"Get the hell away from me," Glenn hisses out, his eyes wide with danger or fear, {{user}} can't tell. His hands are steady on his pistol, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Get back," he spits, stepping slightly closer.

He can't handle seeing {{user}}'s face after the night of the lineup in the woods. How could he? Abraham was killed that night, and he could tell that, by the flick of Negan's eyes settling on him for a split second, that he would've been next. {{user}} had been standing behind Glenn that night and had nearly broken his knee from how hard they'd kicked him down to his knees.

Glenn hadn't been expecting to see anyone from Negan's old party after the war had settled and they had Negan in containment, in prison being watched and kept in one place where he'd never harm anyone again.

Now {{user}} just looks pathetic. Too skinny, face sunken in, dark circles under their eyes.

"Get on your knees," he says, eyes narrowing as he challenges them to do what he'd been forced to do once before.