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maydaysart · 5 months

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in and out (things to do) | TWD FANFIC

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➵ summary:

Glenn's always struggled with killing the living, but here he kneels with a knife above a sleeping man's head. His head is full of thoughts, guilt, regret. But he knows he has to do it, not for himself, but for his people.

A fanfic that is a little novelization of that one scene with Glenn and Heath in 06x12 when they killed the Saviors at night.

➸ word count: 1,412

➸ warnings: graphic description of violence, eyes related things

➸ pairing: none (gleggie but only mentioned)

➸ era: season 6

➸ A/N

hi :) i haven't really written anything in a while, and it's the first finished thing i wrote this year. big thanks to my best friend for helping me with keeping glenn in character and with other like neater sentences and stuff like this. another big thanks to my friend with choosing the tags.

i'm planning on writing more things (probably it'll be mostly gleggie lmao).

if there are mistakes then i'm really sorry and feel free to point them out! english is not my native language, plus i got rusty since it is my first thing in a longer while. hope you enjoy!

¸„.-•~¹°”ˆ˜¨ ¨˜ˆ”°¹~•-.„¸

In and out. A swift move. In and out, in and out. A swift move. In and out.

He kneels by a man’s bed. The light is dim, he barely sees him, but knows what he is about to do.

He doesn’t feel the courage to do it. Glenn holds a hunting knife right above his victim’s eye. He’s deeply asleep, looking peacefully. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t.

Swift move. In. Swift move. Out. That is all he has to do. But the seconds take forever —he feels it, itching his nerves and skin. Going through him in and out. A guilty feeling, covering him like deep, cold and dark waters with no light shining through the surface. His only hope is that’ll end quickly. But all he does is holding the knife hilt in a tight grip of both his hands. The grip is so tight it hurts him, and his fingertips are white because of the strength he puts into that grip. He begs in his mind. The begging is running through a million thoughts, all gathered with guilt.

Glenn doesn’t know him. With that, it should be easier, right? But at the same time, it’s even worse. Maybe that man is only lost. What if he is not on the bad side. After all, he only sees a man, a shell. None of his motives. His family, friends, the life he used to have before the apocalypse. Was he a good man? With a family, or maybe some collage life. A simple job, parties? How did he find himself here? How many people did he lose? Does being in a bad group makes him someone bad? What if he doesn’t want this as much as Glenn doesn’t want to kill the living? He tries to avoid it. But right now, right here, there is no way out. His mind can cry and scream, flooded with guilt and disgust, but he has to. Because he knows his moral quandary can kill more men. It is not for him—it’s for the people he wants to protect. His wife especially. Because every time he thinks of something going south, he thinks of Maggie. How it will end for her, and then for him.

The time is running out. He has an impression of pressure behind his eyes, probably tears gathering. Glenn is on edge. He knows it is not like killing walkers, and he already feels it. He knew that before, but it is real now. He also sometimes thinks of the others; do they have the same problem as he has? It’s hard for him, so is it for them? Rick, Daryl, Carol? Maybe they don’t overthink it. Killing have become a part of survival now, and Glenn hasn’t killed anyone yet. Yet.

The last moment of hesitation runs through his head like a bolting thunder—what if it was Maggie? Or him? How would he feel if someone he loves was killed? Now here he kneels, with the knife above some stranger's head in his shaky and sweaty hands. God, he is sweating like never.

Glenn’s breathing gets extremely unsteady and shaky. The pressure behind his eyes is much more painful now, and he can feel the tears in his eyes. Quick. Quick. Quick. Swift movement, smoothly going down through the flesh of the eyelid, the eye itself and then the brain. In, and then less smoothly out. And then to clean the blade, maybe wiping it against his jeans, or the jacket. Or should he put it in his knife sheath? That is too many things for his mind at once. With his imagination, he already sees blood dripping down his knife. He takes a deep, shaky breath and goes down with the weapon.

A swift move. In and out.

In.

The sound of flesh being ripped with the knife made him sick. It gets into his head like a brutal wave while a storm on the sea. It wipes off any piece of existing comfort, making it into an echo, a gargle. Perhaps a scream, even. His throat already gets too tight, and his vision goes blurry because of tears he is holding back.

Out.

He pulls the knife out. Glenn looks at the mutilated eye and the man’s pillow stained with fresh and warm blood. The metallic smell gets in his nose like an intruder and almost makes him gag in guilt and disgust. But the disgust is only directed to himself. His first victim that was not a walker. His hands are physically clean, but the sensation of invisible blood makes his nerves and skin itch. He wishes he could scratch the skin off, not letting go of his purity in murder. He makes a desperate and quiet sound of holding back the tears. Maybe something like a whine. He tries to swallow the feeling, but the abhorrence and shame starts to flood him. He feels like he’s drowning, but has to take it together. He is a grown man, and he can’t let himself be weak like that. It’s not for him—it is for safety of his people. At least that is something he tries to tell himself, as he knows the mission is a deal with Hilltop. Half of the food they have for killing the Saviors. It seems to him like a good deal, but then, what is the difference between them and the group? They act like them. Perhaps the only difference is that they are getting rid of a problem. So they probably deserve something that the people of Alexandria need so desperately, which is food. Because nothing nowadays is coming with generosity.

His thoughts turn into pictures. All he can see now are vivid pictures of his wife, what if she was the one to die this way tonight. He swallows again. The room is filled with his heavy breathing and quiet sounds of his fight with crying. It felt like trying to strangle an animal to death while hunting; all bullets missed, and he has only his hands to kill it.

His hands covered with a stranger’s blood on them.

Another realization hits Glenn like a rock—the kill was unfair. The man was asleep, and he put this knife in his head when he wasn’t able to fight back. Glenn feels sick again, dizzy even. He gets up and sees Heath standing above the other sleeping Savior with a hunting knife above the one’s eye. With a steady, but at the same time gentle move, he grabs Heath’s hand. The knowledge of Glenn’s companion feeling the same starts to kill something inside him a little. He leans down with his knife again tonight and hesitates. The imitation of pressure behind his eyes comes back, even more painful than the last time. He sees the mutilated pictures in his head again, and it all feels like a fever dream. Another quiet sound of frustration finds its way out of Glenn’s mouth as he guides the knife down in the man’s eye. He pulls it out again; the flesh’s scream once again almost makes him gag. His stomach hurts. It hurts so much that wants to curl up. Two men’s blood on his hands, and he will never be able to wipe it off. He doesn’t even know their names. He sees them for the first time in his whole life. Or what if he passed them by on the streets one time? It makes him feel even more sick. He wants to leave. He wishes he could.

Glenn stands up and looks at Heath, trying to hold himself together. Heath gives him a little nod, but Glenn doesn’t really know if it is a thankful one, or a “we are done” one. The world is spinning around him. He glances one last time down at the man he killed, and then something enchains him on the wall.

There’s at least ten pictures of people killed with their skulls bashed. Some of them still have remains of the bone structure. Brains are made into a bloody soup mixed with soil and bone shards. It takes him a while to even realize it is real. He goes pale and feels a shiver going down his spine, his legs shaking a little. It seems like trophies, a documented act of animalistic urges for torturing and killing. Inhumane. It makes him thinking.

What if they’re not the bad guys at all?

#YEEEEES #FINALLY #MY MAN #CIEN FANFICS CIEN FANFICS #LIVE LAUGH LOVE CIEN FANFICS #EATS CHICKEN MAGNESSIUM #Give it the love it deserves #glenn rhee #the walking dead #twd #twd glenn #angst #the walking dead fanfic

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