuming. He slammed the door to the cell shut. "Who the fuck was on guard duty last night?" he asked, now moving towards the main work area.

"Martin," Laura answered.

Negan marched out into the main work area, and as he did, all of the workers and Saviors alike knelt down to him. The expression on his face made it clear that someone was going to die or come close to it. He turned to Laura. "Give me your knife," he ordered quietly. Laura did so. Negan held the knife loosely in his right hand while he used his left to flaunt Lucille around- threatening everyone, in a way. "Martin," he called out into the crowd of people who were kneeling down before him. "Get your ass up here."

"Yes, sir," a man said in a shaky, nervous voice. He slowly rose to his feet, wanting to put off whatever punishment he was going to get as long as possible. His first guess would be the iron, but it wasn't already being heated, so that was unlikely. Not knowing only made him more nervous.

When Martin finally reached him, Negan got up close, staring into his eyes in a threatening manner. "Martin," he began, his voice cold and angry. "Tell me what your job is."

Martin took a deep, shaky breath. He stood stiffly, his arms down at his sides. "Keeping guard. Making no one gets in or out without your permission," he answered.

"Exactly," Negan drawled. He paced around Martin, every footstep sending a wave of anxiety over the poor man. Eugene watched from afar, his gut turning with both fear and guilt. What if Negan found out it was him who helped Rosie get out? What if he'd be punished, too? The guilt, though- the guilt was just knowing that whatever punishment this man- Martin- received, was his fault. Eugene had been distracting him. "So, Martin. If your job is to make sure no one gets in or out without my permission, then why was an eleven-year-old little girl able to sneak out without your knowledge last night?" Negan asked. Martin swallowed, unsure of what to answer with. "Speak when you're spoken to!"

"I- I don't know," Martin stammered.

"The one person- the one god damn person I didn't want getting out of here ever, the one god damn person I had you all looking for, for the past two years- is gone! And it was on your watch, Martin," Negan said, his grip on the handle of the knife tightening.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It won't happen again," Martin said as quickly as he could, his voice shaking like crazy as Negan started to step closer to him again. He eyed the knife in Negan's hand. He didn't know that the person who had gotten out on his watch was Rosie. Now he was sure that he was going to die.

"Martin, if I find her, and she's dead..." Negan warned, raising the knife up close to Martin's face.

"I'll- I'll- I'll go out. I'll look for her. I'll find her," Martin promised, his hands shaking.

"You couldn't even keep an eye out for her here, Martin," Negan said, his jaw stiff as he shook his head. "Your vision won't be the best anymore, anyway." Martin shuttered, tears starting to fill his eyes as he whispered endless apologies. Negan took hold of him by the back of his shirt, holding the knife to his throat. He turned, showing a terrified Martin to the kneeling workers and Saviors. "I want you all to watch. Take your pal Martin as an example," he said, pressing the knife into Martin's skin, just enough to draw a little bit of blood. "That shit... doesn't fly here," he said.

Then he stuck Laura's knife right into Martin's right eye. It wasn't pushed far enough to kill him- just far enough to blind him in that eye. Martin screamed out in pain and agony, and most of the workers had to look away, not wanting to see the blood that gushed from Martin's eye. When Negan let go of him, Martin fell to the ground, writhing around in pain. Martin caused Negan's own nightmare scenario to come true, so Negan caused Martin's.

Negan rolled his eyes and gestured over to the man. "Give him a bandage and throw him in one of the cells," he said dismissevly. He looked back at Martin one more time, a furious look on his face, before walking off, Lucille balanced on his shoulder. Laura followed behind, Dwight with them now, too. "I want people out there looking for her now. She couldn't've gone very far," he said.

"She might've just went back to Alexandria," Dwight suggested. He didn't know Rosie very well. The only thing he thought he knew about her was that she was Daryl's daughter. Back in the burnt forest, Daryl had mentioned 'his kid'. When he saw them together, he assumed that she was the kid Daryl was referring to. But, according to Negan, that wasn't the case. So, really, he didn't know anything about Rosie.

"Dwight, why the fuck are you here?" Negan asked, pasuing to turn to look at Dwight with a disgusted look on his face. Dwight didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. "You still haven't found that Daryl asshole. He was your responsiblity," Negan reminded him. Still, Dwight didn't say anything. Negan turned back around, continuing on walking. Hesitantly, Dwight followed. Even if Negan didn't want his help, he was going that way, anyway. "Besides, she's a kid, but she ain't stupid. She wouldn't go back to Alexandria," Negan went on.

"I'll send a group out. Have them search the woods," Laura offered. Negan nodded, then he walked back into his room, slamming the door shut hard behind him. Laura stayed outside for a moment, just to make sure there wasn't anything else he wanted her to do. The only thing she heard was a few more banging noises, then silence.

•

The small girl climbed out of her tent and immediately squinted her eyes, still adjusting to the light of day. She adjusted the shorts around her waist- they'd gotten twisted up while she was sleeping. She looked down at her red cowboy boots, as if to make sure they were still there. They fell off often, being a few sizes too big (hand-me-downs from Fraser). They were the only shoes Rosie had, though, so she just tucked rolled up pairs of socks into the toes and it did the job just fine.

She lifted her head and scanned over the camp. Most people were still in bed, like Lori and Carl, but there were some early risers.

For one, Dale was already on the roof of the RV, a book in his hands.

Officer Shane was heading towards his Jeep, probably to go and get water.

Amy was up too, sitting around the empty fire pit.

There were also the Dixon brothers. Their tent was further away from the others'. They often went hunting early in the morning.

The girl was filled with relief. Her father was nowhere to be found. This was her chance.

She considered asking Officer Shane for help, since he was in charge, but she didn't like him very much. She feared she couldn't trust him.

Then she thought of Dale, but he was old and more weak than her father was. He'd over take Dale in any fight. Dale could fight with words, but he wasn't so strong when it came to fighting with his fists.

The Dixon brothers were intimidating, but if anyone could overtake her dad, much to Rosie's dismay, it would be them. He'd gotten along with the brothers well. They were pretty much the only two people in the camp that Rosie hadn't listened to her father talk shit about. But maybe they wouldn't get along so great if they knew. They were strong. They could help- or, at least, Rosie hoped they could.

So, unfortunately, Rosie knew that if she wanted help, her best bet would be on the Dixons. But they scared her. Sure, she'd spent plenty of time around them, but they still scared her.

She usually stuck to her father's side, silently following him and doing whatever he asked of her. When her father would hang around the Dixons' camp, she would sit silently and pretend she wasn't there, until her father either gave her a task to do or eventually told her to beat it.

Rosie had barely spoken a word in front of either of the two brothers. But she was still there when they interacted with her father. And that's what made her fear them, while also finding some sort of comfort or familiarity in their presence.

When she was with her dad at the Dixons' camp, it was like when things were normal. When she'd sit in the living room with her dad and his friends, fetching them beers when they asked and putting out their cigarettes if they fell asleep. She was afraid of her dad's friends, they'd done bad things, and it only made sense for the Dixons to be the same. But, at the same time, her dad had lost a few friends after they found out what he did. Maybe the Dixons would actually help rather than simply disappearing from the Banks' lives. There were no laws anymore. They could help without repercussions.

The only difference Rosie found between the Dixons and her father's old friends was that they barely ever said anything to her. When her dad used to have friends over, they would say weird things that Rosie didn't understand because they thought it was funny, and they would order her around.

Merle Dixon had made some jokes and comments that Rosie didn't understand, and he would occasionally tell her to go grab something for him, but it wasn't nearly as much as any of her dad's old friends, and Merle's jokes were never about Rosie herself.

Daryl Dixon hadn't ever said anything to her. Rosie wasn't sure if that was good or bad, so it only added to her fears.

But if there was any time to get over your fears, the apocalypse was it. Rosie wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything in the first place, because her dad wouldn't raise no pussy, but she still had fears. She was just good at hiding them. But now that the dead were walking and trying to kill her, Rosie decided she couldn't be afraid of the living people anymore.

So, she took a breath and approached the Dixons' camp with caution. She held her hands behind her back, wringing them together nervously. She looked over at the camp as she was approaching, and saw that Daryl was sitting on a crate, fixing one of his arrows- or maybe bolts, Rosie couldn't tell the difference- while Merle was lounging in a portable fold-up chair, smoking a cigarette.

The cigarette in Merle's hand made her stomach churn, but she ignored it and kept walking. She stopped a few feet away and looked down at her shoes, kicking her right foot into the side of her left foot as she attempted to gather up the courage to talk to the two men.

Finally, she opened her mouth to talk and looked up, but when she saw both of the brothers staring at her, she closed her mouth again and looked back down.

The girl almost turned back around, thinking that maybe she'd just have to deal with it until she got old enough to fight back, like Fraser did. But she froze in her spot when one of them spoke.

"Need somethin'?" Daryl asked, looking up from the arrow- or maybe bolt- in his hands.

Rosie looked up at him and bit on the inside of her bottom lip as her stomach ached with anxiety. The inside of her lip was already raw from how much she'd been biting it lately. She just wasn't used to being with so many people. It made her nervous, constantly trying to figure out how to seem normal.

"Spit it out, girl," Merle said, the cigarette now pinched between his middle finger and ring finger. Rosie eyed the thing warily and chose to look at Daryl instead.

"Um," she began, already feeling stupid for saying um. "Can you help me?" she asked, her eyes sad and fearful.

"What?" Merle asked, scrunching up his face with both confusion and mock-amusement.

"My dad," Rosie murmured, tugging on her shirt nervously. "He ain't good. I need help," she admitted to the two men.

"What'chu mean he ain't good?" Merle asked, his amusement disappearing. Daryl didn't say anything, though.

"He..." the girl paused, a lump forming in her throat. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "He hurts me. Real bad. I need help," she said, anxiety churning in her gut.

Daryl and Merle shared a look, their eyebrows pinched together with concern and unease. Merle turned back to Rosie. "What the hell you want us to do?" he asked.

"I don't know. I just..." Rosie said quietly, looking down at her shoes. She wrung her hands together anxiously. "I just want him to stop."

"Sometimes ya get hit, kid. Ain't the end of the world. Your dad's just disciplinin' you. That ain't our business," Daryl said, avoiding eye contact with the girl. He looked up for just a moment, seeing her staring down at the ground with teary, scared eyes. He looked away again. It wasn't his problem.

"Daryl," Rosie whispered, tapping Daryl's shoulder. Daryl's eyes blinked open, and he squinted them, not yet used to the dim light of the very early morning sun that shone through the window of Jesus's trailer. He sat up just the littlest bit and turned his head to where Rosie's voice was coming from. She was standing next to the couch he had slept on, her hand on his right shoulder.

"What?" he whispered back, his arm raising to his face so he could rest the back of his left hand over his eyes, shielding them from the dim light. "Why're you awake?" he asked. When he fell asleep on that couch the night before, Rosie was asleep in a sleeping bag next to the coffee table and had been for at least two hours.

"I can't fall back asleep. But, look," Rosie said. She reached down to her feet and pulled off one of her red cowboy boots. She slid her hand down into it until her finger poked out of the toe. There was a hole. "They got too small. Now there's a hole," Rosie said, wiggling her finger to emphasize the fact that it was fully poking through the toe of the boot.

Daryl sighed, now rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. He was supposed to find her new shoes, but he had forgotten about it. Now her shoes were too small and had holes, and he didn't have another pair to give to her. "We'll find you some new ones. But not now. Go back to sleep," he said quietly. They were trying not to wake up anyone else who happened to be sleeping anywhere in the trailer- like Ian, Maggie, and Jesus.

"But I can't," Rosie whispered back. She woke up from a nightmare, and she tried falling back asleep after, but she just couldn't. She was going to take another walk around the Hilltop to pass the time, but that was when she discovered the new hole in her shoe.

"Try," Daryl told her. She huffed and tilted her head back in complaint. "Or draw or somethin'. Anythin' quiet." The option of drawing sparked interest in Rosie. She liked that much better than she liked trying and failing to fall asleep, so she picked up her backpack. She removed her notebook, pencil, and crayons from the backpack and sat down with her back leaning up against the couch, using her knees as an easel for her notebook. She sat there and drew a velociraptor much like her own.

As he let himself fall back asleep, Daryl rested his hand on Rosie's head in an attempt to ease the guilt that had built up inside of him. His dream- which was more of a nightmare, at least, for him- wasn't real, of course. But it could've been. That was who he was then. He didn't want Merle to do what he did. He wanted to look the other way, mind his own business. If Merle had done that, Rosie might not have been breathing anymore. She definitely wouldn't have ever grown to become Rosie Dixon. He couldn't help but wonder if he still would've wanted to mind his own business if Rosie had come to him and blatantly asked for help. But it didn't matter now, because that wasn't what really happened. Rosie was ok now, and she was his, and he could put his hand on her head and absentmindedly untangle the knots in her hair as she drew in her notebook next to him, because no one would hurt her as long as he was there.

This peace didn't last, of course, because only hours later, Rick was at the gates of the Hilltop with a new plan. But at least they got to have that peace when it was there.

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Short Negan pov 😱 just to show you what tomfoolery he's been up to