Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8857468.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Negan
  Character:
      Negan_(Walking_Dead), Carl_Grimes
  Additional Tags:
      This_is_very_slow_burn, slight_under-age, maybe?_-_Freeform, Carl_is_16
      at_the_start_of_the_fic, not_14
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-15 Updated: 2017-05-03 Chapters: 4/? Words: 15901
****** Mister Negan? ******
by lessthanpurefandom
Summary
     Negan was a PE teacher and little league coach back in the day, and
     he always fondly remembered his favorite student, Carl.
Notes
     I think Carl in the comic/show is supposed to be around 14 years old
     when they meet Negan, but Chandler Riggs is actually 17 and LOOKS 17.
     So I split the difference a bit and in the beginning of this fic,
     Carl is 16 years old. This story takes place over a year to a year
     and a half.
     Like most everyone else, I did take dialogue from the show when
     writing these chapters, but I tried to change it whenever possible so
     you guys wouldn't have to read the same lines over and over. I also
     don't indulge in the cursing thing too often unless the occasion
     calls for it, so he won't be dropping f-bombs every other sentence.
     This fic is entirely from Negan's perspective.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Pissing our pants yet?” Negan asked as he walked towards the group, Lucille
resting on his shoulder. The sight before him was a familiar one that never
failed to get his juices flowing. The stink of fear, sweat, and desperation
clung to these murderous assholes like leeches to livestock.  Not so brave now,
were they?
He licked his lips. “Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close.” Negan
looked over the group. “Which one of you pricks is the leader?”
Simon pointed towards the man in the middle.”He's the guy.”
This one,  Negan can tell,  don’t scare easy.
He smiled. “Hi. You're Rick, right? I'm Negan. And I do not appreciate you
killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my
people, you killed more of my people.  Not cool, man.  Not cool.”
Negan came to a stop before the Alexandrian's fearless leader. Rick’s eyes were
bloodshot and wide as he stared up at Negan and the savior was reminded of his
wives back home. Sometimes they gave him the same look as they sucked him off.
That furious  helpless  disgust.
He snorted. ”You see, Rick, whatever you do—no matter what—you don't mess with
the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it's really very
simple—So, even if you're stupid, which you very may well be, you can
understand it.”
Negan could see the small smug smiles that his men were pulling. They’d been
watching these shits kill their brothers and sisters for more than a month now,
but they knew the drill. As much as they wanted to rip these people to shreds
as though  they  were the dead, he couldn’t allow that. No . . . Rick and his
merry band of dickbags would suffer and then they would  work.
Lucille was pulled off his shoulder and pointed towards the sweating, trembling
man. “You ready? Here goes. Pay attention. You work for me now. You have shit,
you give half of it to me. That's your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big,
nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will.”
He could see the gears turning behind Rick’s eyes as the man went through idea
after idea on how to escape this situation with his people intact. Negan had
seen many a survivor have similar thoughts. They’d always gotten out of every
scrape—every impossible situation, and they always thought that Negan was no
different.
Well, he would do his sacred duty and disabuse Rick of the notion, just as he
had with every earner who came before him. “You didn't  really  think that you
were gonna get through this without being punished, now, did you?” He paused
and smiled. “I don't  want  to kill you people—just want to make that clear
from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can't do that if you're dead,
now, can you?”
Negan backed away again and looked them over once more. Most of them looked
back at him—met his eye in a fruitless attempt to push aside their fear. All
except one, that is. The youngest, Rick’s boy—Negan didn’t know his name—hadn’t
looked up from the ground since the savior had stepped out of the trailer.
He smiled as his gaze swung back to Rick. “But you killed my people, a whole
damn lot of them. More than I'm comfortable with. And for that—for that you're
gonna pay. So, now . . . I'm gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan
flipped the bat around until it was held recently in both hands. “This—this is
Lucille, and she . . . is . . .  awesome.  All this,  all  this is just so we
can pick out which one of you gets the honor.”
There were a few sounds here and there of whimpering and shuttering, and the
gravity of the shit-storm they’d found themselves in seemed to finally be
dawning on them, Negan realized. He walked side to side, meeting each of their
eyes as some flinched and other pushed forward as though offering their own
heads. There was quite the variety to choose from. Dark and light skinned, male
and female, old and young. One of them would be on the ground in a few minutes
but choosing . . . that was all part of the art of control of this new world.
As he came to the end of the line, he eyed the familiar pistol that laid
innocuously in front of the boy.  “You  got one of our guns.”
Negan crouched down but the boy still wouldn’t look up, and he couldn’t see
much besides a mane of long wavy hair and a hat that was far too large. He
looked down at the weapon again. He’d known the man that gun had belonged to.
“You got  a lot  of our guns,” he said and was about to get back up when he
heard it.
“Mr. Negan . . .?” a soft voice asked in a shuddering whisper and Negan felt
his body freeze. He leaned forward towards the boy and put his finger under the
kid’s chin, lifting his head and revealing his destroyed face. Even with the
wide bandage, Negan remembered that blue eye, and he knew that face. It had
been years since he’d seen anyone from before the end.
He pushed the hat off the boy—young man now—and his hand swept some of that
disheveled long hair from his face. Negan’s eyes took in every similarity and
change in the boy he’d known a lifetime ago. “As I live and breathe . . .  Carl
Grimes,”  he said knowingly before his head turned to face the boy’s father—and
his horrified expression.
“Carl . . .” Rick said and Negan could hear the terror in the man’s voice.
Negan's jaw twitched as he stood up and looked down at the boy. Carl was
looking at the ground again so all he could see was that long hair of his. His
mouth twisted before he looked at Simon.
“Hood the kid and get him in the van,” he said as he turned away. Now was not
the time to reminisce.
“No!” Rick called as Carl was dragged to his feet and pulled away from the
group. The rest of them, especially the dark dread-locked woman fought their
captors and Carl looked ready to cry. The noise was beginning to annoy him and
he lashed out. Lucille hit the shoulder of the red-haired man and he hit the
ground with a choked groan.
“Don't!” Carl called and Negan pointed the bloody bat towards the boy.
“You  said  my  name, boy. Don’t make it harder on the rest of them than you
already have,” he said angrily. The kid looked so betrayed—so hurt that Negan
was still planning to carry out his initial plan. Negan met Carl’s gaze and did
not allow a trace of warmth to cross his features. The boy seemed to curl in on
himself as he stopped struggling and allowed himself to be lead away quietly.
Negan watched until the young man was out of sight. Examples had to be made,
but Carl didn’t have to see it.
“Now where were we?” he asked as a familiar smile appeared on his face.
He needed to put that boy from his mind for now. There would be plenty of time
to contemplate the existence of Carl Grimes at a later date. He walked by the
group again, coming to a stop in front of what was probably a pretty girl at
one point. Negan pursed his lips as he looked her over. She was sick and with
the world they lived in, probably wouldn’t last much longer.
He raised a brow. “Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your
misery right now,” he said raising the bat. Better to end this all now and get
the hell out of here.
But one of the others—the Asian—sprang forward, yelling. “No! No! Stop it!
God—!”
Dwight had the man down on the ground and Negan chuckled a bit. Well the
apocalypse had apparently been good to some people as this one was clearly
dating far out of his league.
“Nope. Nope, get him back in line.”
The man continued to struggle and Negan shook his head. Why must they always
make things more difficult than they needed to be? “All right, listen. Don't
any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down,  no exceptions.  First
one's free—It's an emotional moment. I took your kid, one of you is about to
die—I get it. You don’t want to make it easy on me, but I gotta pick somebody.”
He whistled a bit and rolled his shoulders. His fingers tightened around
Lucille. “I simply cannot decide.” And really, they were all asking for it—in
their own ways. Some to protect their loved ones, others who were simply
useless to his new world order and meant nothing.
Negan chuckled as he finally made up his mind. “I got an idea. Eenie,” he began
as he walked slowly by them all, pointing Lucille at each one as he said a new
word. “Meenie . . . Miney . . . Mo . . . Catch . . . A tiger . . . By . . . His
toe. If . . . He hollers . . . Let him go. My mother . . . Told me . . . To
pick the very best one . . . And you . . . Are . . . It.”
The red haired man looked up at him unafraid and Negan was sure then that this
was the right decision. He kept his gaze locked with Lucille’s victim as he
spoke. “You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be
doing that,” he said with a smile as the Lucille came down on the man’s head.
“Ho! Ho! Look at that. Taking it like a champ!”
Blood splattered on him and the others around the dead man, and it painted the
ground as he continued to beat the man’s skull into paste. The looks on their
faces though . . . he watched them all break down in various way—except one
man.  The man in the blanket was covered in blood and sweat. He glared at Negan
from beneath his long disheveled hair as rage and hate ate away at him. He was
close to the end of his fuse and just about ready to explode by the looks of
him.
Negan grinned as he knelt down and got close to the bloody man. “You want to
hit me, don’t you? You want to  kill me  like I killed your buddy over there,
but I’m doing you a favor right now . . .” He looked at Dwight. “What’s his
name?”
Dwight immediately spoke up. “Daryl. His name is Daryl.”
“Daryl . . .” he said, tasting the name. It fit with the wild man in front of
him. “As I was saying Daryl, I need you to remember that you guys have no more
chances. You do anything—anything and it won’t be you that I bludgeon to death,
it’ll be one of these other fine people—maybe the boy in the van. Is that what
you want?”
Daryl didn’t say anything but his body uncoiled slightly and Negan smiled
pleasantly as he got to his feet. He let out a loud laugh of satisfaction and
took a deep breath of the cold night air. “Aw man! Glad that’s over. I feel
like we can all be on the same page—”
Rick’s grizzled and low voice cut him off, “I'm gonna kill you.”
Negan sighed as he rolled his eyes. If he had a nickle for every time he’d
heard  that  line. Still one always had to humor the parents. “What? I didn't
quite catch that. You're gonna have to speak up.”
Rick sniffed a bit as he struggled to get his body to obey him. “Not today . .
. not tomorrow . . . but I'm gonna kill you.”
Negan did his best to keep the disappointment from his face. “Jesus,” he said
before looking up at his right hand man. “Simon . . . what did he have, a
knife?”
The savior handed the weapon over. “He had an axe.”
Negan took the axe and slipped it into his belt as he stood up. It seemed an
additional lesson was in order. He grabbed Rick by the scruff of his neck and
began hauling him towards the trailer. “I'll be right back—maybe Rick will be
with me. If not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won't we?” He
paused and shoved Rick inside. “I mean . . . the ones that are left.”
Rick was on the ground and Negan stepped over him like a mud puddle before
slamming the axe into the formica table and making his way to the front of the
trailer.
He put the keys into the ignition. “Let's go for a ride.”
The engine sputtered as it struggled to turn over and Negan shook his head.
“Wow. What a piece of shit.” He eventually stopped and chuckled again. “‘I'm
gonna kill you.’ Are you kiddin' me?” he asked with a laugh. “Did you see what
just happened—what I just did?"
“How do you know my son?” Rick asked and Negan finally turned and faced the
man. He watched as Rick’s gaze never wandered to the axe—it stayed on the
savior. His son was more important than anger or revenge.
Negan smiled as he turned back around, but he watched Rick in the rearview
mirror. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, Rick. Honestly I didn’t
remember you either, on account of us never meeting.”
Rick’s brow furrowed. “If we never met, then how do you know me—know my son?”
The savior grinned nastily. “You sure you want to know, Rick? You sure you want
to know how I met Carl and . . .  Lori?”
He heard the gasp and the sound of the hatchet being pulled from the table, and
he was up and out of his seat, catching Rick’s arm and shoving the man away.
They grappled for a minute and he eventually got the other man down over the
table. Rick panted with exertion and sheer exhaustion, but Negan was in perfect
shape, his body honed to perfection for violence. Negan buried the axe into the
table again, inches from Rick’s nose and smiled when the other man flinched.
“That was your chance, man. That was your chance to put an end to my reign and
you failed—just like you failed your people out there—just like you would have
failed your son. You kill me, what do you think is gonna happen to a pretty
piece like your boy?”
“Don’t . . .” Rick whispered.
Negan snorted as he straightened back up. “Then don’t make me.” He looked at
the window and saw the barest streaks of light peeking over the horizon. “Well,
look at that. Dawn is breakin'. It's a brand-new day, Rick.”
He walked back to the front of the trailer and this time it turned over like a
charm. Negan put the vehicle in gear and began driving it out of the clearing.
The things he was doing to keep Carl’s father alive. The man was as hard-headed
as his son had been back in the day—well before Negan had gotten ahold of him,
anyway.
He smiled at the thought and the memories. “You should be thanking me, Rick.
Your boy didn’t have to witness what happened—won’t have to witness could
still  . . . happen,” he said, allowing a note of danger to lace through his
tone.
Rick said nothing as the trailer slowed to a stop, and though the mist around
them was thick in the early morning, he could hear the dead coming for them.
Negan allowed a satisfied smile—the kind he always wore when there was violence
to be had. Carl’s father was still sitting on the ground and Negan sat on the
bench, leaning back lazily to watch the rapidly breaking man.
Negan pulled a hunting knife from his side and began picking at his nails. “I
was your boy’s teacher back in that little school in bumfuck Georgia—his
baseball coach too.”
Rick’s head snapped up. “T—teacher? You were a  middle school teacher  before
all this?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure was. PE, if you can believe it. Ah, those were the
days, ya know? Carl was one of my  favorite  students. So attentive and well
behaved. Didn’t hurt that his mom was a knockout.” Negan let out a breath and
adjusted himself in his pant. “Whew! Never saw Carl’s  daddy,  but the women—ya
know they talk, and everyone knew all about how Rick the sheriff’s deputy was
never around cause he and the old lady were havin’ . . . problems. We were all
taking bets on when you’d leave her, and then someone else would get a taste of
that single-mom pussy.”
Rick looked disgusted as he turned away and Negan shrugged his shoulders. By
now, the dead were beating against the sides of the trailer and the windshield.
It was quiet for a few seconds before Rick spoke, a not of pleading in his
voice. “Please . . . Let him go. Take me instead.”
Negan snorted and shook his head. “No, Rick. I can’t do that. See you’re an
earner. You’re gonna earn for me. And besides, I’m doing you a favor, really.
I’ll take good care of your boy—reminds me of his super-hot mom, ya know? It’s
those lips of his.”
Rick tried to lunge at him again, but Negan’s boot on his shoulder forced him
back to the ground. The savior tsked in irritation as he reached over towards
the table, and pulled the axe free again.
“Don’t you touch him,” Rick gritted out from the floor.
Negan allowed his lips to pull into an ugly smile. “See Rick, when I want
something, I take it. And then it’s mine. You are mine. The people back
there—they’re mine.” He reached down and waved the axe in front of Rick’s face.
“This . . . This is mine.”
He got up and stood beside the door. “We’re gonna have a lot in common, you and
me, Rick. I want us to be friends and that starts with us having a mutual
understanding.” Negan pushed the door open and dispatched a few of the dead
that wandered too close before throwing the axe out and onto the dirt. “Rick .
. . go get my axe.”
The other man didn’t respond and Negan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He
hated this part in the stages of acceptance of the inevitable. The catatonic
helplessness that overcame those who had never been cut down before. Being
reminded that they were not invincible tended to do things to people.
Negan sighed and hauled the man to his feet. “Go . . . Get . . .  My  . . .
Axe,”  he said before shoving the man outside and slamming the door shut behind
him. He waited there, listening to Rick groan and growl as he picked off the
dead and managed to grab the axe. If Rick hadn’t been such a liability, he
would have taken the man into his sanctuary.  Ah well, Rick was a lost cause,
but the man’s son, perhaps there was still potential there. He listened as Rick
fought off the attackers and as the man climbed up the ladder to the top of the
RV.
Negan smiled and sat back down before calling out. “Bet you thought you were
all gonna grow old together, sittin' around the table at Sunday dinner and the
happily ever after,” he said and heard the man collapse. Breaking
people—especially strong people . . . There was an art to it.
“ . . . No. Doesn't work like that, Rick . . . Not anymore. Think about what
happened. Think about what I will be  taking with me,  and think about what you
would do to protect the people you love—those that are left. People will die,
Rick. It's what happens. Doesn't mean it has to be your people. Now, get me . .
. my . . .  axe!”
Negan wasn’t a fan of killing Rick. The boy would be pretty broken up about it,
and that kid—that kid that had smiled up at him proudly whenever Mr. Negan
congratulated him in place of his absent father—that kid would never smile at
Negan.  Still . . . examples had to be made and he was getting impatient. He
pulled the rifle out of its hiding place beside the passenger seat and fired
enough bullets into the ceiling to get the man moving. He heard Rick leap off
the back and watched as he hung from the decaying carcass of the hanging dead.
Corpses surrounded him, pawing and biting at his legs as the head of the corpse
threatened to separate from its body. Negan watched, waffling back and forth on
whether to save the man—give him one more chance. He sighed and before finally
pushing  open the window and opening fire on the dead. They dropped like flies,
heads blown open and Rick came crashing down on the mound of dead flesh.
He pulled the gun away from the window. “I really want you to try this time,
Rick. Last chance. Bring me my axe!” Negan hit the stand and the window fell
closed. That was it. If Rick didn’t make it back, Negan’s conscience was clear
and Carl would just have to get over it.
As it was, he knew the instant that Rick got the axe and Negan listened to the
sweet music of a predator in his element. And that’s what Rick was. Negan
wasn’t stupid—he didn’t underestimate what Rick must have been capable of. A
man didn’t live as long as he had in this world unless he was willing to get
his hands dirty—and Negan was willing to bet that Rick’s hands were dirtier
than most.
The dead continued to fall to the axe and Negan smiled as Rick tried to open
the door. It would be so easy to leave him out there—maybe even shoot him
through the door, but no, Rick didn’t need to die. He just needed to  learn.
The man might have been the biggest fish in his pond, but there was an ocean of
shit beyond the walls of his little settlement and Negan was the apex predator
in that ocean.
He got up and pushed the door open, firing on the corpses before stepping back
and waiting for Rick to get back inside. The man hurried after him, the door
slamming shut behind him and he stood there, trembling with adrenaline and
stress as Negan watched him. He held his hand out and Rick swallowed before
handing the weapon over and collapsing into the seat.
“Atta boy!”  he said as he crouched down to Rick’s level and met the man’s dead
eyes. No . . . there was still  that look  in the man’s eye. One final push
then.
The savior held up the bloody axe. “Who does this belong to?”
Rick’s eyes moved from Negan’s face to the weapon. “You,” he said steadily.
Negan chuckled. “Yeah, that’s right. And who do you belong to?”
The man’s response was slower but he answered, “You.”
He took pleasure in asking his next question. “And now our bonus round. Your
son . . . Who does he belong to?”
Rick’s eyes went wide and Negan was reminded of Carl’s baby blues. The kid
might have gotten his cute looks from his mother but the eyes . . . that was
all Rick.
“Answer the question, Rick,” he said impatiently.
The man licked his dry lips and he watched as the last of the fight drained
from that exhausted frame. “You . . . He belongs to you.”
Negan allowed a slow indulgent smile to form. “See, isn’t that so much easier,
Rick? Now I don’t have to kill any more of your people. You can go about your
business earning for me and your boy will be taken care of, I promise.” The
savior stood up again and turned to head for the front of the trailer when Rick
spoke up again.
“Why do you want him?”
Negan sighed. “You’re ruining our moment, Rick. Don’t ask questions that you
don’t want answered.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” Rick said desperately and Negan turned back to see
tears welling up in those familiar blue eyes. He honestly thought Negan was
taking the kid for perverted sexual reasons.
The savior snorted at the idea as he looked down at the reddened tear-streaked
face. “I know what you’re thinking, and I can’t say that the idea hasn’t
crossed my mind, but really it doesn’t matter anymore—not to you anyway. Your
son—he’s mine now. And Rick, one of the things you’ll come to know about me is
that I protect what’s mine. I cherish it. And, I’ll  fuck  what’s mine if the
idea crosses my mind and no one—least of all you—can stop me.”
Rick broke down with a sob. “Please don’t hurt him,” the man said again.
Negan turned away again from the broken man. He should say that he would never
force himself on anyone. No means no, but he said nothing. The more that Rick
feared what could befall his son, the easier it would be to keep control of the
man and his people.  He sat down in the driver’s seat and started the engine
again, watching Rick cry into his bloody hands through the rear-view mirror. It
only took a few minutes before they were back where they started and Negan
grinned as he got up and walked back. Rick was easily hauled along with him,
the man unable to even struggle anymore as he was dragged by his hair back out
in front of his people. They all looked at Rick with varying degrees of hope
and pity and Negan intended to nip that shit in the bud.
“Your man here—he understands how things are now, don’t you Rick?” he asked,
crouching down beside the man. He leaned in and kept his words low. “You answer
to me. You provide for me, don’t you.”
Rick sat there, staring at the ground and Negan sighed before yelling, “Speak
when you're spoken to! You answer to me. You  provide  for me.”
The broken man swallowed and his words were quiet. “Provide for you.”
“And you belong to me, right?”
“Right.”
Negan looked over the group again. “See, he understands that when I tell him to
do something, he does it. Now, I’m hoping you’re all on the same page, cause
like I said before I don’t want to kill you—you can’t earn for me if you’re
dead, so don’t do anything stupid. Now, you can all still lead a nice,
productive lives producing for me. I hope, for all your sakes that you get it
now—that you understand how things work.”
No one said anything and he shook his head. “I think we’re done here boys. Load
up everything of value and let’s get the hell out of here.”
His men scampered off to obey and Negan gave Rick one more meaningful look
before bending over and whispering in his ear. “Just remember, Rick. You grow
your balls back—you wanna try something, I will cut pieces off your boy and put
them on your doorstep—or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do
it for me.”
Rick choked a bit and the savior snorted before looking back at the rest of the
filth. “Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits! I'm gonna leave you
a truck. Keep it—Use it to cart all the crap you're gonna find me.”
Negan heard his van pull up behind him and he grinned. “We'll be back for our
first offering in one week . . . Until then, ta-ta.”
He turned away from the cowering group and watched as Simon jumped out of the
driver’s seat of the van before coming around and getting into the passenger.
Negan pulled himself up and behind the wheel of the vehicle.
He pulled the van away from the clearing and they began the long trek back to
Sanctuary.
“He make any noise?” Negan asked and Simon shook his head
“Not a peep, sir.”
He narrowed his eyes. Given how ferral some of those others had been, he had
sort of expected Carl to act up a bit more. “And he didn’t see what happened.”
It wasn’t a question but Simon gave him a measured look.
“No, sir.”
Negan didn’t give a shit about whatever non-existent thoughts were floating
through Simon’s brain. “Good, gonna ease him into this.”
His second looked confused. “Into what? They sink or they swim, right?”
Negan snorted. “Nah, some require a more delicate touch, especially considering
what that kid is gonna do for me in the future.”
“You gonna make him a wife?”
It wouldn’t be the first time that Negan had taken a male lover, though he’d
never named any as a wife. He wasn’t exactly picky about where he stuck his
dick so long as it was warm and moaning.
“No . . . No, I think I’ve got something else in mind for him,” he said
thoughtfully.
The minutes ticked by and he sat in silence, thinking of the future, thinking
of Simon’s questions, Rick’s fears, Carl’s pleading blue eye.
When they finally arrived back at the Sanctuary, he got out of the van but
didn’t immediately open the back door for Carl. He wanted that kid safely
stowed until he was ready to deal with him. Conner jogged up to him as he was
giving out orders to the men.
“Negan, need to talk to you about redirect,” he said.
Negan looked skywards. He hadn’t exactly hoped this would happen, but he’d
moved his pieces around just right and sure enough, everyone played their parts
to a tee and now . . . now someone was gonna be real unhappy tonight—couple of
someones, maybe.
“What about redirect?”
“I don’t know what happened. Something got screwed up and it’s a mess, but
we’re taking care of it.”
“Find Mark. He was on redirect last night.”
Connor’s eyes widened and Negan felt his jaw twitch and he sucked his teeth.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Negan, I . . .”
“Save it. Find Mark and get the furnace ready.”
Connor swallowed but nodded and walked away quickly. Negan heard him call a few
of the others and order them to help in the search. No one was meeting his eyes
now. They all knew what was coming soon, but they understood—they knew how
easily it could all slip away. That’s why the rules were there.
They hadn’t brought much extra with them this time, only a few vehicles and
extra weapons from the Alexandrians. Unloading was done quickly, and he turned
back to the Van. It sat there so innocuously, despite holding something that
was so important to him. What the fuck was he going to do with this kid? Negan
called for the courtyard to be cleared and he stood there alone, for a few
minutes before finally walking over and opening the door. It was dark inside
and he nearly missed Carl as the boy sat motionless in the farthest corner. His
knees were drawn up under his chin, and his eyes were screwed shut.
He looked pathetic.
Negan sighed in irritation. Perhaps he'd made a mistake.  “I expected better of
you, Carl,” he said off-handedly.
The kid looked up and Negan had only a fraction of a second to get out of the
way before the boy revealed a gun and fired.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Not beta-read so there will prob be typos.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Negan hauled himself to the side as the boy fired his gun and he couldn’t help
grinning.  Boy had some man-sized balls,  he thought as he looked up towards
the sky in silent satisfaction.
Simon came around to stand beside him and Negan kept his voice low. “Find out
which of these idiots left a gun on the kid,” he said.
His second nodded before moving away as his men came rushing back into the
courtyard. They all had their guns aimed at the van, ready for Negan’s signal
to fire. Lucille wouldn’t be much use in a gunfight so he leaned her against
the van.
“Don’t shoot ‘im,” he called, laughing like a loon and many of his men backed
away. “Now  this  is what I expected of you, son!” he said loudly. There was no
response at first, and he wasn’t sure if Carl heard him but then the boy
responded.
“I’m not your son!” he yelled.
Thank God for that,  he thought, or some of the looks he’d slid Carl’s way
would be a hell of a lot grosser than him just eyeing an under-age boy. “You
always liked me calling you that before,” he said, allowing just a bit of
smugness to show in his tone.
“That was when I thought you were a good man!” Carl yelled, sounding betrayed.
“I looked up to you!”
Negan’s grin dropped.  Now that was just uncalled for.  “Hey, I’m a greater man
now than I ever was before,” he said, peeking around the corner and back into
the cargo area of the van.
Another shot rang out, missing him by mere inches and he dove back out of
sight. This was getting real interesting. The Alexandrians had done a decent
job on the kid’s education so far, but Negan intended to finish it.
“Carl, you need to put down the gun and come out here. If I was gonna hurt you,
I would have done it back in front of your dad—”
“What  did  you do to my dad?” the kid asked, interrupting him.
Negan rolled his eyes but answered anyway. “Rick’s fine.”  Mostly,  he thought
with a tilt of his head. There was silence for a moment and the savior watched
as the others repositioned themselves around the van, their guns at the ready.
If Negan couldn’t talk this kid into putting down the gun, there would be no
saving him.
“But you killed someone! Who was it?” Carl asked and Negan thought back. It
had  been dark and he hadn’t been paying much attention, really.
“You really wanna know that?” he asked, mentally tallying up the Alexandrians
in his mind.
“They’re my friends—my family.”
Not for long,  Negan thought as he came upon the answer. “The red guy, he took
it like a champ.”
He heard the kid shifting inside the metal container before just barely
catching a whisper. “Abraham.”
Negan shrugged. He hadn’t known the man’s name and was even less likely to
remember it now that Red’s brain was splattered across the ground.
“Did you hurt anyone else?” the kid asked unsteadily.
The savior rolled his eyes. “Nope. They’re all fine. Even left them a truck to
get back to your little city on the hill.” Carl’s voice was close, perhaps only
the thin layer of metal separated them, now.
The boy’s tone was thin. “Why?”
It was a question that he’d received hundreds of times, by people on their
knees; bloodied and awaiting their deaths. By his own men when they wished he
would take back an order. By this kid who wanted to know what was going to
happen next.
All of these things passed through his mind but outwardly, Negan only snorted.
“Come on now, Carl. You’re smarter than that—I know you are. Just like you’re
smart enough to know that if you fire that damn weapon again, I’m gonna be
forced to do something that  none  of us will enjoy.”
There was a few seconds of silence before the tell-tale clatter of metal on
metal could be heard, and Negan took a chance and swung himself around again.
The gun was lying on the floor of the van and Carl was, again, sitting towards
the back. Negan picked the gun up and tossed it to Simon, before waving him and
the other men away.
“You sure, boss?” his second asked, his gaze darting between Negan and the kid.
The savior nodded, his eyes on Carl’s hunched over form. “Yeah, I’m sure.I’ll
take care of this.” Simon nodded and walked away, his arm waving to the others
to disperse.
Negan stood there, watching the boy. Things had changed—for the both of
them—since the end, and the feelings of guilt that he’d long since pushed away
tried to resurface. Carl wasn’t looking at him—wasn’t making a sound as his
face was buried in his arms. Back in the clearing, Carl had looked at him as
though Negan could possibly be his  savior.
And he wanted to be that for Carl, but not in the way that the young man would
hope for. Because nothing could ever be what it was before—the world would
never be what it was before. Not in either of their lifetimes, anyway. He would
never be the friendly PE teacher again, high-fiving little-leaguers and shaking
hands with parents. Negan had . . .  evolved  into someone who could command an
army and turn chaos into order.  
He was  Negan,  now.
Carl Grimes had adapted to the new world and he’d adapt to Negan as well. He
had to.
The savior held his hand out and beckoned the young man forward. “Come out,
Carl. This doesn’t have to be hard on you.”
The kid flinched at the sound of his voice and he hesitantly looked up. Negan
met his gaze and he could see the minute twitches around the young man’s
remaining blue eye. He was afraid, and at this point, he needed that.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he said quietly with a raised brow and Carl took a
slow breath, but he eventually got up and trudged out of the van in a way that
only a sulking teenager could. He didn’t accept Negan’s hand and jumped out
himself, coming to stand a few feet from the savior. In the light of day, Negan
was able to get a much better look at the kid. He was all string-bean arms and
legs and topped out just under Negan’s chin. Nutrition had no doubt taken a
back-seat to survival, but he was still young—perhaps a round of decent meals
would help him fill out a bit more.
Negan resisted the urge to put his arm around the kid’s thin shoulders like
he’d done years before—when he’d fantasized about having a son like Carl and a
beautiful wife like Lori. His first wife, Lucille had died young of cancer, and
he’d watched all those happy budding families, and he’d lemented never having
one of his own. Those things hadn’t been in the cards then and they apparently
weren’t in the cards now either. He hadn’t been lying to Rick when he’d
described Carl as his favorite student or the bets that had taken place. He’d
honestly been waiting for Rick to walk out on them, and Negan had fully
intended to offer his shoulder to Lori to cry on.
The savior wondered then what had happened to her. He remembered that Rick had
been shot just before outbreak—big news in a tiny town when the star deputy was
fighting for his life in the hospital. Carl had been in his class when the
assistant principal had pulled the boy into the hallway, and he’d been there to
hand Carl off to his mom when she arrived to pick him up. He didn’t remember
Rick ever getting out of the hospital before the outbreak, and when things had
gone south, he’d honestly written the man off. But Rick Grimes had survived and
to think, little Carl Grimes was walking with him again.
Though he wasn’t quite so little anymore. “How old are you now, Carl?” he asked
as they walked through the courtyard towards the factory. Other saviors watched
them, some in curiosity, others in suspicion and still more with hate as they
knew where he’d come from.
“Almost seventeen . . . I think,” the kid said, his eye firmly on the ground.
He was older than Negan had thought, but then, he’d always remembered Carl as a
freckled sprite hitting baseballs and running into his arms when he won a game.
Rick hadn’t turned up to a single little-league game that Negan could
remember—too busy avoiding his wife and saving the day in a backwater town.
“When’s your birthday?”
Carl hesitated before answering. “January twenty-first.”
Negan whistled. “Just a few months shy, then,” he said offhandedly.
“What are you going to do with me?”
That  was  the question of the day—the one being asked of him every time one of
his people looked their way. He smiled none-the-less. “Haven’t quite decided
yet, but for now, you’ll be staying in my home as my . . . ward.”
He’d be telling everyone to keep their mitts off the kid until he figured out
exactly what he was going to do with him. Despite Carl’s little stunt in the
van, he didn’t know much about the boy, didn’t know what—if anything—he was
capable of. Sure, he’d gotten reports that Rick took his kid with him as backup
on runs occasionally, but information about the youngest Alexandrian had been
sparse.
There was something different about Carl—and not only cause the kid was clearly
missing an eye. Age and circumstance and ensured that he wasn’t the boy that
he’d been all those years ago. The end of the world had changed him, as it had
so many other people, and now Negan just needed to figure out in what ways.
Carl followed him as they entered the factory. People were milling about,
trading points for goods, putting in requests, and just generally being
communal. These were his people, living by his rules and it was time to impress
that fact upon Carl.
He leaned down, ignoring the way the young man moved away, and whispered,
“Check this out.”
Negan left him and walked towards the railing. He looked down at his people
with no small amount of pride. They weren’t all there, of course, but there was
enough to make the impression he was going for. He smiled as they noticed him
one by one and all took the knee. His smile grew as he basked in their respect
for his leadership and fear of his wrath. He felt Carl walk up behind him, the
boy clearly watching what was happening with trepidation regarding his own
future.
Negan leaned against the railing and let his voice carry through the factory.
“The saviors have gone out into the world and fought the dead and come back
with some  really  good stuff.” Carl stood just behind him and Negan puffed his
chest out a bit more. “Some of that stuff can be yours if you work hard . . .”
Negan looked over at the kid, but Carl was far more interested in the people
below. “. . . And play by the rules. Today, everyone gets fresh vegetables at
dinner, no points needed.”
There was a quiet cheer from the participants and while it wasn’t the round of
applause that he got when there was fresh meat on the menu, it was good enough.
He turned and looked down at the quiet boy. This time Carl looked up at him,
his one blue eye considering of everything that he had seen.
Negan leaned in again, his lips close to Carl’s ear. “You see that?  Respect.”
He let out a small chuckle. “Cool, huh? They still on their knees?”
The boy didn’t answer so Negan turned back around and called out, “As you
were!”
He walked away but kept his pace slow. Carl lingered a few seconds at the
railing,  watching the people below and Negan smiled. Power did things to
people—changed them into the most extreme version of themselves. When there
were no consequences for one’s actions, and one could act any way they chose,
and well . . . l that was the only time you could truly know a man.
Negan paused at the stairwell and turned back. The boy still stood there
watching the saviors and Negan pursed his lips. “Come on, Carl,” he said and
the kid jumped a bit before scurrying after him. This time, Negan did put a
hand on his back, pushing him forward and up the stairs to his apartments.
The sanctuary was a former steel factory that his people had fortified over a
year ago with semi-trailers and fencing. The lower levels had been cleared out
and repurposed for communal areas and distribution while many of the
outbuildings now functioned as single family homes. He’d been tempted to take
one of them for himself—he liked a bit of privacy, but there was something to
be said for living at the highest point in the compound. To be able to look out
at all he’d built and know it was his.
They came to the top three floors. They had been offices for the bigwigs back
in the day but now they served as his home. Three floors might have been a bit
much for most people, but with his little ‘family’ he needed the space. Carl’s
eyes were wide as they entered the main living area.
“Ladies,” he said with a smile before adding, “Don’t mind the kid.”
This had once been two rooms that he’d had combined to suit his apparently ever
increasing family. His wives sat in various places around the room, decked out
in short black dresses and heels. They were framed with classic furniture and
art that he’d had brought in over the years. Masterpieces that had been world
famous only a few years ago now hung in Negan’s formal sitting room. His wives
seemed perfectly at home amongst the luxury he’d provided, and they all looked
so beautiful and elegant, like a snapshot of some highfalutin cocktail party
from before the end.
Carl was swallowing reflexively at the group of women and Negan smiled as he
leaned in.  “I know,”  he said meaningfully. “Every woman where you’re from
dresses like they do the books at an auto-shop,” he added with a snort before
deciding to throw the kid a bone . . . so to speak. “You’re gonna want to look
at their titties. It’s cool.  I  won’t mind— they  won’t mind. Knock yourself
out.”
Carl seemed to be in a state of shock so Negan left him alone for the moment.
His wives were all looking up at him, but none of them said anything. And  that
was all he needed to know. Amber, his newest and current favorite wife sat with
Sherry on one of the sofas and he scoffed. The blonde girl looked up at him
with her big blue eyes before he gave her a sharp gesture with his head. Those
blue eyes had been what had attracted him to her—well that and her plump ass.
She swallowed, but got up and slunk out of the room. Sherry glared at him and
followed her out, and the rest of his wives watched them leave—well except
Ginger. She sat silently on her chair, reading over something on her ipad—the
woman was never without the thing.
Sherry would be as useless as tits on a boar-hog when it came to getting
answers so he looked down at his first wife. “She do it?” he asked.
Ginger looked up from her reading, an elegant red brow raised. “She wasn’t
sitting over there looking like misery personified for the sheer pleasure of
it.”
And wasn’t that just like Ginger. She was the coldest bitch he’d ever met, but
he liked that about her. He didn’t really fuck her too often anymore, but then,
he hadn’t married her ‘cause of her skills in bed—which were non-existent on a
good day. No, he’d found her holed up in the Smithsonian in DC when they’d been
out scavenging. She’d threatened him with a shotgun and at first he’d thought
she was protecting herself, but then she’d yelled at one of his men for
touching one of the paintings on the wall.
It had taken some doing to convince her to put down the gun—even more to get
her to return with him to the Sanctuary. She didn’t have much in the way of
useful skills so he’d married her and they had an understanding. She now spent
her days maintaining his ever growing art collection. He had paintings,
sculpture, and vases that he’d allowed her to take from the museum. Most of
them were in storage, but his favorites hung right here in his home. Negan
turned back to see Carl still looking around, his eye wide with wonder and
confusion. He walked back over and looked down at the kid.
“Are they . . . ?” Carl began, even though he was unsure of what he was even
asking.
“They’re my wives, Carl,” he said as he finally draped an arm around the boy’s
shoulder. He flinched but they’d work on that. Negan had nothing but time.
The savior turned back to his family. “Girls, this is Carl. He’s gonna be
staying with us from now on. I expect you all to look after him as if he were
your own,” he said with a grin. They all nodded, eyeing the boy and he could
see them all planning and theorizing about what their leader and husband was
doing with a teenage boy.
Negan cast one last grin towards the group before turning away and leading the
boy back down the hall towards the stairs again. Up and up they walked until
they came to the very top floor. He could hear sobbing coming from the first
room, and Carl seemed unnerved by the noise. Thankfully, once they entered
Negan’s bedroom, the noise stopped.
He pulled his gloves off as Carl looked around the room. The furnishings were
upscale and dark with thick stripes as the dominating pattern. Negan watched as
Carl walked up to the painting that hung opposite his bed. A red and white
modern piece that he loved to look at for its bold colors.
He eyed the young man as he reached up to touch the canvas, but Negan spoke up.
“I wouldn’t do that. Ginger would have your balls, then mine.”
“Ginger is . . . one of your wives?”
“Yes,” he answered before heading towards his sofa and sitting down. Carl
watched him and hesitantly made his way towards the chair opposite him, but
Negan wasn’t having that.
“Come here, Carl,” he said gesturing for the boy to sit  beside  him.
The young man looked at the hand laid upon the cushion for a long moment before
he finally made his way around the coffee table and gingerly sat down—though
there were multiple feet between them.
“You used to sit just beside me,” Negan said. “When I took the team out for
pizza and maybe a movie at the rec center.”
“That was a long time ago,” the boy answered quietly.
Negan looked Carl up and down, taking in the thin frame, the long hair that he
no doubt wore to try and disguise his bandaged face, and the stoic expression
that was so foreign to the animated and happy child that he’d been so long ago.
“Yes it was,” he said thoughtfully
“Why am I here?”
“Really Carl, I thought you’d know—”
Carl shook his head, his expression determined. “Not why you took me, why am I
in your house? I saw the . . . slaves you have working outside the fences and
the people who are tied up. Why aren’t I with them?”
Negan’s eyes narrowed and his boots hit the ground with a heavy thud before he
reached over and hauled Carl close to him again. “There ain’t no slaves around
here, boy and I resent the implication. Everyone here works for protection and
food, but they aren’t forced to stay.”
“Dwight—”
“Dwight and his women could have left with my blessing, but instead they stole
from me. I don’t care if someone leaves—so long as they can accept the
consequences of their actions. I’m a reasonable man like that,” he said before
pushing the boy away again.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Negan snorted ungracefully. “Christ kid, you want to be out there on the line
dealing with the corpses? And before you say ‘yes’ just to be a spiteful little
shit, remember that your dad is going to work for me on the auspices of keeping
you  safe. But if you aren’t around anymore, then he has no motivation so I
gotta create a new one for him—which means another of your people comes here
and I guarantee it, their digs won’t be a cushy as yours.”
Carl’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t ask again and Negan smiled. “I’m glad we
understand each other.”
His eyes continued to move along Carl’s face, specifically on the bandage that
covered almost half of it. He hated it. The scars that people received out here
were marks of honor. They were a testament to the fact that you’d been through
the shit and you still lived.
“Take that crap off your face, Carl,” he said.
The boy reared back as if he’d been struck. “What? No way!”
A slow smile began to form on Negan’s lips. No one said ‘no’ to him. Not
anymore.
“Carl, you gotta know by now that I gotta soft spot for you. So you probably
also know that I’m not likely to damage you—to badly anyway. But see, if you
piss me off, then  someone  has to pay for that. I only killed Red back there,
but when I go to pick up my shit next week, I can always take my pound of flesh
out of another one of them. So every time you feel like saying ‘no’ to me, ask
yourself if you really want to piss me off? And can you accept the consequences
of your decision?”
Carl’s one eye blinked rapidly as he digested what Negan had said. “What
happened to you?” the boy finally asked and Negan chuckled. He got that one a
lot too.
“The dead started walking Carl . . . And then I figured out that the dead
weren’t even the scariest thing out there. Now . . .  Get that hair out of your
face, and let me see,” he said, and his voice brokered no arguments.
The kid swallowed but he none-the-less began to unwrap the bandages from around
his face, pulling gauze out of the way and revealing a hole the size of a plum,
blasted into the side of his face. His entire eye was gone, and Negan could see
bone and muscle clear as day.
It was pretty Goddamn disgusting if he was being honest, but the kid seemed
insecure enough about his wound. If he’d been older, Negan would not have
hesitated to bust his balls over it, but the point of this exercise wasn’t to
humiliate him, but rather to get him to see that showing the physical result of
the shit he’d done, sent a far more powerful message than anything he could
simply say.
He shrugged. “It may not be a hit with the ladies, but I swear to you, no one
is gonna screw with you looking like that.”
Carl gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious, right now?”
Negan let out a guffaw of a laugh. “I was just screwing with you, but all jokes
aside, you look rad as hell. I wouldn't cover that shit up.”
He grinned before yanking the bandages from Carl’s lap and getting up.
“Hey!” the kid yelped, standing as well, but Negan was already dumping the
dirty strips into the garbage.
“You don’t need them anymore,” he said seriously.
Carl looked ready to say something but a knock on the door silenced him. He
seemed to remember himself in that moment—remember where he was and who he was
talking to.
Negan wasn’t entirely sure whether he liked that or not.
Chapter End Notes
     Just want to reiterate that this is a slow burn fic that takes place
     over the course of over a year. Carl is still sixteen when this
     begins. He'll be eighteen by the time anything too 'questionable'
     happens. Sorry, I'm an old lady and I can't really bring myself to
     write about underage boys.
     I'll try to update this once a week or so, but it depends on my
     schedule with work and school.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Come in,” he called, still watching Carl as the boy sat back down and looked
anywhere but at Negan. The door swung open and Fat Josef appeared, his large
frame taking up most of the doorway, but the man didn’t move any further
inside. He’d obviously drawn the short straw, Negan thought with a grin.
He made a gesture with his fingers indicating that the other man should come
forward and Joe swallowed a bit before coming inside, a familiar weapon
clutched reverently in both hands.
“I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but, uh you left Lucille out by the truck,”
Joseph said, stuttering only a little.
Negan came forward. “That’s right,” he said, taking the bat from the other
man’s hand. “Had my hands full with our newest addition, didn’t I?” he asked,
though the question wasn’t really directed at anyone.
Negan looked back at Carl, who still sat there with his eye on the ground like
a kicked puppy. It sickened him and he felt his lips curl in disgust as he
looked back at the other savior.
“Fat Joseph,” he began and saw the man’s adam’s apple bob in fright. “Did you
carry her all the way up here for me?”
Joseph nodded frantically. “Yes, sir.”
His grin was all teeth as he leaned in a bit. “Were you gentle? Were you kind?
Did you treat her like a lady?”
“Yes! Yes, sir!” the man said, sweat beginning to shine over his forehead.
Negan chuckled. “Did you pet her little pussy like a lady?” he asked and at the
man’s wide-eyed horror, Negan let out a loud laugh. “I’m just fucking with you,
man—A baseball bat doesn't have a pussy.”
Joseph’s answering nervous laugh was silenced when Negan finally growled out,
“Now, get the hell out.”
Never saw a fat man move so fast,  he thought as Joe hightailed it out of the
room, the door shutting behind him.
He turned back to Carl, smile firmly in place, even as his eyes narrowed. “Now,
you see? That's what I'm talking about,” he said walking back towards the young
man. “Men breaking each other's balls. This is the shit your dad's supposed to
be teaching you,” the savior added as he sat down, Lucille laid down on the
coffee table.
“My dad taught me plenty,” the kid said mutinusly. “He’s going to kill you.”
Negan allowed himself a dangerous grin. Rick had said something similar, and he
wondered then exactly what that group had seen— done  in the three years since
the fall. Carl did not seem in any way hesitant in his words, which meant that
Rick had killed enough people to make a strong impression on his own son. Had
he passed on that taste for blood to Carl? Negan aimed to find out.
“You really think so, Carl? You think that broken crying man that I left behind
in the dirt is gonna come in here and kill me?”
At this Carl finally did look up, his gaze unwavering. “Yes.”
And wasn’t Carl just the cutest thing—just like his mom back in the day.
Speaking of . . .
“What happened to your mother,” he finally asked. It was something that had
been bothering him since he’d first laid eyes on Carl.
Lori Grimes had never really given him the time day. She was polite enough, but
her eyes had never strayed to any man that he’d seen, even when her marriage
had been falling apart. What had caught his attention was the way she would
help out some of the other kids whose families couldn’t afford some of the
equipment needed to play baseball. He did the same when he could, but Lori had
had a heart of gold and watching kids who hadn’t been able to play, run around
the bases in their new cleats while the child’s mom hugged Mrs. Grimes in
thanks . . . He’d never been able to take his eyes off her.
Carl blinked several times as though he’d been caught completely off guard. His
breath was stuttering as he answered. “I’m not talking about that,” he said.
Ah . . . so that’s how it was. He’d probably seen Lori get ripped apart by
corpses. Negan had known all these years that the woman was probably dead, but
. . . Carl’s expression was enough to know that it hadn’t ended well.
He sighed and decided to drop the subject as he got up and headed for the door.
He stuck his head outside and called out. “Sherry!”
Negan left the door open and returned to his his seat beside Carl. The kid was
quiet and he hated that. Sherry trudged inside, the sleeve of her dress
darkened in places with dampness. No doubt Amber had been sobbing her eyes out
looking for sympathy. He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Negan?” she asked snidely.
His eyes narrowed into slits at her tone. He’d never hit any of his wives—women
and children were to be protected. But there were worse things than physically
hurting someone. He said nothing at first and his silence was deafening. She
looked away, licking her lips nervously.
That’s better.  “I want you to clean out the top floor bedroom today. Carl will
be taking that one.”
Sherry’s eyes widened. “But Negan. What about Amber?”
“What about her?” he asked with a raised brow.
His wife shook her head. “She made a mistake—”
He let out a guffaw. “Mistake? That’s a good one, Sherry.”
Her jaw tightened and she sighed. “She didn’t mean—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he said, his tone lowering. “Forgetting to do
the laundry is a mistake. Spilling the coffee is a mistake.” He tilted his
head. “Letting another man stick his dick in her doesn’t qualify as a mistake.”
His eyes slid to the boy. “Does it, Carl?”
The kid looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”
He locked his gaze onto Carl’s and the kid was taken aback once more at how
cold he was.  “Would you consider your girl letting another man fuck her, a
mistake?” he asked slowly, watching as Carl’s jaw worked up and down for a
second before he swallowed and looked at Sherry.
“No,” he said finally and Negan could see that while Sherry hadn’t expected a
different answer, she deflated nonetheless.
He snorted and turned his gaze back to Sherry. “You heard the kid. Now get her
shit out of the room. Carl will be sleeping there tonight.”
Sherry nodded before stepping back out. It was quiet once more, at least for a
while. Carl shifted uncomfortably, the leather creaking loudly with every
movement. There would be talk of course. He was putting a sixteen year old boy
in the bedroom normally reserved for his favorite wife.
Then Carl spoke again. “Is Amber another one of your wives?”
Negan smiled. “She was. But she’s been fucking that shithead Mark for almost
two months—thought I wouldn’t know. I just needed someone to catch them in the
act and now I can get rid of her.”
“Couldn’t you get rid of her anyway?” the kid asked in genuine confusion, and
Negan could see where the idea had come from. After all, who would say anything
to him if he got rid of one or two?
Still, he snorted. “Carl. One doesn’t just  get rid  of one’s wife. Your wife
loves and supports you and in return you protect and provide for her. I offer
my wives the benefit of my position here in sanctuary with the caveat that they
hold the cards. They can divorce me and go back to earning points or going on
runs if that’s what they want, but part of my protection of them is that I
can’t revoke it unless they do something.”
Carl seemed baffled by the concept but that was alright. He’d learn soon enough
that Negan meant business when it came to maintaining his marriages. He’d been
tempted to forgive Amber and let her stay—he’d allowed her affair to go on for
months after all—but he was tired of her constant whining.
“How many wives do you have?” the boy asked.
He took a mental tally. “Four now that Amber is gone.”
Carl nodded and looked away, but something caught his attention—something
beyond the window. “What’s that?” he asked and Negan followed his gaze to the
thin line of smoke that curled up into the sky.
Negan stood again. “Come on, Carl. Time to get up. It’s ready.” The kid
hesitantly stood and Negan lead him out the door.
“What’s ready?” Carl asked from behind him, though the boy dutifully followed.
“The iron,” he said simply.
As they made their way down the stairs, they passed three of his wives who
stood in the doorway to the sitting room. They bowed their head to him and he
nodded in return, but didn’t stop. Saviors left and right took the knee as he
walked by them, pausing their work, their talk, or their gawking to show proper
respect.
He didn’t wear his usual smile. He took no pleasure in what he was about to do
. . . well, maybe a little.  That fucker, Mark thought he could bang one of the
big man’s wives and get away with it. We’ll see how much pussy he’s getting
after I’m done with him,  Negan thought.
The fires were burning hot. He could feel the stifling heat even as he entered
the common area. No one had noticed him yet and he couldn’t help letting
Lucille fall heavily against the railing as he slowly walked across the
catwalk.
Upon the first clang, everyone inside knelt, but the clanging continued, mostly
on account of the way Mark’s shoulders flinched with every sound. Negan
eventually came to a stop and looked out over his people.
Some looked squarely at him, while others looked at the ground. The only sound
within the cavernous space was Mark’s whimpering and he sighed.  Pussy.
He held Lucille out towards Carl. “Hold that for me,” he said and the boy held
it with a fearful reverence as though he were unsure what to do in that moment.
Negan turned back to the crowd. “You know what’s about to happen and it’s gonna
be hard to watch,” he began with a nod. “I don’t want to do it. I wish I could
just ignore the rules and let it slide but I can’t . . . Why?” he asked them.
As expected everyone answered as one. “The rules keep us alive.”
He nodded again in acceptance and began slowly making his way down the steps to
the first landing. “That is right. We survive. We provide security to others.
We bring civilization back to this world. We are,” he said seriously. “The
Saviors.”
Negan could feel Carl standing just behind him and he knew the kid was taking
it all in—observing the complete obedience of his people. “Now, we can't do
that without rules,” he said seriously. “Rules are what make it all work. I
know it's not easy, but all we have without them is what’s out  there!”
The saviors shrunk a bit away from him as he pointed outside the compound. They
all knew what awaited them without the protection that he provided. Death by
corpse or by someone meaner than them.
“There's always a cost.  Here,  if you try to skirt it, if you try to cut that
corner,” he began before letting out a mirthless chuckle. “Then it is the iron
for you.”
Silence still reigned as he met the eye of everyone bold enough to look up and
he smiled. “On your feet.”
He walked down the steps and watched as the sea of people parted for him in a
streaming wave. Sherry and Amber stood off the the side and he met his wives’s
gazes squarely. Amber was hunched over with a gleaming wet face and Sherry . .
. Sherry watched the proceedings with regret but also some satisfaction.
Ah, so that’s how it was,  he thought as he turned away.
“Now does anyone want to tell me what charges have been brought against Mark,
here,” he asked, his hand coming down to squeeze the other man’s shoulder
painfully.
No one spoke—no one wanted to anger him by saying what they all knew.
“Rumor are a-swirling, I’m sure, but the fact is that I’m always ready and
willing to settle personal matters in private . . . but when it comes to the
safety of our home—the safety of all of your lives, that’s when examples need
to be made,” he said with a tilt of his head.
“Mark here, was in charge of Rr-direct this morning—was supposed to be keeping
the corpses moving and away from the fences . . . But he wasn’t. No, instead he
was banging my ex-wife, and as a result one of our workers from one of the
colonies was killed this morning. This woman came here as a sign of her
people’s loyalty to us and now she’s dead.”
As he’d spoken, his voice had taken on an edge and anger had begun to suffuse
his tone. Truthfully, he couldn’t have given a shit about the girl in question,
but she’d come from Hilltop, one of the more rambunctious colonies, and now
he’d need to not only explain what had happened, which would stir them up even
more, but also take another of their people in tribute.
His eyes moved to the fire. “And that,” he said. “That I won’t tolerate.”
Dwight pulled the iron from the fire as Negan put on the thick glove. He looked
down at the handsome young man. He could see why Amber would have been
attracted to such a good-looking man. Negan wondered if she would still have
him after his face looked as though it had been run through the meat grinder.
Negan aimed to find out. “Mark,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I’m sorry,
but it is what it is.”
Marks shuddering breath turned into screams as Negan forced the iron down over
his face and temple. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and he could
hear the low sounds of dry heaving from the other saviors, but Negan never
looked away from the bubbling flesh.
Not until he pulled it—and the top layers of Mark’s skin—away. “That wasn’t so
bad, now, was it?” he asked, but Mark had completely passed out.
Negan leaned away and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, he pissed himself.”
He turned back to Dwight. “Clean that up,” he said before turning to the
doctor. “Doc, I'm all done. Do your thing.”
Negan finally looked toward Carl. The kid still held Lucille in both hands in
front of him, but his eyes were on Mark—on the gaping disgusting mass of
twisted flesh that now decorated the other man’s face.
He walked towards the young man and came to a stop in front of him. “See
something familiar?” he asked with a sarcastic smile.
Carl tore his eyes away from Mark and looked up and Negan. The savior expected
to see disgust, hatred perhaps, but he saw none of that . . . this . . . what
he’d just seen—it didn’t even phase him. What exactly had Carl been doing all
these years? Negan desperately wanted to find out why such a gruesome act as
what he’d witnessed seemed so terrifying to his own Saviors, but didn’t even
make an impression on this boy. Had he seen worse? Had he  done  worse?
That was perhaps another question for another day. Negan turned back around to
address the crowd. “Let Mark's face be a daily reminder to him and to everyone
else that the rules matter. I hope that we all learned something today, because
I don't ever want to have to do that again.”
Negan turned back to face Amber and Sherry. “You and I are no longer married.
You cheated on me and therefore you’ve chosen to end our marriage of your own
volition,” he said.
Amber shook her head and ran over to him, falling to her knees in front of him.
Her slim pale fingers reached up to clutch at his jacket. “Please, Negan. I
didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. Please don’t divorce me,” she said through
her sobs.
Negan stepped back. “You made your choice. Now go see to your man,” he said
with a grimace before walking away. Carl turned to follow him, but Negan put an
arm around him once more.
“Come on Carl, let’s get some food. I’m suddenly in the mood for steak.”
Chapter End Notes
     If you can believe it, I've actually pretty much written this whole
     story out already plot-wise. I had it even before posting the first
     chapter. This chapter though . . . this chapter was so shitty to
     write. Like, trying to watch a scene over and over and match up
     dialogue with thoughts and actions is just so god damn tedious.
     That's why this took so long. I just straight up didn't want to do
     it.
     But ya'll's comments kept me chipping away at it little by little.
     Every time a comment popped up in my inbox, I'd write out a little
     more and finally, here is another chapter. I don't think the rest
     will be so hard as everything veers off pretty heavily from the show
     after this so I can do my usual thing.
     Hope ya'll liked it. :)
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Get up, kid!” Negan yelled as he beat on Carl’s door. Silence greeted him but
that was pretty typical. He’d been busy the last few days, and he hadn’t had
time for his young ward. Carl had kept himself confined to the bedroom, only
coming out for food and to use the bathroom.
It wasn’t what Negan had had in mind when he’d taken the young man. Carl needed
to assimilate with the other Saviors—needed to become a Savior.
“Carl!” he called again and the door was thrown open.
“What?” the kid asked, his plush lips tight as though he expected violence.
Negan allowed his eyes to move over the rail-thin form of his ward. Still
needed more meat on his bones. “Get your shit. We’re going for an inspection.”
He could tell that he’d surprised Carl, but the kid tried to sound
disinterested. “You don’t need me for that,” he said and went to shut the door
but Negan had a hand out stopping him in less than a second.
Negan snorted. “No, I don’t  need  you for that,” he said sarcastically. “But
you’re gonna go anyway. I’m not gonna let you sit in here all day anymore.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “What do you care? I’m just a hostage anyway,” Carl
said dismissively.
Negan grinned indulgently, his arm coming down heavily around Carl’s neck.
“Now, don’t be like that, son. You may be my guest, but you still gotta earn
your food. So far, you’ve just been eating and shitting and I ain’t never said
a word, did I? This was your adjustment period, but all that’s over and done
with now,” he said with only a touch of mirth. “Now you gotta pull your
weight.”
Carl tried to shrug out of his hold, but Negan only tightened his grip until
the young man finally stopped wriggling around. He was glad the kid didn’t have
a weapon or it would probably have been dug into his kidneys by now. He was
also fairly certain that Carl could have put up much more of a fight, but for
some reason he was holding back.
Perhaps he was afraid for his the safety of his people, perhaps he valued his
own life, perhaps he was just trying to manipulate the situation. Whatever the
reason was, the Alexandrian was playing his cards close to his vest.
It was almost enough to make Negan proud.
“What do you want?” Carl finally asked.
Negan grinned. “Now see, was that so hard? It’s always easier to just do as I
say, Carl. That’s your lesson for today,” he said as he finally released the
kid.
Carl stumbled back and out of his reach, his shoulders tense as though he was
either expecting an attack or preparing to launch one of his own. It seemed to
be an almost default setting for the former little-leaguer.
Negan’s tongue ran over his teeth in appreciation. “Like I said. Get your shit.
You’re gonna be shadowing me today.”
Carl’s brow furrowed in that obnoxious way that only teenagers could truly pull
off.  “What shit? Your men took everything. I don’t even have a pocket knife
anymore.”
At this Negan finally did look around the room. Had the place always been so
big? Amber had insisted on far too many pieces of over-stuffed furniture in
here during her time, that he’d thought the room was the size of a postage
stamp.
But no. There was only a twin-size mattress with a basic metal frame, a chair,
and a low dresser now.  Sherry’s work no doubt,  he thought with a sigh of
irritation. She’d not spoken to him since he’d kicked Amber out—trying to make
herself out to be some saint when it was fairly clear she’d engineered the
entire thing.
“Fair enough,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”
Carl didn’t nod or acknowledge him, just stared at him with that one clear blue
eye of his. Negan walked out and Carl followed dutifully as they left the
apartment and headed for the courtyard. SUVs and motorcycles are already lined
up and waiting for him. The house manager, Connor was doing final checks while
Simon chatted with him—well tried to chat with him. Connor had never been the
most receptive person but he was efficient and took his work seriously.
As Negan approached, Simon finally noticed him and stepped away from the house
manager. Negan eyed Connor’s stiff back but said nothing, pointing to the cab
of his truck while looking at Carl.
“Get in, kid,” he said and Carl looked like he was on the way to hangman. Negan
tried not to take it personally. He failed utterly, however, when Carl
continued to just stand there.
“Get in the damn car,” he said, stepping closer to the young man. Carl met his
eyes for a second before they slid over to Simon and then finally to the truck.
His lips twisted, but he nodded and headed for the passenger side of the
vehicle.
Simon looked between him and the kid for a few seconds. “Negan, what?” he
asked, clearly confused by the presence of Negan’s ward.
“You ride with Connor, this time,” he said dismissively, watching as Carl
stepped up and into the seat.
He heard the murmuring of his men—their reluctance to include someone they saw
as an outsider, but no one said anything outright as Simon nodded and walked
off without another word, though not without casting a withering look to the
young man.
Negan knew he’s have to keep an eye on that situation, but there was nothing to
be done about it now. He opened his door and waved his arm to signal their roll
out. As his door shut, the gates to the sanctuary swung open and the caravan
began making its way out. Carl said nothing, though Negan could see even out of
his peripheral vision that Carl was watching the changing landscape avidly, as
though he’d have some chance to use that knowledge.
Not for a long while,  Negan decided. Carl was well and truly entrenched in his
loyalty to his father and the Alexandrians. It would take some careful planning
to pry Rick’s fingers from his son’s conscience.
Some people could be broken with starvation, while others with sleep
deprivation, still others required a more active form of torture . . . and then
there were the ones like Carl. People whose strength of will was strong enough
to last until death and no amount of beating or attack could fracture their
walls. No . . . they needed to be convinced to remake  themselves  from within.
Carl could be shown a new way . . . Negan hoped so anyway.
They sat in stony silence for almost an hour before the kid finally spoke
again. “Where are we going?”
Negan allowed his teeth to show as he smiled. “Got inspections and
redistribution today,” he said as though that explained everything. It didn’t,
and judging by the way Carl rolled his eyes, the kid was on to him.
“What are inspections and redistribution?” the kid asked in an overly patient
tone.
This time Negan did laugh. There was the smart-ass little sprite he remembered.
“We’re headed to one the outposts. They’ve collected from the colonies in their
district. Not all of it will come back to Sanctuary. Some of it will go to
other outposts and still more of it will go to other colonies.”
Carl blinked. “Other colonies? You send stuff to other colonies?”
Negan pursed his lips as he adopted a somewhat offended tone. “‘Course, Carl.
Some of the colonies are very good at producing certain things, but they need
raw materials from other places. And of course, a few of them had hard seasons
and I can’t have my colonies dying off of starvation during the winter. That’s
just bad business.”
Carl snorted at his words. “Can’t have that,” he murmured.
The Savior tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. “No . . . we can’t.”
Silence reigned once more as they went even further into the countryside and
away from the city. The outpost wasn’t visible from the main road, even the
dirt trail leading up to it was carefully covered and disguised. One wouldn’t
notice the break in the tree-line unless one knew exactly where to look.
A hundred yards past mile marker forty six.
The caravan came to a stop as the men in front pulled the camouflage out of the
way before they all started up the steep trail to the outpost. The place was
well hidden, but it was large. A former cultist compound that had thought to
ride out the apocalypse—and they’d lasted a while. A couple of years went by
before they’d been forced to venture down their mountain in search of food.
Negan’s men had caught a few of them fairly easily, and now the compound was
his.
He got out of the truck with his usual swagger and the Saviors who were
stationed there took the knee at the sight of him. Lucille swung up to rest on
his shoulder as he walked forward. The telltale lack of sound behind him had
him turning back to the vehicle, however.
The boy still sat inside and his lips twisted dangerously. “Carl, get your ass
out here, boy!” he called and the kid hesitated only a second before getting
out and walking cautiously towards him.
He stopped an arm’s distance away, but Negan wasn’t about to let him slip by
unpunished. He hauled the kid close to him, and draped his arm loosely around
his shoulders. Carl was looking off to the side and away from him. Negan felt a
muscle in his face twitch as he was suddenly reminded far too much of his
wives, and their occasionally less than receptive behavior. He sucked on his
teeth for a second before letting out a derisive snort. His fingers dug into
Carl’s pale skin harshly but the kid didn’t even flinch.
Negan looked away from his ward and back out towards his men. Few of them dared
to watch the spectacle of their leader and a mutilated teenage boy. The ones
that did, couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away from the gaping hole in Carl’s
face. They probably thought Negan had done it.
He allowed a toothy careless smile to slide across his face as he leaned in
close to Carl’s overly long hair. “If you make me look bad today, Carl,” he
whispered, “I’ll switch you out for your sister.”
The boy tensed beside him. It wasn’t a threat that Negan particularly enjoyed
making . . . especially because he had no intentions of following through,
however he needed Carl to believe that there were consequences that even  he
couldn’t live with.
“Do we understand each other?” Negan asked, his voice soft, almost gentle.
Carl turned back to look up and meet his gaze with that one clear blue eye. “I
understand,” he said and Negan felt the lassitude return to his form. The
Savior loosened his own grip, though he was sure there would be bruises later.
“Good, good,” he said turning back to the crowd. “As you were.”
They all stood up and he gave Carl one last meaningful look before releasing
him. The boy wasn’t looking at him anymore, but that was alright. It was the
part that Carl had chose the play for now. Negan was interested to see how long
the kid could keep it up.
He looked away from Carl and out towards the others. Connor, was already
looking over the supply lists, trailed by Simon as the Second continued to eye
the younger Savior. Connor was never gonna give Simon even a second more of his
time than he had to, but even after a almost two years, Simon still hadn’t
figured that out.
One of these days, maybe he’d take the hint, but that was none of Negan’s
business. “What do we got?” he asked, walking up to the house manager.
Conner launched into explanations, numbers and amounts, checking through his
lists and pointing out the more important items. Boy had a head for numbers and
while Conner was technically on a contract with the Sanctuary, Negan wasn’t
sure he’d ever let the blonde young man leave. 
Carl was looking around, and Negan made a vague gesture allowing him to wander
away. The kid didn’t need anything more over than that, and he walked over to
the carts, taking in the goings on. His eyes were carefully calculating the
product that was being revealed one load at a time.
Negan hadn’t actually needed to come here, but he liked to keep his men on
their toes by showing up occasionally. He could have taken the day off, but
he’d really needed to get Carl out of that Goddamn bedroom. This pitiful act he
was putting on was entertaining, but he wasn’t going to allow the kid to wallow
in the memories of his family. No, Carl needed stimulation, needed a reason to
think—to move—to do something.
Even now, though, Carl kept his head down and his hair in his face and no one
around here batted an eye at him. Negan mentally snorted. You’d think these
shitheads would have figured out that he didn’t pay this kind of attention to
useless people—that he only invested his time into projects that had long-term
potential. But no, none of them gave Carl more than a cursory glance, perhaps
morbidly curious about the random kid with the fucked up face than what or who
he was.
Negan turned back to Connor as the manager was finishing up his report. “Go
with the shipment of grain to Sterling,” Negan said, and the other man didn’t
even flinch anymore when his home colony was mentioned.
Sterling County had the only working animal farm for a hundred miles or more.
They needed a constant influx of grain from the colonies in the south to keep
the animals fed . . . especially with winter coming.
Simon spoke up suddenly. “I’ll go with him,” he said. “I’ll run that pick-up.”
Connor said nothing, though the set of his jaw told Negan all he needed to
know. “That won’t be necessary, Simon. Connor is perfectly capable of running
that job.” Negan paused a second before continuing. “Besides, Connor needs to
points for meds for his sister, right?”
The house manager looked up suddenly, unsure and Negan shrugged. “You run the
pick-up, you get more points. That’s why you’re with us, right?”
Connor swallowed before nodding. “Yes, sir . . . Thank you.”
Negan gave him a wide grin and clapped the young man on the shoulder before
walking away. Connor stumbled a bit with the force of the blow, but that was to
be expected from the string-bean Sterling man.
Negan walked up behind Carl, his stride sure but quiet over the grass. The kid
had wandered away, but he hadn’t gone far. He was looking at the contents of
one of the carts, and it wasn’t until Negan’s shadow fell over Carl, that the
kid looked at him. He’d known, of course that Negan was approaching . . . he
was aware of everything that was currently going on.
Negan looked into the cart. There were the usual items such as food, but this
particular cart was filled with bolts of fabric. Not clothes which were
plentiful, but fabric. Not something that most groups would normally haul.
“These are going to another colony,” Negan said in explanation.
Carl was quiet for a moment, unsure. “Why?” he finally asked.
Negan reached out and ran his hand over the colorful bolts and chuckled.
“There’s an old lady in one of our colonies—sweet old gal who always serves me
a cup of tea in the cutest little china cups. Went a little coocoo after the
fall. She thinks I’m her kid coming to visit her occasionally,” he said with a
laugh.
Carl blinked up at him in confusion and Negan shrugged. “She makes the most
beautiful quilts you ever saw,” he said before adding, “she also makes bang-up
body armor.”
Negan pulled aside his leather jacket to reveal the layers fabric that had been
carefully sandwiched in the lining. “Won’t stop a bullet, but no knives are
getting through this,” he said.
The kid’s confusion had rapidly switched to disgusted horror. “You let some old
lady think you’re her dead son so she can make you things?”
Negan shrugged. “Hey, would it have been better if I told her her boy was dead,
probably ripped apart by corpses?” he asked.
Carl made a sound of exasperation before walking away. Negan let out a chuff of
his own as the boy’s rather slender figure moved on. His hair was past his
shoulders and strands of it shone like gold in the speckled sunlight.
Lori had always had hair like nightfall. Dark with a hint of red from the
setting sun. Carl’s more golden tinge would have come from Rick. God he hated
even the thought of the other man. Negan bit his own lip, digging his teeth in
until it hurt.
He had rules . . . but Rick needed to be watched, needed to be brought to heel.
The man had cowered in front of him before, but Negan wasn’t a fool. A man with
that kind of conviction—with a group of people and a son who  believed  that
conviction. That was a man to be watched. Just like Carl was here playing
possum, Rick was surely doing the same, and Negan found himself becoming more
and more interested as to how long that would last—what he would need to do to
reinforce his will . . . and  he would have to.  Negan was sure of it.
How Carl would factor into that, he still didn’t know
He was still watching Carl when Simon appeared by his side. “Boss, when are we
putting that kid to work?”
Simon was still salty about not being able to escort Connor around, apparently.
“He’s already working,” Negan said, his head tilting as Carl picked up a book
from one of the carts and started flipping through it.
“Looks to me like he’s reading comic books,” Simon said derisively.
Indeed, the book Carl had chosen was a graphic novel of some kind. They didn’t
get too many books coming though—not unless someone had spent points on a
request, but Carl was avidly flipping through the pages.
Negan smiled. “He is, but look a little closer.”
Simon physically leaned over a bit more as though that was what Negan was
telling him to do, and the Savior leader rolled his eyes. This was why Simon
was his Second, but would never  really  be in charge.
Carl was indeed thumbing through the book, but he was also using the casualness
of his stance to shift ever so subtly around. No one paid him any mind—this
broken boy that Negan was dragging around—not as Carl moved closer to the cart
with the guns and not as he clearly counted how many people were stationed
within the compound.
“I don’t know what you see in him, boss,” Simon said with a shake of his head.
Negan chuckled. “Yeah I know.”
He approached Carl again and plucked the book from his hand. “Y the Last Man,
huh?”
Carl didn’t try to take it back, he barely acknowledged Negan’s presence.
Negan eyed him wearily. “You can have whatever you want from the carts . . .
within reason, of course.”
Carl shook his head. “I don’t need anything. Besides, as Simon pointed out—I
haven’t earned anything.”
Negan laughed. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t really enjoy being cooped up with my
wives all the time and I can’t entertain you 24 hours a day. Pick something to
keep yourself occupied.”
The kid looked up at him from beneath his fringe. “Well maybe if you let me out
of the house—”
“You’re out of the house now, aren’t you?” Negan asked with a raised brow.
Carl shook his head dramatically. “This isn’t what I mean, and you know it.”
His grin was all teeth. “Not a chance kid.”
“I haven’t done anything,” the kid said with a very well calculated whine.
Oscar-worthy, really.
Negan looked the boy over and grinned. “You haven’t done anything . . . yet.
You think I don’t see that stink eye you still shoot at me? Reminds me of that
prick of a father of yours—which is funny cause I know Rick is killer. A real
dyed in the wool  murderer,  and he would carve that axe of his into me without
hesitation.”
Carl wasn’t looking at him anymore so Negan used the book to push Carl’s chin
up until that one blue eye met his gaze. “You . . . you look at me almost
exactly the same. You’d kill me too, wouldn’t you Carl?”
The kid reached up and swiped the book from his grasp, and Negan allowed it
with a condescending chuckle. “I’m not even sure that you’d feel bad after
doing it.”
Carl flinched and Negan cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn’t, would you?
You’ve killed people before and you’ve never felt any guilt.”
“They would have killed me—my family,” Carl snapped back.
Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.  “Really?” he asked grinning.  “Every . . .
single . . . person  you’ve put a bullet into was a threat to you?”
Carl suddenly froze, and backed up a step, hitting the cart and stumbling a
bit. Negan’s smile dropped at the horror there.
“What did you do, Carl?” he asked, leaning in.
The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes and he tried to slip to the side, but Lucille
was held out and the barbwire of the bat hit Carl square in the chest, stopping
his movements.
“Please don’t,” Carl whispered and Negan felt his eyes narrow. Not once since
Negan had taken him, had the young man ever begged—not for  anything.  But he
was begging now.
Negan stepped closer, using Lucille to bring the boy back towards him and the
Savior’s breath feathered over the wisps of Carl’s hair. “I won’t make you tell
me now. But you’re going to . . . eventually.”
The kid swallowed and his breathing was uneven as the bat was finally dropped
and he was allowed to pass. Negan watched him walk back over the truck—watched
as the boy got back in the cab and put his head in his hands.
You did something, Carl,  he thought.  You killed someone and you’re ashamed .
. . or you think you should be.
And if it was eating him up, odds were, his sanctimonious piece of shit father
was the reason that he felt that way. Negan smiled. The kid wasn’t comfortable
enough to tell him about what happened yet, but he would be. Eventually. Negan
would make sure of it.
Chapter End Notes
     I know I mentioned this last chapter, but for reals, it's the
     comments and kudos that you guys leave that keep me working on this.
     I have other fics and school that take up most of my time, and this
     fic, sadly is kind of at the bottom of the pecking order.
     So if I haven't updated this fic in like a month, leave a quick
     comment reminding me of your interest and that usually kicks me back
     into gear. Sad but true.
     Anyway, I hope you guys like OCs. I love OCs, personally because
     they're really great for fleshing out a world further than what main
     characters can sometimes allow in fanfiction. This fic, for example
     takes place entirely from Negan's POV and predominantly in the
     Sanctuary. We don't really have a whole lot of information about what
     goes on there outside of what is directly seen by the main characters
     in canon.
     Characters like Simon and Connor are canon, but I'm doing my own
     thing with them to give them more dimension as people with thoughts,
     feelings, and motivations. This fic takes place over the course of a
     couple of years so there needs to be other things going on besides
     Negan creeping on a seventeen-year-old, ya know? Anyway, hope you all
     enjoyed this chapter. :)
End Notes
     Yeah I know, not a whole lot of Carl/Negan interaction going on here,
     but this was more for the establishment of Negan's character in this
     fic. This is very slow burn so don't expect Carl to be falling into
     bed with Negan anytime soon. There will, however be graphic
     depictions of Negan having sex with his wives in the mean time. I
     have the outline of this fic completely written, however this fic is
     not my highest priority(which is prob related to the fact that I made
     a new account to post it under so it would not be linked to my usual
     stuff) so no set schedule on chapter releases.
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