>𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒑 𝑫𝒐𝒈<

by MaxTheWitness

Summary:

“I've… never really liked my name.” You admit with a shrug, rubbing your wrists awkwardly as you try to pretend that it doesn’t bother you. When clearly it does. You can’t help it, the name feels like a weight shackled to you, –a constant reminder that you aren’t really his family. You don’t see the point, no one ever calls you by name anyway.

He stares down at you for a moment, popping his jaw as he observes you, taking notice of your nervous behavior, before he smirks and nods down at you approvingly, letting out a low chuckle. “Alright…” He pauses, rubbing at his stubble to think. “Then, how about… Eli?”

“Eli?” You question, looking up at him with a hint of curiosity. You briefly wonder where he got the name, when suddenly it dawns on you. It's a name taken straight out of his deceased wife’s name, Lucille. As the name melts on your tongue, it fills you with a strange sense of satisfaction. It feels… meaningful, like in naming you this, he’s telling you that you are his family. Or at least something more to him than just another Savior. “Eli… I… I like it.” You say softly, a small smile spreading across your face.

Or;

Negan Smith, your coach, takes you in when the apocalypse starts.

Chapter 1: My Savior

Notes:

This first chapter is introductory (and shitty)- it's just to kind of set the stage for the fatherly relationship with Negan. By chapter three the MC should be in Alexandria, also the story will be more linear by then.

The MC is given a name, Eli, but I will use it very sparingly, because it's a Y/N, 2nd POV kind of fic.

It was a hot day, peak summer, —from what you can remember of it. You had been sitting on the metal bleachers, rubbing your fingers across the ridges, as you tried to steal the icy temperature from it. It hadn’t worked for the past twenty minutes, but you kept trying anyway, after all, it was better to do something than have to sit and think about what you’d done. You’d won the game, yes, but at what cost?

Suddenly something cold pressed up against the back of your neck, both shocking and relieving you. A popsicle? You look up at your coach, coach Smith, with confusion.

He smiles, lightly tapping you on the head with it. “Take it, kid, I’m not going to stand here forever.”

You hesitantly take the popsicle into your hands and watch as he sits down next to you, opening his own. “S’good, right? I got them from the gas station down the street. I always keep a few in the cooler.”

You cringe as he takes a bite out of the cold bar, your teeth hurting just watching him do it. But then your mind turns elsewhere again, the small frown returning to your face. “Aren’t you mad?” You ask seriously, gripping the edge of your seat. You don’t want him to be, but you feel he’d be justified in being upset with you considering what you’d done.

He shrugs, letting out a cackle. “Why be angry? You fuckin’ won.” He pats you on the back wrapping an arm around one of your shoulders as he points at the blood on the ground where your tussle with the other player had begun. “You won the game and then the fight that ensued. Be proud of yourself, kid. Hell, I am.” A hint of amusement enters his tone, “I am one happy coach right about now.”

You look up at him with a hint of irritation. “If you’re happy then why did you bench me?”

His smile falters hearing your irritation, mostly because he can see past it to the underlying hurt. “That was tactical.” He defended, his hand falling from your shoulders.

You stare up at him skeptically, your frown deepening as you feel a pang of sadness in your chest.

“It was.” He reaffirms, “I like you, kid, you’re fast and you’ve got a decent head on your shoulders…”

“But?” You question, sensing there’s more to it.

He reaches down and pokes at the bandage on your leg, looking up at you with something akin to empathy. “But you were mad, and rash, and you got yourself hurt.” He cocks an eyebrow, the amusement returning to his face. “You hurt him too, which I hadn’t anticipated. You’re a scrawny little thing, but you’re tough. I need that on this team. On MY team. So, I benched you. To keep you safe. —Let you breathe for a minute, calm down, refocus. You have to remember, you might be strong, but they’ve got the advantage as highschool kids.”

Your eyes briefly widen at his words, hearing the sense of pride underlying them. You’ve never, not a single time, heard someone speak of you like this. You know it’s just his job, to motivate his players and get them back onto the field whole, but before you can even think about it, you’ve slung your arms around him. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be more careful, coach Smith. I won’t let you down.” You mutter, releasing him.

He seems slightly shocked, but quickly settles back into nonchalance. “No problem…” He ruffles your hair, then pauses with his hand still resting on your head, looking out at the field as if it were unfamiliar to him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to have kids, but something about what you just did…” He trails off with a chuckle and a click of his tongue.

You could tell he wasn’t talking to you, it was clear in that moment he was thinking about something far, far beyond your knowledge of his life, and you were too young to understand.

He begins to shake his head softly, mumbling a few words of denial to break the silence. “Catch ya’ later kid.” He suddenly pushes your hat down over your face, standing up to go talk to the larger group on the field.

After this, even though you had more than enough conversations to get to know one another, you weren’t particularly close. There were lots of kids your age who were dying to be on his team when they were old enough, because it was one of the only baseball teams in the area, so more often than not you’d see kids running up to him or trying to show off.

But you never forgot that day, even when the dead started walking just a few weeks later. You could still feel him, sitting beside you, giving you (sometimes very wrong) advice and anecdotes with such a theatrical tone you could barely find it in yourself to hold back your laughter.

Then the day finally came where people began to tear one another apart and you were alone. All alone. You didn’t know where to go or what to do. You were too young to survive alone, but too old to simply succumb to your fate. Those three weeks alone felt like hell. You spent almost every day wondering if it would be your last, but you refused to give in. You would catch yourself rehearsing things he had said to you, the conversations you’d had, even if it was just greetings in passing, like a pep-talk for yourself.

Exactly three weeks and one day into it all, it finally happened. A herd had you backed into a wall and were slowly closing in on you. It was like the slowest, cruelest form of suffocation…

Until she saw you.

Having vaguely recognized you from when she had come to practices a few times, she began ushering you into their car. Lucille.

“Come on!” She called, opening the back door. “Come on sweetie, it’s okay.” She had looked ill, even back then, but neither you nor Negan had known what was in store until it was too late.

You practically leapt into the back of the car, looking at coach Smith in the front seat nervously, worrying that he would decide it was better to leave you behind than risk taking in a child that wasn’t their own, but to your surprise he just smiles at you through the rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road with simmering fear and frustration. “You bit? -Scratched anywhere?”

You shake your head, slumping against the seat with exhaustion. “No,” You pant slightly, watching as the walkers quickly pass through the window as you drive off.

“That's good,” Lucille says, turning around from the front passenger seat to look at you, her eyes soft and inviting. “Are you sure you're okay, though? You seem a little shaken up, and rightfully so. That must have been scary for you.”

She speaks to you like someone would speak to a regular child that hadn’t been living through the apocalypse, but that was one of the things you had liked about her. She was always understanding, and she tried to keep life for you somewhat normal while she was alive.

You try to steady your voice to reply again, clearer, “No, I'm… I'm okay. I benched myself when I needed to.” You smile slightly as you say this, remembering the relief you had felt when coach Smith had come to talk to you that day.

***

As the months passed, then Lucille, then the years, you went everywhere with him. You did everything he did, because you cared about him and you could tell he cared about you. So despite everything in your being screaming that he had gone mad when he became “Negan”, when he fought, you put your armor on and fought alongside him. When he stole, you knew you'd be right there in a getaway car if he ever asked you to.

Of course, he never had, but you knew you would.

It doesn’t matter what anyone else says about the man they call Negan, because to you, he’s your Savior. And you’ll never forget it.

Chapter 2: The King

Notes:

This is three years in the past, but four years after the first chapter.

(Sorry, I know this chapter is long, but it's interesting, I swear. And the next chapter will be shorter).

IMPORTANT: When we time skip to the present day NEXT chapter the MC will be sixteen and in Alexandria.

“Stop it. Stop.” He repeats, “If you keep breathing like that and doing what you’re doing, you’ll pass out. Then what? You can't defend yourself if you're unconscious.” Dwight says, tightening his grip on your throat. You let out a small smothered cry of pain, trying to pull his hands off of you, but you can’t. You’re physically outmatched by the adult man.

What are you supposed to do? Negan had always told you that if you thought you were outmatched you shouldn’t pick the fight, but—

“Don’t think about it, bug. It’s not that hard.” Dwight says, interrupting your thoughts, —probably for the better anyway, considering if he hadn’t you probably would have let him choke you into unconsciousness without realizing it. “Stop breathing so heavily, you’re hyperventilating. What you need to do is take shallow, slow breaths. -And enough doing that with your hands, it's a waste of time.” He gently pries your hands away from grasping at his, holding your wrists.

“Come on.” He puts more pressure on you, and you feel your back go flat with the floor despite your struggle. He can see the redness on your cheeks, a sign that you're slowly being choked, but he doesn't let up. He knows you, he knows you can do this. “Look for an opening and hit me back. You can’t take my hands off of you, but you can still use yours to fight back.”

You kick your legs slightly, feeling the pressure on your neck building to a point where you can barely take it anymore, when you finally see it. You strike him in the ribs as hard as you can, his hands falling from your throat as he’s knocked back slightly. “Nice.” He nods once in acknowledgement of you freeing yourself, taking a few steps back as you gasp for air.

Despite your efforts, he's not even hurt. His face isn't one of pain or fatigue, but rather an impressed look. He seems fully ready to keep fighting you, his hands tensed at his sides to react to your next move, so spring to your feet, ready to attack again, –when suddenly Negan enters the room.

He stares at you for a moment from the doorway with a mixture of emotions on his face —most prominently, something akin to exasperation at your worn down appearance—, noting the choke marks on your neck, before simply turning to Dwight without saying anything to you. “She lost again? Was she any better?” He asks with a hint of irritation. It’s hard for you to understand why he’s so upset, considering that you don’t really know what he wanted from you in the first place.

For a reason unbeknownst to you, a few months back Negan had asked the people of The Sanctuary to try and come at you without holding back. He said that they could beat you and shove you around as much and as roughly as they wanted, as long as they didn’t cause you any serious harm. At first you thought it was some kind of odd punishment for being somewhat rebellious lately, but it’s been going on for four months now and he keeps regularly checking on your progress, seeing if you’ve gotten any better at defending yourself and taking other people down.

You aren’t worried, or even threatened, despite his reckless request to the Saviors. Negan treats you well. At least, better than most Saviors. It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get you hurt, and you trust that whatever he’s doing has a purpose. —But you’re also glad that Dwight decided to take pity on you when he did. He doesn’t particularly like you, but he also said he didn’t want to see a kid getting, “a beat down”, every five minutes. So he started training you himself.

Dwight’s eyes flick over to yours briefly before landing back on Negan’s, letting out a small huff. “Yeah, she was… better. We fought seven times, she beat me twice, and we tied once. She’s just…” He pauses, trying to articulate what he wants to say to Negan about you without hurting your feelings. “She really struggles when she gets pinned, she tries to brute strength her way out and she can’t. -Another thing is getting a hold of long range weapons when I come at her with them. She’s swift and she has good reaction time, but when it comes down to it, she’s still just a child.” He says honestly.

Negan seems impressed at this, despite Dwight’s criticism, a smirk flashing at the corner of his mouth. “You telling me you got your ass kicked by a thirteen year old girl, Dwighty-boy?”

He seems amused by the fact you had been able to take down one of his top earners twice, but you know that if Dwight had actually been trying to hurt you, not teach you, you 100%, undoubtedly would have lost.

Dwight sighs, looking off to the side. You can tell he’s sick of Negan’s carefree attitude and has been for a while now, but he’s for the most part good at hiding it from him for his own safety. “A thirteen year old that’s in her prime, being trained to fight people pretty much daily. Yes, I did lose, but don’t you think that’s a sign that this has gone to far-” Negan cuts him off by strutting over, pushing past Dwight to look at you.

You can feel the appraisal in his gaze as he rakes it over you, walking around you in a small circle as he takes in your form. “Eli.” He greets curtly after a few moments of silent inspection. Under his watch you instinctively straighten your spine, trying to appear more worthy, earning a small chuckle from him. The look in his eyes reminds you of right after it all started, when he would spend a majority of his days with you, instead of doing what it is that he does now— “leading”, or whatever. You just wish he would go back to treating you like before.

Even though your life together was hard back then, you still had one another. You’d rather eat road kill again than have to spend another moment eating fresh food with The Saviors, not knowing where he is or when he’s coming back. —Or even when he is back, not knowing if you’ll get to see him one on one instead of from afar like one of his henchmen.

Unfortunately, you know the ship of you two living innocent lives scraping by has long sailed. This is your life now, and you know how to adapt. If you can’t be near him unless you’re a top earner, then that’s what you’ll be.

Suddenly a chaotic glint enters his eye and he lifts you up by your armpits with a cackle, much to your surprise. “With skills like those, I oughta start taking you out more, huh? —Get you some real good goddamn experience instead of just pitting you against Dwighty-boy over here.”

You feel a smile start to spread across your face as well, resisting the urge to hug him despite the fact he’s holding you at arms length. You like it when he’s proud of you. “I’ve been waiting for it.” You say eagerly. “Training, exercising, even practicing with the living dead like you told me to. It’s about time you started taking me seriously.” The aspect of returning to spending your days at his side warms you, it’s all you really want.

Dwight’s eyes widen slightly and he takes a cautious step forward, putting himself back into Negan’s line of sight. “You’re not putting her in school?” He asks, the judgement evident in his voice.

Negan sets you back down on the floor gently, letting you get your footing before he lets go, rustling your hair. “‘School’? Hell no. I wouldn’t even call that little shit-shack they made a school.” He scoffs, “They don’t teach you any important shit that you can’t learn by going out there yourself. At least, nothing that would matter nowadays.”

Dwight runs a hand through his hair, muttering something about his wife, Sherry, as his eyes narrow at the sight of you. Sometimes you can just tell that when the adults look at you like that, it’s not because of anything you’ve done, it’s just because your mere existence in a world like this is bewildering. The kids of now act so mature, yet they’re still so ignorant and oblivious to many things. Things that are luxuries now.

Negan has told you, many times, that it’s because he and the other adults simply aren’t made for this world. —They cling to old standards and conditions that ultimately cloud their judgment. You know that Dwight is one of those people, that’s why he had started fighting you in the first place all those months ago, to keep you ‘safe’ like Lucille had done. You aren’t sure if you admire the sentiment or find it completely insane.

“She can barely read.” Dwight objects with a steady voice, raising his hands in a kind of sarcastic plea. “So your plan is to just- just bring her with you when we make our rounds?”

Negan‘s eyes sharpen as they flick over to Dwight and then back to you, “Watch your tone.” He warns, setting a hand on your shoulder as he turns you to face Dwight, taking your jaw into the palm of his other hand to put your face on display.

He continues, his cocky smile returning, “I was thinking today I could make a special trip to The Kingdom, just for you.” His eyes flicker upwards to meet Dwight’s again. “I’ll test the waters to see if she’s ready instead of making my full rounds.”

Dwight shakes his head in disapproval of the idea, motioning towards the door with a pointed hand. “And you think the kingdom is really the best place for that? —Right after you raised their tribute quota, you want to show up, unannounced, and start parading a vulnerable little kid around? -A girl at that.” He motions to you, and you suddenly feel your cheeks start to burn with embarrassment and shame.

You’re acutely aware that as a girl you’d be outmatched in pretty much any fight with an adult, but you don’t care. You know how to slip out of quite a few grasps to get away, and now that Dwight’s taken you under his wing you know how to defend yourself more than ever before.

“I’m not a little kid! I can handle myself, I promise.” You plead with Negan, feeling the opportunity to stand at his side once again, slowly slipping through your fingers.

You understand where Dwight’s coming from, but you just know he must be wrong. You know you can handle it.

“Vulnerable little girl?” Negan stares down at you for a moment, the gears in his mind turning as he realizes that your appearance, albeit cute, needs to be altered slightly. He gently reaches out and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, his eyes softening. “You actually want to come with me? -Make rounds and enforce rules and all that crap?”

You nod eagerly, but he shakes his head, giving you a serious look. “No, kid, I need you to think about this, —like really think about this. Is this all you want out of life? Making rounds, and fighting fights, and putting up with my endless bullshit? You could die.”

Despite the logical arguments he lays out, your opinion remains unchanged. You know all the risks, but Negan is like a father to you. You’re sick of him pretending it’s not true, and most of all you’re sick of the other settlements keeping you two apart.

“This is what I want.” You reply, clenching your fists at your sides. “I'm choosing this. I'm choosing to go with you from now on.” Your loyalty seems to know no bounds, extending into giving up your own life for a cause you don't support.

“You haven't even let me give you the other option.” He says softly, clicking his tongue as he grabs your chin to turn you to face Dwight. “You could go to school, kid. You were always smart, I’m sure it would be… fun for you. -Get to know some kids your age, learn about numbers and maps and shit.” He sighs quietly, feeling your struggle to turn back to face him. “I'll tell people not to mess with you anymore. You can defend yourself now, and that's all I really wanted.”

He turns you back to face him, moving his hand up to cradle your cheek as he lowers his voice so that only you can hear him, bending down slightly. “It doesn’t matter to me what you choose. You'll always be my baby girl, no matter what.” You can see the vulnerability in his eyes and it makes your heart twist. It doesn’t make up for all the time you spent apart but at least, finally, he admits it. Finally he calls you his daughter.

Dwight shifts loudly from beside the two of you, causing Negan to stand up straight and point in his direction, clearing his throat to rid himself of the emotion in his voice. He drops his other hand back down to your shoulder reassuringly. “The truck is running, but the choice is yours, kid. I’ll make those assholes wait days if that’s what it takes for you to decide.”

You glance between the hand on your shoulder to the hand pointing towards the door, feeling the weight of the decision. He's telling you to choose between something you had always wanted before all of this, to be a normal kid, and the thing you want now, to be his.

Dwight gives you a look of sympathy, wanting to keep you away from Negan to shield you from the horrors caused by the man he's seen himself, but knowing he can't do anything. There's only so much he's willing to do for a child that isn't his own, and going against Negan isn't one of those things.

“Well, then… It's decided.” Your eyes stay locked on Negan's, your loyalty unwavering as you speak. “I'm getting in that fucking truck and I'm goin’ with you.” Your tone is light and full of joy.

It hadn’t even been a question for you to begin with. –You had long chosen him before he even asked.

Negan’s face spreads into a smile the moment the words reach his ears, patting you on the back. “Atta’ girl, there's my little badass.” He pulls you into an embrace at his side, looking to Dwight with a cocky smile. “Tell them to hurry the fuck up unloading shit. We're outta here.” He instructs, giving you a squeeze on the shoulder. Dwight nods once at Negan's order, giving you one last conflicted glance, shaking his head as he leaves the room.

“Kid, I can’t wait for you to see what I've been doing. –What I've built out of all these little disconnected communities.” Negan boasts, ushering you out of the door at his side. The two of you walk along the catwalks of The Sanctuary, the faint noise from the workers down below echoing up to where you are. The both of you reach the door to outside and he pushes them open dramatically with two outstretched hands. “I've turned shit to silver. You'll see.”

You raise an eyebrow curiously at his confusing phrasing. “Silver?” You question.

As the sunlight from outside hits your eyes you shield your face with your hands, wincing slightly. The brightness of it feels like a personal attack on your retinas at first, but then you realize you haven't felt the warmth of the sun in a long, long time. Yet another benefit of choosing to be a Savior at Negan— your father’s side. You finally get to stretch your limbs with lungs full of fresh air. Meanwhile the other people still stuck toiling away in The Sanctuary inhale metal dust and disease, but you know that it’s all for a reason. It must be.

Negan doesn’t seem the least bit jarred by the sun, continuing on towards the largest truck in the lot, not even sparing a glance to the fence full of walkers just feet away. “Well, it ain't quite gold yet, kid.” He pauses, letting out a low whistle. “You're gonna have to help me with that.”

You get into the front passenger seat of the truck, watching a handful of other Savoirs do the same in their cars. You notice that they're all holding rather heavy weaponry and it makes you nervous, despite the fact you're on their side. “So, are we like, going to pick stuff up from this place? Didn’t Dwight say they weren’t expecting us?”

Negan quickly hushes you, starting the truck. “Stop letting Dwight scare you, he's just being a fucking pussy.” His words are filled with something like regret, probably caused by his decision to let you spend so much time with the other man. You're well aware of the way Negan views Dwight, and despite having some form of attachment to him, you never deny what Negan says about him. Sometimes you even agree with him –internally anyway. Dwight can be… dramatic at times.

As he pulls out of The Sanctuary and out onto the road he continues to try and comfort you in his own way. “Those people at The Kingdom won't do shit to you, kid. Not unless their king tells them to, and he's…” A lilt enters his voice, “Ezekiel, he won't. So, just relax, stay nearby, stay composed, and do what I tell you to. Every single thing.” His eyes dart between you and the road as he gives you the instructions, looking for agreement.

You have lots of questions, more so than usual, but you just nod, clutching your seatbelt in your hands. “Okay...” You can hear the underlying uncertainty in your voice, but you reject it as nervousness. “I will.”

***

When you arrive to The Kingdom, Negan hops out of the truck and tells the other Savoirs to hang back for a moment, motioning for you to follow him at a distance as he waltzes up to the wall. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting him to do, but you certainly didn’t think he would butcher a children’s rhyme to convince them to open the door for him. “Little pigs, little pigs, won't you let the big, bad wolf in?” He taunts.

You give him a look of confusion, your uncertainty deepening at the sight of his attitude. “Da… Negan?” You call uncertainly, “I don't think they'll open up if you-”

To your surprise, before you can even finish your sentence the gates swing open and you're greeted with the sight of a small row of people, the others in the background continuing their work, seemingly unbothered by Negan’s presence. This must be a regular occurance for them.

Still, you can see the tension plain on everyone's faces, except for one, a man with greying dreadlocks and a joyful smile. He steps forward. “Welcome back, Negan!” He greets warmly, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your rather unexpected visit…?” He sounds happy, but you can feel something more underlying his words. Fear, maybe? But definitely building resentment.

Negan rubs at his jaw, chuckling bitterly. “You trying to keep me out or something, Ezekiel? Can I just say, that's mighty fucking suspicious...” He laughs, a dangerous edge to his voice.

You startle as you realize the man with the odd, almost cartoonish cadence he's speaking to is the king. He seems so… humble, in a way, –his people aren't bowing to him like The Saviors do for Negan. You haven't decided if that's a good or a bad sign. It could simply be that they don’t respect him.

The king tips his head to the side, “Of course not, my friend, I'm just seeing what I can do for you on this fine day.” He says, his eyes locked on Negan's as he grits his teeth. His hand begins to clench the cane at his side tightly, his knuckles paling from the sheer strength of his grip. “It’s my opinion that there must be a reason you've returned so soon after you’ve left us.”

Negan abruptly reaches back and grips your upper arm, pulling you to the forefront of the group. For a moment they seem taken aback by the sight of you, their guards lowering. The King's eyes look over you as if searching for something, the inner tension starting to show on his face. “…What is this? Why do you have a child?” He questions skeptically in a low voice.

Negan ignores his questions to finally answer his first one, about why he’s here. “The kid needs armor and I know you have a blacksmith here, a real fuckin’ good one at that. Have him make a few sets. -Today.” He adds. You can tell Negan made the excuse up on the spot to explain your visit, but he says it so confidently you almost want to believe he thought about it beforehand.

The king however, keeps his eyes on you, taking a few steps forward. “The boy. We can take him. He’d be happy here, we have the room and food. —It has to be better than whatever he’d endure at The Sanctuary, you know that.” He shakes his head, eyes still on you despite talking to Negan. “You must know this, you’ve seen what they do, know what they’re capable of because you lead them.”

It annoys you that he must have mistaken you for a young boy because of your short hair and baggy clothing, but Negan seems more annoyed by this line of questioning, his hand raising into the air to ask for the bat, Lucille, to be brought to him.

Before anyone can move Gavin interrupts. “No, not yet.” He objects, turning to the king. “The armor, Ezekiel.” Gavin reminds, bringing the group's focus back to Negan’s demands.

The King rips his eyes from you, his face settling back into a forced smile. “Yes, of course, the armor. Our blacksmith lives just this way, come, let us go to him now.” He turns and begins walking further into The Kingdom, Negan walking at his side, and you slightly behind them as The Saviors disperse into The Kingdom.

At first your eyes remain trained on Negan trying to ignore the feeling of unease growing in your gut, but suddenly a boy falls into step at your side, causing you to slow your pace to try and get rid of him. —But when you slow down, he slows down too. So you speed up, but he copies you again. Just as you turn to look at him, ready to snap, he speaks first, yet again copying you.

“Why are you with him? …Is he holding you prisoner?” He asks in a suspicious whisper.

You soften at this, understanding entering your gaze. You could see why someone might mistake him for your captor and not your father considering your physical differences and the way he acts. Not to mention, the boy appears to be around your age, although not exactly, he seems a little older, but you know if you were in his shoes you probably would have thought the same thing. You smile at him softly…

At least until he says something you see as irredeemably stupid.

“If you are… I wouldn’t hold your breath for us helping you. It’d be a waste.”

You grimace at this. “You're the one that was following me. Why even ask if-” You cut yourself off, deciding to answer curtly. “I'm not a prisoner.”

“So you're a Savior?” He asks, his eyes sharpening as he stares at you.

You don't particularly see yourself as one of them, but you realize that you do everything they do and you live in the Sanctuary like a Savior. –And like a Savior would, you take orders from Negan and hang around the likes of Dwight and Simon and Gavin. —Maybe you ARE a Savior? You know these people would definitely see you as one if they knew what you did on the daily.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Still, the admission makes you feel uncomfortable.

The boy shakes his head, fists clenching at his sides. “Why can't you people just go away? Leave us alone. Everything was perfect here until you showed up.” He says with disgust.

You scoff, feeling your own fists starting to ball up. “Hey, watch your mouth.” You warn, “If we hadn’t taken your shitty little community under our watch you probably would have gotten raided by someone, or worse, starved to death by now.” You remember all the hungry, cold nights you spent with Negan before The Sanctuary and feel a wave of overwhelming emotions.

“Is that what you think?” He snarks. “How little do you know about Negan?”

The boy’s responses aren’t helping your anger. You feel yourself about to react when someone in the distance suddenly calls, “Benjamin!”, and the boy takes off running without giving you a second glance.

The king stops, motioning to the building in front of you with a small smile. “This is it. —The blacksmith’s workshop. He’s a busy man, so he must be working right now.” There’s a long pause of silence after his words where he simply stands there expectantly. You don’t know what he’s waiting for, but Negan doesn’t bother to try to find out, walking in to force the blacksmith out himself.

Pretty much as soon as Negan walks in, the king turns to you before you can follow him, gently grabbing you by the shoulders to prevent you from following him. “Child, are you alright? Might you know what he wants with you?” He questions rapidly, sending worried glances to the doorway that Negan had disappeared into.

Initially you want to pry his hands from you, but you realize that his hands aren’t actually touching you anymore. After he had stopped you, he left his hands gently hovering over your shoulders. “I… Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not his prisoner.” You reiterate.

He narrows his eyes, crouching down slightly. “My second question, child?” He coaxes, “You can tell me, I assure you I’m a trustworthy king, I’m no scoundrel. You just say the word and we free you of your… predicament.”

Your eyes widen. “No!” You shout, before slapping a hand over your mouth and lowering your voice. “No… I won’t leave him. He’s… He’s important to me.”

You don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him that Negan is your father, but it’s what you really want to say. —To defend him, ramble on about the man tucking you in at night, cooking dinner for you, and when you have nightmares always leaving a space for you to come into his room and sleep at night despite your age.

You feel yourself starting to shake out of frustration. Why can’t they see him like you do? Why does everyone always think you’re being forced to stay with him?

“I don’t want to leave him, Mr. King Ezekiel. I like being a Savior. I like Negan.” You sniffle, trying to stop yourself before you start crying at the thought of having to part ways with your dad. It was hard enough losing everything at the start of this, and then Lucille and everyone between then and now. You don't think you could take losing him too.

The man stands up straight, nodding slightly as he pats you on the shoulder with one hand. “No need to be upset child, I understand. There’s no need for tears or formalities with me, Ezekiel is just fine.” He pauses with a heavy sigh, giving you a look that reminds you of Dwight. If the two ever met, you wonder if they’d have more in common. “If you ever change your mind, young man, I’ll be right here. The Kingdom welcomes you.”

You think about correcting him, telling him that you’re really a little girl, but then Negan suddenly comes out, dragging a man with a fresh bruise on the side of his face. You can see the blood dribbling down Negan’s knuckles, but you turn a blind eye to it. “Get a move on, kid. We’re getting you some badass armor.”

All your unease disappears at the sight of his smile and you bound your way back inside with him to get your measurements done, forgetting the conversation with Ezekiel momentarily.

Chapter 3: War

Notes:

I decided that, for character development purposes, you’d be introduced to the idea of going to Alexandria now, and then in like two to three chapters actually get to go. So I’m going to release 3&4 at the same time.

But fear not, CARL IS IN THIS CHAPTER (and another person from Alexandria in the next)

Over the years you’ve come to realize that there are just some things you shouldn’t think about for too long, or everything falls apart. You trust your dad, sure, but you also understand what everyone had always been worried about before— that in being near Negan for so long you’d be driven insane.

It pains you to have to admit that maybe they were right. You have done things you know you’ll regret for the rest of your life, you’ve inadvertently contributed possibly hundreds of innocent people to his kill count. Hell, maybe you are insane.

Ezekiel had tried to warn you, in his own way, but you had been too young to understand that he wasn’t trying to be cruel by separating you, —he just wanted you to know that you weren’t trapped, and you’re grateful for that. To know that there’s always someone else just beyond The Sanctuary you can confide in and get advice from, even though you never have. You like to imagine that it’s all frozen in place waiting for you, Shiva, Ezekiel, even that annoying kid Benjamin.

You used to do everything your father asked you without question, silently resolving any hint of reluctance or uneasiness you had in favor of helping him, but you’ve also come to realize that the man before you is not the same one you left Virginia with. This man is not coach Smith, the renowned highschool baseball coach, doting husband of Lucille. This man is Negan. The relentless murderer. The torturer. The oppressor.

Still, you can’t find it in yourself to sever your connection with him. You thought that maybe if you stayed at his side, reasoning with him, you could do more good against this violence than you would alone. —So that's exactly what you've been trying to do, talk to him. You know he's capable of good, he still treats you well and coddles you like his daughter, it's just that the world has pushed him to this point of detached cruelty with others. You know you can bring the good in him back out if you just try.

Straightening your armor with a deep breath, you gently push open the door to his room. Today you hoped to ask him about spending some time together because you knew his schedule was pretty much free for the day. You thought it would be a good time to finally breach the topic and discuss what The Saviors are as a whole, and what they’ve been doing. “Hey, do you-” You stop mid-sentence as you're greeted by the sight of a boy your age standing awkwardly in the corner of the room with his arms crossed.

He doesn’t look up at you at first but after a few seconds pass of you entering the room, he uncrosses his arms and gives you a piercing look as if to say, “What?”, then his face falls. He seems a bit taken aback by the sight of you, his mouth parting slightly as he looks you up and down, eyes flicking across all of your features.

“Eli,” Your father calls, breaking the moment as he releases the one of his wives he had been talking to. “I told you I was busy. Go back downstairs and wait, I'll be right down.” He quickly walks over to you, turning you away to shield you from view as he tries to push you out of the room, but you grab the doorway to stop him.

“Hang on,” You try to see past his large build to the boy, who is silently watching the scene unfold, also trying to subtly get a good look at you. “Was that- That was a kid. You can't hurt him.” You object weakly.

Your father gives you a sympathetic look, finally giving you one last firm shove to get you out of the room. The shove to the chest he gives you doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but the force he puts into it makes it seem like he’s irritated. “I'm sorry,” He whispers, slowly closing the door, “You and I will catch up later, alright? Promise.” He swears, clicking it shut.

You stand there for a moment, taken aback by what just transpired. You want to go back inside, but you aren’t sure whether you should or not. It seems like a bad idea to ignore what he said to do, but it feels like an even worse idea to just walk away and leave things like that.

Either way you don’t get to think about it for very long because Dwight starts approaching you from down the catwalk rapidly, looking over his shoulder as if he’s being chased by something. “Dwight? What’s going on?” You ask, but the man doesn’t answer you right away, instead grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you into another room. “Dwight! What is happening right now? Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!”

He shushes you, closing the door quietly behind him before turning to you with a grim look on his face. “You stole a walkie, right? I saw you do it, bug.” He says in a hushed tone, getting slightly lower so he can make proper eye contact with you.

A jolt of panic slams through your chest. You didn’t think anyone had seen you take it, you had waited until it was the middle of the night and taken a damaged spare you thought no one would miss. “I… I mean, yeah, I did. -But I swear I wasn’t talking to anyone on it, I was just listening.” You hoped stealing it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if you hadn’t used it, you’ll just give it back. Plus, you fixed it, so you basically did him a favor.

He lets out a huff that’s almost like a half-laugh. “Didn’t think you were,” He dismisses, waving a hand. Then he purses his lips, “But you’ve been listening, right? You know what’s going on in Alexandria?”

Alexandria. Yes, you knew. Your father had been telling you about the atrocities they committed, all of the murders and failure to produce tribute quota, the creepy priest, the samurai, the hunter. That was originally why you’d stolen the walkie. As your curiosity grew, you thought it was only right to help monitor the different stations to prevent them from secretly overthrowing The Sanctuary… But when you stole the walkie the people you heard talking didn’t seem anything like the monsters he described, they just seemed… afraid of Negan.

You lower your gaze, feeling the chill of uncertainty creep its way back up your limbs. You don’t want to know why your dad lied, you just hope it was for a good reason. “Yeah… Yeah, I kind of know. Is that why he has that boy in there? -Because he’s from Alexandria? Is he the one we’d been keeping in the basement?” It’s unnerving to think your father tortured and might kill the boy for what the other people in his community had done, but you would hope he wouldn’t cross that line.

He shakes his head, eyeing the door skeptically. “No. That’s Rick Grimes’ son, that’s not important right now. He’s going to be fine.” His hands shoot up and seize your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “I need to know whose side you're on, bug. I need to know if you’ll help me.”

The whiplash you’re getting from flipping from topic to topic is starting to give you a headache. “What? -Side? I’m not on any side, there are no sides.” It’s a cop out answer and you know it. You know that your dad’s side, Negan’s side, is objectively the more morally corrupt, but you believe in redemption. If people can’t be redeemed then isn’t that the same as saying that people can’t change? And if people can’t change then… you don’t even want to think about that.

You wince as his grip gets even tighter, borderline painful, on your arms. “Yes, there are. This is WAR. We are fighting a WAR with Alexandria and I need to know what you’re gonna do. I need to know if I’m telling the people in Alexandria you’re with us… or against us.” He lowers his eyes as he mentions the prospect of fighting against you for real. He’s watched you grow up, watched you learn how to be a person in your own right. Hurting you isn’t something he wants to do, but he will if it comes to it.

You rest a hand over his hand on your shoulder, patting it lightly as you try to sound sure of yourself. “We can help him. This isn’t it, we can always go back and be better people. My dad doesn’t have to die, his dad doesn’t have to die, we can all be… good… and make the right choice.”

He lets you finish talking before he brushes off your hand, releasing you, a deep set frown coming to his lips. You never thought he would look at you like that, the same way he’s been looking at Negan and the other Saviors lately. “Okay. Seems like you’ve made your choice.” The finality in his voice scares you.

You shake your head rapidly, fists clenching at your sides. “I’m not choosing, I won’t. I… can’t.” Your voice is almost pleading with him, trying to get him to stay, but even you aren’t sure if that’s what’s best. You’re reminded of that fact every time you see his face— those burns that you watched him be punished with as a permanent reminder of who Negan is to him. A monster and a god.

He sets a hand on the door handle, looking over his shoulder at you. “I’m sorry, I really am. You’re a good kid, none of this is fair to you…” He falters, his jaw clenching tightly. “But fuck, are you serious? After everything, you still don’t understand that he’s…” He trails off, opening the door as he straightens his face back to indifference. “I won’t tell them you’re here, it’ll be like you never even existed. If you’re half as smart as I thought you were, you’ll get out before things go to shit.” He slams the door shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Chapter 4: Choice

Notes:

Chapter four, or alternatively, chapter three part two.

Negan is an ass, but later he'll get a redemption arc– just be prepared to lose him for a bit

“You been waitin’ for me long?”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to your dad as he walks onto the working floor towards you with a large playful grin. It’s a comforting sight that takes you back to when all of this started, when you were young and he was just doing his best to protect Lucille and you. Life was simple.

He had always made your new life before The Sanctuary feel like you were going on a long road-trip with no destination. You ate snacks, you drove –or more accurately he drove while you pretended to with a paper plate in the passenger seat–, you played, you explored abandoned buildings and parks, and you did it all together. You miss that.

Your gaze is suddenly drawn to the smear of blood on his cheek and almost instinctively your eyes shift from his face to the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire sitting on his shoulder to check it for brain matter. The new Lucille. It makes you uncomfortable how much he seems to adore that thing. In fact, lately you've noticed he's been talking to it more than you, you hope because of how busy he's been running this place and all the other settlements.

Apparently Alexandria isn't the only one giving him trouble lately. Still, that's no excuse to kill an innocent child.

He stands above you for a moment, taking in your conflicted expression as he lets out a long sigh. “Okay, baby girl, I can see you aren’t gonna let this crap go.” He sits down next to you, the supply crate you’re both on creaking under his added weight.

You shift to face him, reaching out a hand to swipe away the blood on his cheek with the tips of your fingers to show him the blood. “You didn’t.”

He smirks with a chuckle, grabbing your wrist to forcefully wipe your hand off on a spare piece of cloth tucked into his belt, discarding it on the floor for someone else to clean up. “I didn’t?” He asks with a hint of amusement, he seems almost proud of himself, at least until he sees your eyes narrow with something like distrust. “I didn’t. Carl’s going home tonight, safe and sound. -I’m making sure of it myself.” He admits, shifting to watch the workers of The Sanctuary toil away.

It’s a cathartic sight, the repetition of their precise movements almost mind-numbingly peaceful.

“Carl?” You’re a little surprised that he not only knows the boy’s name, but used it. It shows a deep amount of respect you didn’t expect for him to have for this kid. But you know your dad, the likelihood of him returning someone like that— someone as valuable as the son of his enemy is close to none. You saw his right eye, the exposed marred flesh of it, and that haunting look on his face like he was cornered and ready for whatever was going to be thrown at him next. “Can I… Can I see him?”

He turns towards you with a look of surprise and amusement, “You and Carl? That’d be-” He cuts himself off, the look on his face quickly shifting to frustration. “No. No, kid, I don’t want you caught up in this shit. It's getting too messy.”

Dwight’s words from a few hours ago about this being a war, pass through your mind and you feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. You wish the conversation hadn’t ended the way it did. You wish you could have talked it out with him, but here’s an opportunity to do the same thing with your dad– the right way.

“I deserve to know what’s going on around here, I deserve the truth about what’s happening with Alexandria. I can handle it, whatever it is, whatever you’ve done, we can get through this.” You reason, letting yourself be uncharacteristically vulnerable, but unlike you, he becomes more and more removed from the conversation with every word. It seems like he has no interest in including you on what he decides to do with Alexandria and its people.

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on. You have to make it through this.” He says, standing up with a stretch. He lightly taps the non-sharp tip of Lucille against your forehead then moves it down to tip your chin upward affectionately. From this angle you can see the dried blood stuck in the barbed wire and it makes your skin crawl. You never want to be at the other end of that bat. “You deserve to see the world after this, kid. My world. Your only job is to stay alive, alright?”

The way he says it, the way he looks past you and starts walking away before you’ve even answered— like he just knows you’ll agree no matter what, like all of your decisions are predictable and managed— cuts deep. You really thought he'd understand and try to talk it out, but he was barely even listening to what you had to say in the first place.

You stare at his back as he walks away, the bat sitting on his shoulder like he used to carry you. “Where are you even going? Weren’t we supposed to have dinner together?” You call out after him. It would have been the first time in weeks that he would have sat somewhere with you for longer than twenty minutes.

He shrugs, his carefree and cocky attitude coming to the forefront. “Tomorrow, I promise. I gotta get that kid back home before Rick the prick crawls up my ass and starts fucking shit up again.”

Every word he says feels like a callous punch to the gut. It would probably hurt less if he just told you he didn’t love you anymore, than to know that he loves you and is choosing everything except you at every opportunity.

You know full well he doesn’t have to bring that kid home right now, just like he didn’t have to make sure all the cars had new tires last week, or that The Sanctuary had a stockpile of cat and dog food the week before that— there aren’t even any pets here.

Standing up from where you had been sitting you call out to him again, tensing yourself up. “You mean hurting people… right? -He’s fucking up our people so you have to take “Carl” back?” You provoke.

You know it’s not true that the leader of Alexandria is hurting people without good reason, but you’re trying to get some kind of response, any kind of response, out of your dad other than the indifference he’s giving you in return for your honesty.

“Hm?” He stops in his tracks, not even bothering to turn around and look at you while he lies to your face.

“You told me the Alexandrians had to be stopped and kept under control so they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.” You’re basically begging him to correct you with the truth at this point, finally come clean so you can have a real conversation. “-So you have to go take that kid back as a show of good faith or something, right?” He doesn’t answer, so you repeat yourself. “Right, dad?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s it, baby girl.”

“That's it?” You question once more as he leaves you standing there miserably in the middle of the work floor to once again go terrorize the people of Alexandria.

You really want to be mad at him, hell, you are mad. You can feel yourself starting to shake from the contained anger, wanting to lash out, or shout at him, or make some kind of bold demand, but you can't find it in yourself to direct your anger at him, so he slips out of your sight.

With every angry thought you have, the more you're mad at yourself for not listening to Dwight. –He went god knows where for the eighth time this week, and now what are you supposed to do? You can't patch things up with him if he's missing. So you just listen to your dad? Go back to your room and–

Wait. Wait, that IS it.

You can go back to your room and use your stolen walkie to warn the people of Alexandria.

That way they can be prepared for your dad before he gets there, maybe score some brownie points with him, maybe have tribute ready ahead of time. No one has to get hurt, no one has to die. You can make this work, you know it.

Your eyes look down at the sullied cloth on the floor, before darting around the catwalk as you make your way towards it in a rush, shoving past people and bounding your way up the metal staircase. A few people give you dirty looks, but you ignore them, heading straight to your room, slamming the door shut and locked behind you.

You stare at your pillow for a moment, knowing what's inside.

Once you do this, there's no going back, and if your dad finds out… You aren't really sure what he'll do, but you know he's not beyond punishing you to a lesser degree than Dwight.

Your eyes jump over to a drawing on your wall, a little portrait you had drawn a long time ago of yourself, Negan, Dwight, Simon, and a few others, but looking at the smiling stick figures doesn’t feel the same. You don't feel warm or comforted knowing their faces are in your room– you feel watched.

Is this how Dwight felt about you now? Did he worry that at any moment you would come wandering in through his door and report him to Negan for whatever he was doing to help the people in Alexandria? The thought of Dwight seeing you as a spy for Negan makes you feel ill, you would never… would you? Nevermind that, you need to focus.

Dwight said this was a war, right? So by choosing not to do this, you're essentially damning people in both Alexandria and The Sanctuary. Isn't it worth the risk to save lives?

You sit down on the edge of your bed, reaching into your pillowcase to hold the little black hunk of metal, swallowing hard. You're really doing this, aren’t you?

You flick it on and hear the faint chatter of Saviors, before flipping to another channel. The one you've heard them using. You press down on the button, opening your mouth to talk, but the words get caught in your throat.

Finally, you decide to say something, heart slamming in your chest.

***

At first, he wasn't quite sure what he heard coming through his walkie. It had sounded like someone was quietly talking at first, but it was jammed between so much static he couldn't tell.

Maybe Rick was out of range, or maybe someone dropped their walkie-talkie and a walker got a hold of it, but neither explanation left him feeling satisfied. So he decided to wait, tossing his walkie down on the porch next to him, listening for the noise.

When he focuses he can hear the wind in the trees, the repeated clank of the tarp on the gate, the distant chatter of Rosita and Tara, but not whatever he had heard before. It seems like whatever it was vanished in an instant, and all of these noises are too clean, too sharp to be what he heard. He lets a few more moments of silence pass before he decides to go back to sharpening his arrows by hand, dragging a stone across the arrow heads methodically.

Then once again, a shaky little voice comes through the walkie, slightly louder this time. “Hello?”

He glances back up at the walkie, a little surprised. It almost sounds like a kid to him, but he knows it ain't either of the two he knows of, so it can't be… can it?

Then the voice again, more pleading, “Is anyone there? Please, it's important.”

He has a hard time resisting the urge to help kids in trouble, despite no good ever coming of it. “Damn it,” He drops everything on the porch, taking the walkie into his hands as he stands up, flicking his own walkie on to talk. “Who’s this?” He asks gruffly, starting to slowly pace the length of the house.

“I'm…” They pause for a moment, “I'm a Savior. -But don't hang up, okay? I'm trying to help you.”

Daryl scoffs, pushing his hair back out of his face. He would hang up, in fact, he probably should, but whoever this is caught his attention. “Oh yeah? How you gonna-”

“Negan is coming.” They respond bluntly, interrupting him.

Daryl freezes in his tracks, staring down at the walkie, his face tensing. “What?” He furrows his brows as he tries to decipher what the cryptic message means. It can't be as simple as that can it? Did Negan know he was here? –That he had escaped and come back to Alexandria?

Yet the voice repeats, “Negan is coming. -He doesn't want trouble, he just wants to give you your kid back.” There's a small pause the voice on the other end growing quieter, “This is Rick Grimes, isn't it?”

He looks around him, trying to spot Carl in any of the places he would normally see him, but he's strangely absent. “Shit.” He hadn’t even noticed the little fucker run off with Jesus, let alone get caught by Negan. “No, this ain't Rick Grimes. He ain't back yet.” He groans, suddenly feeling the pressure of the situation. Thank god this little asshole called. “Who the hell are you?”

There's a small laugh cut by static before the other person answers. “I'm Eli.”

He sighs, annoyed by the short and vague answers the other person is giving. “Thanks Eli, now fuck off.” He's about to switch off the walkie when the person on the other end laughs again.

“Ouch, you're not even going to tell me your name? Be glad I even bothered talking to you, jerk.” The words are surprisingly playful, not regretful.

There's something about the way this kid talks that reminds him of the banter he used to have with… Beth. It pains him, but he can't help but want to talk more. “Daryl.”

“Cool. Nice to meet- Er, nice talking to you, Daryl.”

He feels a lump forming in his throat, thoughts of Beth hitting him like a truck. “Yeah.” He winces, sitting back down on the porch. “Is it… Y’alright there, kid? -In The Sanctuary?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, could be better, but that's just life I-” Suddenly the person on the other line gasps.

Daryl stares at the walkie for a moment before hesitantly speaking into it again. “Hello? What happened?” He says quietly, as to not alert anyone that may be around the kid on the other end.

“I have to go.” They say hurriedly, the walkie clicking off.

He sits there for a moment, silently mulling over the interaction before he decides to go tell someone that Negan is on his way. He holds off on telling people about the kid, reserving the information for telling Rick privately when he returns.

Chapter 5: Sheriff's Star

Notes:

Can you guess who's in this chapter? -And the next after that and the rest?

That's right, we've officially reached the point where this becomes a slowburn :D

“Dwight, what the fuck!” You gasp, quickly hiding the walkie under your pillow as he enters the room. You know full well that he saw it, he might’ve even heard you talking before he walked in, but you try to feign innocence anyway. Steadying your voice you brush a lock of hair out of your face, “You scared the shit out of me.”

He stares at your pillow for a moment before his gaze flicks back up to your face, conflict in his eyes. “I didn't think you'd… nevermind. Sorry for scaring you.” He walks further into the room and leans up against the wall, crossing his arms with a serious look on his face. “You know why I came back?”

But of course you don't know, how could you? No one is telling you anything.

He sighs, glancing out of the window to the moat of walkers two stories below as he tries to collect his thoughts. “...The people from Alexandria aren't all killers, but they have to do things just like the rest of us. So they kill to protect their own. We aren't giving them much of a choice in that with the way Negan’s been handling things.” He pauses, turning back towards you. “But I was wrong, you DO exist. Against all odds you're still alive here, and I can't just ignore that fact…”

You're glad he came back to talk things out, sure, but everytime someone gives you a sliver of information everything you think you know about the situation gets flipped upside down. You can't really make sense of where he's going with this, but it keeps getting more and more complicated. “So… What does that mean?” You prompt.

“After dinner,” He furrows his brow with a grumble, reaching down into his left pocket to rummage around for something, before his hand emerges and he stares into it uncertainly. He clasps the object gently, but it seems like he's afraid of what the object represents. You try to catch a glimpse of whatever it is, but he tosses it at you before you can.

Catching the object in your cupped hands, you stare down at it. “–The key to the roof?” You verbalize.

“-After dinner,” He says the words again like they’re physically strenuous for him to say, “keep doing what you're doing, but seriously, be smarter about it. If anyone except me had walked past your room just now, seen you doing what you were doing, heard you talking to them, you'd be…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “Look, you make your choices and I'll make mine, okay? I don’t need to justify that to a kid.” He says defensively.

You stare at him with confusion. You hadn't even said anything to respond to him yet, but he was already acting like you were arguing with him.

Then, your dad’s words about Dwight and his and other adults’ attachment to the old world –the old rules– come to mind and you feel yourself starting to understand his purpose in being here a little more. He's not here for you, he's here to work through his own shit and try to justify the choices he's making to himself.

He hits his head against the wall softly, “I don't want to be the rat who slipped away, lost everything, AND got a kid killed.” He groans, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “You can use that key to escape, or talk more on the walkie, or whatever you want to do, but I can't say I didn't try. -Because I did, I really did, bug. I did everything I… should've.” He pushes himself off of the wall to hover above you.

You look up at him solemnly. You're happy he’s finally making the choices he feels are necessary, but you’re saddened that he might be leaving permanently, –best case scenario. “Why does this feel like goodbye, Dwight?” You ask, feeling something you never thought you would again making its way through your limbs. You hate saying goodbye.

He nods quietly for a moment before resting a hand on top of your head. “Because it is.” He pulls away. “I’m leaving soon, and either you turn traitor and maybe we see one another again, or you don't and we don't.” He closes his eyes, “Or worse, we do see each other again, on opposite sides, and one of us is in a body bag.” He rubs the back of his neck, turning towards the window.

You can tell that the sky has darkened slightly, a sign that Negan will probably be back soon if he's finished terrorizing the people of Alexandria.

You feel your jaw tense at the ideas coming to mind of what your dad might be doing there, with that bat and the kid, and your stomach starts to churn, but you try to turn your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“I don't want this to be it. It feels like everything's been leading up to this for you guys, but I've been sidelined this whole time.” Your voice cracks, so you pause for a moment to harden your outward appearance to frustration before you continue. “I have no idea what's ACTUALLY happening but I'm still a huge part of it. I might even die because of it, but still, no one wants to tell me anything.” You rant, fists involuntarily clenching in your lap.

You've proved your loyalty and strength thousands of times over, passed every test your dad has given you, yet you still can't be trusted with information about the people who are actively planning to attack?

He nods in agreement, “It might sound stupid, actually, it probably IS stupid, but I think there's some part of Negan that wants to keep you here to keep you safe and innocent. I don’t think he wants you to see what he's become.” He pauses, clicking his jaw, “And I think part of that is keeping you in the dark.”

“So why won't anyone else tell me anything?” You snap, “You could sit down and tell me everything you know, everything he's done, but you don't. Why?” You question, standing up to be at a little lower than eye level with him.

Dwight’s face hardens. “I gotta go.” He turns away from you and opens the door, stepping through it. But his hand lingers on the frame, holding it open.

You take that as an opportunity to keep pushing him on this, “Don't do this, Dwight. Don't leave me like this again.” You say in a plea, “If you want me to join their side you have to tell me what's going on. I have to understand.”

You know you would never turn your back on Negan, and he knows it too.

He gives you a small smile, the first genuine smile you've seen on his face in a long time. “Sorry, but I can't risk you exposing their plans to him. You understand that, right?” He nods slowly to himself. “Good luck. Really, I mean it.” The door clicks shut behind him.

“Fuck…” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your fists even tighter– but then you feel a sharp pain in your palm and open it, staring down at the key he had given you. Regardless of what you decide to do, “I can't have this out in the open…” You mutter to yourself, shoving it into your pocket. You glance over at your pillow, taking the walkie out and slipping it into your jacket pocket, deciding to leave your room and start making your way down to the back entrance where you know your dad will most likely emerge.

You put your back against the wall next to the doors and slide down to sit on the floor while you wait. It only takes about an hour for the doors to burst open, your dad striding through pridefully.

“Dad,” You call standing up, ready to speak to him, when you finally take in his appearance. His hands and clothes are stained with a large amount of blood, his mouth curled up into an amused smile. “…Dad?”

He glances over at the sound of your voice, and his smile falls. Quickly he strips off his leather jacket and tosses it off to the side, reaching out to touch your face, but stopping once he realizes just how dirty he really is. “You weren't supposed to…” He trails off. “Didn't anyone send you off to bed? I swear, this shit gets worse and worse. I told them to-”

“Who did you kill?” You ask.

“What?” The question seems to catch him off guard and he takes another cautious step closer to you. It seems like Dwight might have been onto something when he said your dad was keeping you in the dark to shelter you. “No one. -Well, nobody who didn't deserve it. You know how they are.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do I?” You question, angling your head.

He furrows his brows with something like concern, tipping his head to the side to match your gaze. “What's going on with you? You seem pissed off.”

You don't say anything, continuing to furiously stare at him, feeling the key burning a hole in your pocket. You want to tell him so bad, but after seeing him like this, soaked in blood, you decide that telling him would be the worst decision you could ever make. It’s one of the most difficult to accept feelings you’ve had, —this thought that he’s just going to inevitably keep hurting other people until someone stops him. Someone like the people from Alexandria. —Someone like Rick Grimes.

You feel your eyes gloss over with unshed, angry tears. You don’t want anyone else to die but it feels like everyone is dead set on it.

Slowly his eyes widen and he sets Lucille up against the wall to fully turn his attention to you. At first you're almost happy at the thought he might understand what's going on with you, but then he starts speaking. “Oh shit, I missed something didn't I? What was it? Baby girl, I'm so sorry I forgot, I've just been so busy.” His hands once again come up, hovering over your face. “I can't believe I got so fucking wrapped up in that prick's bullshit.”

You turn your head, gently pushing his hands away from you. “You didn’t miss anything, I just… I just…” You feel a wave of emotions swelling up but you quickly shove them back down. “I'm just tired, I think I'm going to go to bed.”

He nods, taking a step back from you to give you some space. He can tell you're lying, but he understands that sometimes kids your age need a little privacy. “Yeah go ahead, that's probably for the best, given… all this.” He motions to his bloodied clothes and gives you a small chuckle that you don't reciprocate.

This time you're the one that leaves him standing confused and abandoned as you leave, making your way up to the rooftop. Every step you take towards the roof feels uncertain and leaves you feeling a little more guilty, but you don't stop yourself. You feel it in the pit of your stomach, that this is what's right. You have the ability to try and convince the people of Alexandria not to attack, not to kill anyone living in The Sanctuary, so you should take that chance.

You get up to the rooftop and let your knees buckle into a kneel, before leaning back and laying down. For a while you just lie there, on the cold pavement, gazing up at the stars. It would almost be peaceful if you couldn't hear the sounds of the living dead moat below you, and slowly your hand makes its way down to your pocket and you flick the walkie on, still staring up at the stars as a quiet new voice comes through it.

“Shit, this isn't working…” The voice grumbles bitterly. It's clear they'd been talking for a while, to whom you aren't sure, but they sound fed up and tired. —One thing is certain, though. This isn't the voice of the man you'd been speaking with earlier, this is someone new.

You press down on the voice button to speak, sending a wave of static silence through to the other end to make sure it's safe to talk. Earlier that's what you'd inadvertently done to make the man– Daryl, start speaking without revealing anything about yourself.

They pause for a moment, letting the static you made run on in silence before you take your hand off of the button. “Hello? Anyone there?” They say in a calm, even tone of voice. “Are you… the person Daryl was talking to earlier? …Eli?”

The sound of your own name coming through the walkie from a stranger sends a sharp pang of panic through you despite there being no present danger. You wonder just how many people know about your existence now, and how many of them are thinking about killing you for being a Savior, despite helping the people of Alexandria. “Yeah, it’s me.” You say, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. “Who is this? Where’s Daryl?”

“And why should I tell you that? You…” The walkie goes silent for a moment as they take their hand off of the push to talk button. Then they return, taking a deep breath. “He’s fine.”

You relax at this, despite never having seen the man and only having one, very brief conversation with him. “Good. He was nice.”

The voice on the other end clears their throat. “Back to my questions now. You sound… young.” They pause, “How old are you? Why are you with The Saviors?” They ask.

It’s always been a pet peeve of yours when people underestimate you based on your age, and this new guy seems to think he can ask whatever he wants, and you’ll answer because you're young. You cringe at this, sitting up on the roof to look into the city outside of the fence. “Your questions? What are you, interrogating me over a walkie-talkie?”

“Yes.” They admit, “I don’t care what Daryl said to my dad, you’re a stranger. I need to know more about you before I can trust you.”

You scoff, “This definitely isn’t Rick Grimes, you sound like a kid too. -And you’re acting like one.” You say snarkily.

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end, “I’m sixteen, I’m practically an adult.” They quip, voice laced with irritation. “You’re what? Half my age? Eight?”

You feel anger bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sixteen too, jackass.” You snap back, taking your finger off of the talking button. What rotten luck that at the exact moment you decided to try and get back into contact with the people from Alexandria, this kid came on trying to boss you around. “God, it was a mistake to come up here tonight.” You should have waited until tomorrow.

You start to stuff the walkie back into your pocket when the voice quickly comes back through, causing you to pause in your movements, “No, wait- Look, I just…” They trail off. “I just need this, I’m worried about my family. You said you’re sixteen? Okay, we’re both the same age. So let’s talk this out like mature adults… Are you still there?”

You think it over for a moment before you flick the walkie back on. You can understand where he’s coming from, wanting to protect the people he has left, because it’s the same thing you’re doing in coming up here. “I’m listening.”

“Let me start over, my name is Carl Grimes.”

Your lips part in awe, you hadn’t expected that this bold and somewhat rude guy was the quiet boy from earlier. “From my- From Negan’s room, yeah, I remember.” You mutter.

“You saw me?” He questions, but then the realization hits him. “Oh, you’re… that guy. I wouldn’t have expected you to sound so feminine. -You looked tough.” He says bluntly.

“I am tough.” You don’t bother to correct him and tell him you’re a girl. You’ve seen enough terrible things happen to know that girls are always the ones that get the short end of the stick and left behind for being “weak”.

There’s an awkward silence after you answer, but you don’t want to be the first one to break it. You aren’t even sure what you’d say to him. Then suddenly he speaks, hesitantly asking, “So, why did you help us? Why’d you tell Daryl that Negan was coming?”

You take your hand off of the button to let out a small snort before returning, “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” You playfully quip.

He doesn’t seem amused. “Yeah. It is.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the seriousness of the situation to him. He didn’t come here to fuck around, he wants answers. “Because it was the right thing to do.” Even though you hadn’t been sure of it at the time. “I didn’t want anyone else to die, but I think someone did anyway.”

“Spencer.” He pauses, “And they took Eugene.”

You clench the walkie tighter in your hand, turning your head away. “I’m so fucking sorry.” You apologize, understanding what that means for them.

“... I mean, it’s not really your fault…” He sighs, “You can keep helping us. As a Savior you’d have good information on what people are doing, how much weaponry you have, who's doing what and when.” It sounds like he's more reasoning to himself why he should keep you around. “Just… keep talking to me.”

“I can't be at my walkie all the time, -I stole it.” You reason.

He lets out a half laugh, “Yeah, Daryl was trying to keep you a secret between him and my dad, so I'm not exactly supposed to be talking to you either.”

“What if I lie?” You ask.

“What if you lie?” He parrots back, with a steady voice. It almost sounds like a dare.

“Well, what if they catch me and I can't tell you things anymore?” You challenge.

He snorts, “If you're on our side, when we get Eugene back, I'm sure we'll get you too. My dad wouldn't leave a kid -Uhm- A mature adult, alone like that.”

You feel some of the guilt you felt earlier for betraying your father like this disappearing. He makes it all sound so easy and simple. Do good to be good. “...Alright. I'll give you fair warnings, but you have to do the same, okay?”

He doesn't respond for a moment reminding you of earlier, when your dad had done the same thing to you, but to your surprise the boy is honest, “I don't think I can do that.” He falters.

“So… I take it you aren't interested in us being friends?” You ask sarcastically, but this time in a non-demeaning, jovial way. “That's fine. I get it. -But we can still work together on minimizing the death count in some ways, right? People don't have to die because we don't like one another.”

“That’s… that's perfect, actually. Thank you for this. Thank you for staying after I…” He trails off.

“Yeah.” You say knowingly. “It was for the better.”

Chapter 6: Humbled

Notes:

Hey, sorry this took so long. I'm not too familiar with cross bow violence so I had to do some "research", and then get the story for the next few chapters figured out.

Enjoy!

You flick your walkie on, squinting up at the bright sun as you leisurely walk the length of the rooftop. “Daryl, are you there?” You call out, maybe louder than you should've, but you can’t help it. It’s way too hot outside for your taste, and the armor isn’t helping— it feels like you’re burning up underneath the heavy sheets of metal and padding, and the only thing you think might help, other than stripping it all off, is talking to them.

For the past few days you've been enjoying the solace you get on the roof, talking through your walkie-talkie. –In fact, that's what you've been spending a majority of your days and nights doing, talking to Daryl during the day, then Carl at night. It’s like being able to breathe again. They’re your window to the world outside of The Sanctuary, albeit one that your father would nail shut if he found out about it.

“Helloooo? Daryl?” You call again, continuing to walk along the rooftop, balancing yourself on the ledge as you wait for a response.

Then you hear the sudden crackle of Daryl's voice as it comes through in a rush. “Shit, I forgot to tell you yesterday. -We ain’t using this channel no more.” He lets out a sigh of irritation as a loud crash comes through on his end, before continuing, “Not for a good while anyway.”

He seems to move past the loud sounds coming from where he is, but you notice that he’s acting strangely— he doesn’t usually turn off his walkie between sentences but you can tell that’s what he’s doing. There’s a strange void of noise between each sentence.

You push down the strange feeling you get from his odd behavior, “Oh, jeez, what was THAT? It sounded like an explosion.” You ask curiously, laughing awkwardly as you continue to try to balance yourself on the ledge. A few moments pass and he doesn’t respond to your question, so you decide to move past it too, respecting his privacy. “Alright. Which channel are we moving to?” You ask, spreading your arms out to aid in your balance.

His walkie comes on, paired by the roar of an engine and the slam of something that sounds like a car crash— metal on metal. You hear his breathing become ragged and heavy, like he’s doing something that takes a lot of physical work, and you feel a chill go down your spine. He’s clearly doing something risky, but what?

“Not we, kid.” He pauses for a moment to let the words sink in before he offers a small apology. “Sorry. ‘Had to make a choice and Rick thinks this is for the best in givin’ us the upper hand.”

You wish that they trusted you a little more given that you've been telling them true information about what's going on inside of The Sanctuary for days on end, but you're more understanding of their position given the fact that you know you're lying about who exactly you are. You sigh, stepping down off of the ledge, sitting down. “So… When will you come back?”

There’s another loud thud on his end, then the faint voice of someone else shouting before Daryl speaks away from the walkie talkie, “Alright, alright, I’m goin’ to.” He mutters, then his voice comes back, louder, addressed to you. “Kid, you know where the Southeast stairwell is? —Tell the people living in The Sanctuary, not The Saviors, to start goin’ there and make them leave.”

“What? Why?” You ask, but before you can get an answer there’s a thud in the distance from where YOU are, causing you to snap your head up, the sound parroted through on Daryl’s end— the same sound. “What was that? Daryl, what’s happening?” Startled, your eyes roam over the cityscape outside of The Sanctuary. You notice there’s a strange absence of walkers outside of the fence, and the city is silent. Completely and eerily silent.

“Don’t be scared, alright? Just go.” He says gruffly, the wind interference on his end picking up. “I need to switch channels now, okay? I ain’t gonna be back for a while, but when you hear us, put your hands up and surrender.”

“Daryl, don’t-” You aren’t able to finish your sentence before he leaves you seemingly alone on the channel, scrambling for any kind of explanation as you see the horde of walkers approaching The Sanctuary, and your father, stepping out of the back doors to greet the barrage.

A single man is at the front of the group, directing them. He looks deranged, his hair dripping with sweat, the shadow growing on his face matted with splotches of blood, and it’s in that moment you know— Alexandria has come.

You quickly duck down on the roof, making sure you’re out of view from both sides. Shit, what are you supposed to do? Should you listen to Daryl and try to get people out, or is he telling you to lead them to their demise? All of this talk about peace with them, and here they are, attacking you.

All of the group below fire a single shot each into the air and you immediately sprint back inside, clumsily stumbling onto The Sanctuary’s catwalks. Rushing down the stairs to the worker’s area you shove off a pile of hand sewn clothing and stand up on the table. It doesn’t matter if Daryl is telling you to lead them to death or not; you’ve trained hard enough and fought enough that you know you could protect them with the help of The Savior’s if everything goes south.

“Everyone!” You shout over the machines and chatter, ceasing all of the noise at once. You aren’t sure what exactly to say now that you have the floor, so you decide to be direct just like your dad had taught you, “Drop everything and get to the Southeast tower!” You direct.

People look at each other and then down at their work stations, a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces, when one man speaks up, never breaking eye contact with you. “...Is Negan the one who told you to round us up?” He asks. You’ve seen him around before, but he doesn’t usually speak to you, he just stares, and when your dad is around he doesn’t even do that, so you're surprised to hear him speaking out against you like this.

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek nervously as you hear the boom of another wall of gunfire. “No, he wasn’t. It was common sense. We need to get out of here and evacuate. -I’m only saying what he would be saying if he were inside right now.” You admit.

Tipping his head to the side curiously, the man asks a question that makes your blood boil, “Then why should we listen to you? What authority do you think you have here? If it weren’t for Negan…” He trails off, and people slowly go back to what they’d been doing— some of them even laughing and turning to make fun of you with the people around them.

It's the first time you’ve seen this happen, no one dares disrespect you when Negan's around– but the way they're acting it seems like this is a regular occurance. You knew they didn’t like you, but this is ridiculous. There are lives at stake.

“Listen up!” You shout, “You have to go, or you're going to die! Your families will die! Everyone in this room will–” Suddenly you feel the grip of a hand on your face as the man reaches up and grapples you by the mouth with one hand, pulling you closer to make eye contact with him.

He looks furious. Physically, he's bigger than you, stronger, probably faster, and from his tight grip you can tell that if he wanted to, he could break your jaw just by squeezing a little harder.

“Be quiet. People are working here, and I’m sick and tired of you acting like you're somehow important while we suffer. You walk around like you’re ten feet tall, but let me tell you, there is nothing special about you. The only reason you get to stand at Negan’s side is because you lucked out, and we didn’t. We aren’t any less important than you are. We’re people.” He spits, moving closer to your ear. So close you can feel his breath. “If it weren't for Negan, I'd get that attitude out of you in a week, hell, maybe I should do it right now. -Have some fun with it. With you. Then you’d finally get to see how the people who live here are treated every day.” He laughs breathily and you yank yourself away to keel over, rubbing your sore jaw.

You know you aren’t responsible for the way your father treats his people. You aren’t responsible for what the people here have done to each other, and you don’t enjoy the rampant violence you know goes on here, but you don’t really have any kind of power to stop it.

“I hope you die,” You glance around at all of the people, people ignoring or relishing in what just happened to you– like it was somehow some sick and twisted form of justice. “I hope you all fucking die.” You repeat.

And so you leave the people of The Sanctuary to their own devices, instead running after your father– at least, where you'd seen him go from the rooftop.

You make it outside just in time to watch the fence fall, the flood of living dead overwhelming The Saviors faster than anything else you’ve ever seen. It’s awful, you watch people get torn limb from limb right in front of you, but the people from Alexandria don’t let up in their gunfire.

It’s clear they’re trying to make absolutely sure that no one escapes. Not a single person.

As your eyes wander the crowds of people searching for your father, a woman shoves you aside, nearly pushing you straight into one of the living dead, screeching what you recognize as her son’s name. Your knee jerk reaction is to send her a glare, but instead you grit your teeth and clench your jaw, resolving to stomp the dead man’s head in instead. You recognize the severity of the situation and understand because it’s the exact same thing you’re doing— although, you probably wouldn’t shove someone into what might kill them.

“Dad!” You call out in a scream, but you can’t even hear your own voice over the cries of the dead and the gunfire. “Dad, where are you?!” You nearly trip over something on the ground, suddenly halting your sprint as you reach down and pick up the metal bar, readying yourself to attack whatever comes at you next.

A dead man, two more, one again— You just keep stabbing and bashing mindlessly, trying not to think about it, trying to pretend that you don’t recognize some of the faces you're bludgeoning right now. You’d do anything in the world to see your dad’s smiling face right now, to be back on that bench that day before all of this, to be a kid, to be a NORMAL kid.

“You bastard!” You hear in the distance, and instantly your knees nearly buckle from relief. Your dad is alive. “You goddamn prick, look what you’ve done!” He screams at the top of his lungs.

Fighting your way through the dead you rush over to where you hear his voice echoing, it’s a small corner tucked away from the rest of the fight where he’s scuffling with a man holding a crossbow. Your dad manages to get the man a fair distance away from him, holding him in a standoff with his gun.

You drop the bar at your side, feeling waves of reassurance at the sight of him. “Dad!” You call out in a light voice, something almost like a laugh— then quickly, almost instantly in response to your voice there’s a dull noise, something like a ca-thunk, and you feel something heavy hit you in the chest.

The pain doesn’t hit you immediately, but when you look up and see the terror on your father’s face you let out a small grunt, all sensation in your outer limbs turning to ice as the feeling of the bolt in your chest hits you all at once and you fall to the ground. The pain is sharp and hot, so surprising you can’t even scream, mouth wide and silent in agony.

“ELI!” Your dad yells, immediately moving to reach you, but a gun fires and forces him backward. —It’s the man who was leading the charge, relentlessly pursuing him with an automatic rifle.

You can feel the hot tears running down your face and cocktailing with the blood pouring out of your chest as you writhe on the ground, trying and failing to call for your father— you want to tell him it’s okay to leave you and run, but all you can manage is to brokenly call out, “Dad- Daddy.” Over and over again as he’s forced away from you and into the main fight.

Dwight’s lessons flash through your mind as you search for some kind of advice to surviving this nightmare, rolling over onto your side and curling into yourself. Hundreds of days and nights you spent learning from him, and there isn’t any. There is no way to survive this.

“Ah, shit.”

The man with the crossbow comes over to where you lie dying, and hovers above you for a moment, pulling out a walkie talkie and flicking it on. He messes with the buttons for a moment before he speaks through it. “Kid are you th-“ He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence, as his voice parrots through your own walkie.

“Oh, fuck.” He mutters gruffly, and in an instant he’s down on the ground, forcing you onto your back. He touches the wound and the bolt, investigating and assessing the damage for a moment before he gives you a sympathetic look. “I don’t have a way of knowin’ if you’re still… “with me” right now, but this is goin’ to hurt like hell.” He warns as he puts a firm hand on the bolt in your chest.

You let out cries and whimpers of protest, unintelligibly begging him not to pull the bolt out of you like you think he might. But ignoring your pleas he snaps the bolt off just outside of your torso so that it doesn’t hang out so far, causing you to scream and arch your back to pull away from him.

“Shh, I know, I know, but you needa’ be quiet.” He hushes. Your breathing is ragged, your eyes wide with fear as you watch his hands come away from you soaked with blood, and god, it’s SO much blood. —More than your father has ever let you see on him. It seems like his decision to snap the bolt off only made the bleeding worsen from what you can see on the surface.

Seeing this, he tears a piece of fabric off of his shirt and messily wraps your chest, putting an arm through yours like he’s about to help you get up and walk.

“Y’alright?” He asks, to which you rapidly shake your head, begging him not to stand you up. “It’s okay, I got you.” He yanks you to your feet a little too rapidly for your liking and you feel like you might vomit, the blood quickly rushing out of your head as you’re moved out of the lying position.

You try to force your jaw open to reject this, but all you can manage is a small, “N-Nnn,” That he quickly hushes again, adjusting his hand on your side in a futile attempt to make you more comfortable. Regardless, he only gets to drag you a few steps before your vision fades and you completely lose consciousness, going limp in his arms.

***

“Hey, are you there?” He calls again, setting Judith down on the kitchen floor so that he can fully focus on the conversation he’s trying to have— if you would just respond. “This isn’t funny. I know I should have warned you, but I couldn’t, okay? That’s not how this works.” He says guilt ridden.

He waits for a moment, setting the walkie down, but the more minutes tick by, the tapping of his foot can’t stop his impatience.

“Pick up.” He growls, “Pick up, oh my god, you are being such a child right now!” He snaps, kicking the toy on the floor out of the room. “You want to be an adult? You want to save lives? Then pick up!”

He tosses the walkie on the counter and begins pacing the kitchen floor, resting his hands on the back of his head as the hours pass, before he returns to the device once again, and once again tries a different method.

“Please. I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I didn’t want anybody to die but I didn’t get a choice and if I told you, and you told Negan… my dad would be dead right now instead of on his way home.” He says defensively.

You still don’t answer so he lets out a heavy sigh, slumping on the counter top as he sets the walkie talkie down and crouches to be at eye level with it, crossing his feet over one another.

“Just pick up. Just please pick up.” He whispers softly. “You can be mad, but say something.”

Chapter 7: Rock Bottom

Notes:

Y'all don't know how many times I accidentally typed eyes (plural) for Carl and had to go back and change it

Characters making an appearance in this chapter: Lucille (in the past), Negan (in the past), Carol, Carl, and Rick.

“Hey sweetheart,” A voice you recognize calls lightly, a hand coming up to brush a few locks of hair away from your face with the tips of her fingers. It’s a gesture that many have done to you, yes, but there’s only one person you know with that voice. That cadence. That care.

Instantly your eyes shoot open, forcing yourself upright to look at her despite the ache in your body.

She shifts where she’s sitting in the bed, tipping her head to the side with a smile. “You fell asleep after all that running around you two did yesterday,” She explains fondly, but you’re so confused you can’t bring yourself to respond to her.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch on cautiously as she turns her head towards the window muttering to herself, “I told him not to take you with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.” Her gaze becomes more intense the longer she stares outside.

You shift to try and catch a glimpse of what she’s seeing, but you quickly realize that you can’t see outside at all. Everything beyond the windowsill is a bright white color like looking straight into the sun.

You open your mouth to ask what’s going on, but words that you don’t intend to speak come spilling out in their place. “Why do you look at him like that now? Do you really hate him that much?” You ask, your unrecognizably high voice startling you.

She blinks for a moment, turning her head towards you with a grim look of concern, deja vu hitting you like a truck. This is a conversation you had with Lucille, a long, long time ago. —Even though this version of it is somewhat blended together, the look she gave you is still sharp and fresh in your mind.

“I don’t hate him.” She replies bluntly, before sighing deeply, readying herself to properly reply to you. She’s aware an answer like she just gave could never fully explain her feelings to a young child like yourself, so she tries to break it down for you. “I could never fully bring myself to hate him, but I can’t just forgive him either. He’s done awful, truly terrible things, just so we could last a few more hours together. I used to love him for that, especially after we found you.” She pauses, making eye contact with you, giving you a look that you now recognize as pity. “But that was before, when I thought he was protecting us. Protecting you.”

You shrink away from her, “Isn’t he?”

She frowns, her face twitching into somewhat of a scowl. “You don’t put the people you love in danger. -You don’t drag them through hell because you can’t bear to part with them, that’s not love, that’s captivity.” She takes a deep breath, resting a tense hand on your shoulder, her grip almost painfully tight.

“-And this new thing, where he brings you with him everywhere, makes you… kill those things with him… that’s not love either. -Never confuse it for that. Never.” She starts to shake you by the shoulders, becoming rougher as she tries to emphasize the importance of her words, terrifying you.

You had never seen her like this before, and the way she was walking about your dad— like he was some kind of monster, despite the fact he was outside right now, digging graves for the living dead you’d found in the shelter you’d been staying in. “He loves us. He just wants to make sure I’m safe even when he’s not around.” You defend.

She rapidly shakes her head, digging the tips of her fingers into your shoulders. “No. No, he’s not protecting you. And he doesn’t love you. -Or if he does, it’s not the right way. He's taking you somewhere, down a dark path you aren’t going to enjoy and if you get the chance to leave you need to-” The door swings open and your dad walks in, her head snapping up at the sound of the door bouncing off of the wall. You take that as your opportunity to slip out of her grasp, rushing to his side.

He doesn’t even look angry with her at first, just shocked as he lightly pries your hands away from the edge of his shirt, walking over to her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asks, his voice almost hurt, but she doesn’t answer and his face quickly shifts to frustration. “-What was that bullshit, Lucille? You scared the crap out of her, shaking her like that, telling her I don’t love her and shit! What is wrong with you?!” He shouts.

“It was the truth.” She says, moving to the edge of the bed as she motions for you to come over to her again, but you back yourself away from her even further, which seems to make her angrier. “She doesn’t deserve this, she doesn’t deserve all the shit that comes with you. You’re going to get her killed!”

Killed? He would never let anything happen to you. You’re sure of it…

—So why do you feel like he has already? Why do you remember seeing him, terrified, watching blood spill out of you like a punctured ice pack? Why can you recall the smell and taste of your own blood? Your fingers twitch at your side and suddenly the memories come flooding back. You remember what happened at The Sanctuary. You remember the feeling of the bolt suddenly slamming through your chest, and your father, leaving you.

***

You groan as the sensation returns to your body, your chest on fire from the wound left by the arrow. Slowly you manage to open your eyes and see that your wounds have been tended to, your chest tightly wrapped with proper bandages, some type of medicinal cream smeared underneath them. Even though you find yourself lying on a cement floor, you can tell you’ve been given a decent amount of care.

Bracing yourself for the pain you know is coming, you try to sit up and rest your weight on your hands to get a better look at your surroundings, but the moment you do you notice the three people silently staring you down from the outside of the cell, sending a jolt of panic through you.

You quickly back away from them on your hands until it dawns on you that you recognize two of the people, the third being a strange woman. Catching your breath, you manage a small, “Huh?”

The man you recognize as the one that had been leading the charge on The Sanctuary steps forward, gun in hand. “Good. You’re awake again.” He leans his head off to the side, using one hand to motion at you on the floor. “I need you to start answering my questions this time. -I won’t ask you again, and I won’t wait any longer. You understand?”

You take in a deep breath, trying to assess the situation. You’re in an unfamiliar place with an unknown man who you only faintly recognize as the same person that was shooting at your father, leading the assault on The Sanctuary, and now he’s holding you hostage in a cell, demanding answers.

There's a part of you that's terrified, but encasing that, there's another more defiant part of you that wonders why you should answer a single one of his stupid questions? The gun makes a small clicking noise from his hands as if to answer your question.

You send a nervous glance to the other person you recognize, Carl, searching his face for answers. He looks down at the floor away from you, upset, opening his mouth like he’s about to say something when the man slams the gun up against the bars of the cell, causing you to jump. “Don’t you ever look at him, look at me. I’m the one talking to you right now.” He warns, his voice a deep southern gravel.

Carl’s head snaps up to look at the man the second he sees you jump out of the corner of his eye, the anger on his face shifting to something of concern. “Dad-” He starts to object, but the man holds up a hand to silence him, causing the pieces in your mind to click. —The man before you is Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria.

He turns towards Carl with a look of disappointment and frustration. “Don’t. Not after what you did. If you can’t handle this, then just leave, alright? Carol and I got this.” He reprimands, turning his attention back to you with a glare. “This entire time you've been tellin’ Daryl that you were a Savior, but that's not true is it? -You're not just another soldier in Negan's army, you're someone much higher up.”

You swallow hard, feeling the pressure of the
five eyes on you, waiting for an answer with baited breath, –But you can’t seriously tell them who you are, can you? That might just be the final nail in your coffin. “I… Yes, I let them think I was just a Savior. -But I'm not important like you think I am, and I didn’t lie about anything else, I swear.” You admit, watching Carl's face tense at your admission. He takes a few downtrodden steps back from the cell, averting his gaze.

Rick clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, see the thing is, that's not what I asked you.” He lets out a small unstable chuckle, “I asked you who you were.” He shifts on his feet, lowering himself down to your level on the floor. “Now, I'm only going to ask you one more time before I completely lose my patience… Who are you to Negan?” He asks.

You feel your heart pounding out of your chest, your eyes frantically searching for any way out of answering– but neither of the other people in the room seem to want to help you, and there's nothing to be used but a bench in your cell. “I… I…” Your voice shakes as you try to find a way out of answering him.

Then suddenly the woman next to Rick taps on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile that seems to signal him. “Maybe you should be a little more gentle, she's just a kid.” The woman points out, but there’s something off-putting about her sweet voice, there's something real behind it, but directed to you it feels… like an act.

She crouches down next to him, turning her attention to you. “My name is Carol, but you probably knew that already because Rick said my name a second ago…” She trails off, her eyes never leaving yours. “So let's talk about something a little easier, shall we? Hm… how about you tell us why you told Carl you were a boy. That seems easy enough. Such a strange thing to lie about.” She questions.

Realizing that what you had said just a moment ago to Rick hadn’t been entirely true, you try to backtrack. “I didn’t tell him that. He said it, and I never corrected him. I-I didn't get the chance to.” You glance over at Carl again, “Please, I didn't mean to lie to you. I didn't, I promise.” You plead, but Carl tries his best to ignore you to prevent himself from getting any more wound up than he already is.

“Hey, focus on me.” Carol says sternly, snapping her fingers to get your attention. “I’ll only ask you one more question and then we'll take a break, and get you some water, alright? I mean, you must be thirsty, it's been days.”

You hadn't noticed before but now that you think about it, you are quite thirsty, your voice slightly raspy from… Wait, what did she say?

“Days?” You question, feeling yourself panicking internally. You thought it had been hours, maybe one night since the attack, but days? Plural? Your dad must be worried sick about you right now. “How many ‘days’ has it been?”

Her smile fades a little bit at her eyes, but her mouth is still stretched into a smile as bright as ever. “Don't worry about that. You just focus on what we're talking about, and we'll figure everything else out for you, okay?” She only leaves a small pause between sentences, not giving you time to answer before she gets to what she really wants to ask you. “Why did you betray The Saviors, honey? You look like a smart girl. I'm positive you knew the dangers of doing what you did, so why risk it all like that for a couple of strangers?”

You weren’t entirely sure before, but now you can completely tell that she's faking her kind and innocent demeanor. She's laying it on far too thick for a woman with a rifle on her back, whose sole purpose in the room is to help Rick with interrogating you.

“I didn’t betray them. I would NEVER betray them, The Saviors are my family.” You pause for a moment, guilt ridden as the bodies at The Sanctuary and the woman screaming for her son passing through your mind. “Did… Did you kill them? All of them? -The women and men, the innocent people who just needed a place to stay?” The thought pains you, but it's something that needed to be asked. You turn towards Rick as you ask this question, searching his eyes for any kind of emotion other than the disgust and frustration he's been directing at you, but his gaze remains steely and unchanged.

His indifference strikes a nerve in you, so you continue your line of questioning. “What about the kids there? What did you do to them… or did you kill them too?” Once again he doesn't respond, his brows twitching slightly, so you again continue your desperate rant. “And the prisoners? And the hostages? And the people who were coerced into joining The Saviors with violence? What did you do with them? -If you killed everyone there… I want to know how, and I don't want a single detail to be left out. Not a single name. Not a single face. I want to know exactly who died that day, and exactly who you took away from their family.” You snarl.

Rick raises his gun again, pointing in your general direction but not aiming it at you and not taking the safety off. Honestly, the fact he thinks that might intimidate you is an insult to your intelligence. “She asked you a question, and I expect you-”

“And I fucking answered.” You quickly cut him off. The only thing on your mind now, is the question of if your father is dead or not, but you know you can't directly ask that without risking them knowing who you are. “You aren't going to shoot me, Rick. You think you need me because you think I'm important somehow… You can hurt me, sure, but you can’t kill me. So there’s no need for me to be afraid.” You glance over at the woman. “Now somebody tell me what the fuck is going on, or I swear to god I'll break out of this cell and make you regret leaving me alive.”

Rick and Carol look at one another, before they both stand up to talk to each other in a whisper a few steps back from your cell. They don't seem at all intimidated by your threats.

Carol adjusts the strap of her rifle, her smile vanishing in an instant, only confirming your suspicions about her role in your interrogation. “This seems like a good place to stop.” She remarks with a hint of amusement.

“It's not enough.” Rick lets out a small groan, glancing back at you with frustration. His eyes trail down to your bandaged chest, before they flick down to your clenched fists. “But I know we can't get any more out of her right now. I've seen criminal kids like her. They always think they're making the better choice by staying quiet, -‘thinking talking makes them a snitch.” He gives her a nod as they both start leaving the room.

Still on the floor, you spring to your knees, clenching the bars with your hands so tightly your knuckles turn white. “Come back here! Answer me! Hey!” You scream, shaking the bars as hard as you can. “Rick! Carol! Come back here! Answer me!” As the door shuts behind them you loosen your grip on the bars and slide down to the floor, sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest.

The worst part about being in this situation is that you know exactly how you got here, it wasn't unforeseen. There’s a clear path of thoughts and actions that lead you to becoming a hostage, that you easily could have avoided by knowing what you know now, or even just being a few feet to the side from where Daryl had shot during his scuffle with your father, but hindsight is 20/20.

It dawns on you that they probably aren't coming back anytime soon unless you suddenly decide to comply, so you’re hopelessly trapped unless they decide to do something with you. “Shit.” You mutter, resting your face on your knees.

Seemingly forgotten in the room, Carl approaches the cell you're in.

Maybe they had thought he'd left the first time they told him to, or maybe they'd gotten so caught up with questioning you that they'd forgotten he was in the room– but here he is nonetheless, standing before you, looking down at your defeated form.

He takes in an unstable breath, before slowly letting it out to calm himself for the conversation ahead. “You “didn't get the chance” to correct me?” He challenges, voice on edge.

You look up at him, seeing all the tension on his face, the anger concentrated in his jaw and his fists at his sides. “I never meant to lie to you.” You say honestly. “There are just… certain things I needed to keep a secret, and I still do.”

He lets out a choked scoff, trying not to raise his voice at you, “There were DAYS between those conversations we had, and you being caught, but you never once thought to tell me the truth? …How can I trust a single word you're saying, when I don't even know who you are?” He pushes his hair back to soothe himself. “I mean, fuck, is Eli even your real name?”

You squeeze your knees closer to yourself. “...No.” You admit, eliciting a reaction from him that you can only describe as frustrated exasperation.

As you watch him throw his arms up into the air, you feel a cloud of emotions that are foreign to you. You hate this feeling. This situation you know that you can only be blamed for, and you hate that he's so angry with you when he's the only thing close to a friend your age you've ever had.

You try to explain it to him. “It's… It's what HE named me.” You insist, “For all purposes it’s my real name now. -I haven’t gone by anything else in years.”

He stills himself at the mention of Negan, his attention focusing on you soley, and slowly but surely he crouches down in front of you outside the cell.

“Negan… named you?” He mutters to himself, taking the information in. “That's… That's sick. I can't even describe how twisted that is. You already had a name, didn't you? You're not some pet that he can just rename like that…” He pauses, eye reflecting his internal conflict before he swallows hard, trying to make room to understand your perspective. “Before, when you told Carol that The Saviors are your family, did you mean that? W… What happened to your REAL family, the one from before all this?”

You cling a hand onto your pants, the fabric bunching tightly around your fingers. “Exactly what happens to everyone else.” You try to reply bluntly, but even you can hear the vulnerability in your voice.

He hums in empathy, “Was it him? Is that how they…” His eye softens, memories of his mother Lori passing through his mind. “I’m sor- …I-I shouldn’t have asked you that. Not like this, with you in a cell. That's no better than what Negan does to people.” He brings one of his hands up to pinch his brow. “I'm just trying to piece things together.”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flask and a piece of bread wrapped in colorful cloth, sticking his arm through the bars to hand it to you. “It’s, uh, pound cake. It’s fresh.”

You cautiously take the two objects, almost immediately cracking open the flask to drink whatever’s inside, against your better judgement.

Honestly, after Carol mentioned the prospect of water, you couldn’t care less what the liquid is. You’re no stranger to alcohol. Fortunately, though, the flask is filled with soothingly cold water.

As you begin munching on the bread, Carl watches you eat, trying to push down the sympathy he’s feeling seeing you captive and hungry in favor of the anger he’d felt before you’d woken up.

“I told you not to lie to me. I basically threatened you, and you still did it anyway. -And to top it all off, you’re still loyal to Negan.” He huffs deeply, trying to ignore the way you're ravenously eating the small amount of cake he’d given you, and the way that it toys with his morals. “They’re talking about trading you, you know. -Giving you back to The Saviors after a betrayal like that, after you being missing for a suspiciously long time following the attack, it’s not going to look good for you. Whatever your relationship to Negan is, there must be a limit to what he’d tolerate from you.”

You brush a lock of hair behind your ear, licking your lips. “Yeah, I know.”

He shakes his head with disbelief. “You know already, and you just… don’t care? It doesn’t bother you to think about what your “family” is going to do once they catch you?” He provokes with a single, joyless laugh.

He almost seems to think he has some kind of moral high ground here, but you can think of multiple reasons why that’s not true.

“Okay, I get they aren’t the best people in the whole world, -I’m not that stupid. But at least we don’t shoot people who help us.” You quickly snap back at him. He tries to object, but you speak over him, continuing down the list. “Also, we’ve never released a horde of walkers on a settlement just to make it easier to wipe everyone out. We usually kill people quickly, but only when we have to, and I mean HAVE to. -For the good of everyone in all of our settlements and at all of our posts.” You glance down at the flask in your hands, running your thumb over the cold metal ridges.

You miss your dad. You miss the man they call Negan.

Pushing down the sappy feelings that he'd unearthed by asking you about your origins, you continue, “So yeah, I know by trying to save your people I put myself in danger, but I really couldn’t give less of a shit. I made it clear to you that what I wanted was to minimize the death count, and if all that would have died that day was me, everything would have been okay.”

He takes in another deep breath before exhaling through his words, “Fuuuuuck.” He looks away, rolling his eye. “I don’t like that you lied to me, but damn when you’re telling the truth you’re convincing as hell.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck, sighing. “A lot of what you said I'm not too sure about, but… I agree with you about the…”

“Self-sacrifice?” You offer.

He cringes at your choice of words. “-The greater good.” He offers instead of your blunt somewhat callous explanation. “I just want what’s best for people too. All people, even Negan. Even if it means that I’m… not around anymore.” He gives you a stern look. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that you lied, and I still don’t know whether or not to trust you.”

You feel another wave of the foreign emotion wash over you, asking a question even you hadn't expected. “So… Do you… want them to send me away? -Trade me, or whatever you want to call it?” You find yourself awaiting his answer, despite knowing it has no effect on the outcome of the situation.

From what you saw of him and his father earlier, Rick is too headstrong to let Carl’s opinion have any leeway on what he thinks is best. Even if he were to say yes, you doubt it would change whatever Rick decides to do.

He groans, “I’m pissed at you… but you still don’t deserve to be locked up in a cage without basic human necessities. You didn’t commit any heinous crimes.” He reaches a hand out for you to return the flask to him. “It’s a spare. I’ll refill it.” He reassures.

You reluctantly hand him the flask, a part of you still skeptical of him. “Can you… tell me how many days it's been?” You ask softly, not sure if you should really expect an answer. The nicer he is to you, the more confused you are.

“It's been three days.” He fidgets with the screw-on cap of the flask, twisting it back and forth as he speaks. It's clear something about this topic is making him uncomfortable, but you aren't sure what. “You were in and out of consciousness, so we weren't really sure what to do with you. For the first few days you were lying on a couch in the infirmary, but then you woke up a few times so we put you in here.”

You can't recall ever waking up before.

“I woke up a few times? Did I say anything?” You clarify.

“Uhm…” He averts his gaze. “Yeah, you did… you… kept crying for your dad. You sat up and pulled the bandages off your chest a few times too.” He shakes the image of you on the couch from his mind, everyone hovering above you trying to hold you down.

“Oh.” You look away too, feeling the awkwardness of the subject. You can tell that's not what had been bothering him, but you decide to quickly switch topics. You're just glad that they don't seem to know who your dad is, despite your fever induced outbursts. “So… poundcake?”

He looks up at you, letting out an awkward exhale that's almost like a half-laugh. “You don't have to do that. It's not like we're friends.”

His words are like a dagger to the heart, but you can hear the truth in them. You know your relationship had started out on a flawed foot of lies, only damaged further by your captivity.

What was once a relationship fueled by mutual interest in saving lives had no reason to continue now that he'd gotten what he wanted.

“Right.”

He lets a few moments pass before he says anything else, letting the sounds of both of you breathing fill the room, the two of you avoiding eye contact. Then clears his throat to signal he's about to say something, the words clearly having weighed on his mind throughout the duration of the silence. “I… should probably go now anyway.”

Dusting off the legs of his pants, he stands up. “I can only go missing for so long before people start to notice.” He chuckles, opening the door to the outside world.

“Hey,” You call after him.

He hesitates in the doorway, turning back to look at you, head tipped the slightest fraction to the side, to show you have his attention.

There were a lot of things you could have said or asked of him, but the words die on your tongue the second you see that piercing blue eye of his. “Nevermind…” You shift yourself to sit against the wall as the door shuts behind him, sighing as you stare at the dark ceiling.

It had never been your style to ask for help from anyone else and despite your current predicament, you aren't going to start now. -Negan taught you better. Everything people give has an equal or greater take.

Chapter 8: Broken Wing

Notes:

Fatherly Rick content in this chapter and A LOT of Carl– It's reminiscent of comic Lydia

ALSO I figured I should let y’all know how often this story will be updated seeing that people are actually interested in it—
If you’re lucky, there should be 2-3 updates in a week
If you aren’t, 1 update in a week

If it weren’t for the tiny sliver of a window at the very top of your cell letting sunlight in, you would have thought it'd been days since you'd last been questioned.

It only took you a few hours sitting in mind-numbing silence to realize that there isn’t very much to do in a cell, especially not while you’re injured. You couldn’t even sleep because of the pain. No matter which way you oriented yourself– on the bench, on the floor, laying on your back, your sides, –you couldn't get a wink of sleep.

Much worse, your mind would not stop reminding you that the next time Rick decided to come in and interrogate you, so sleep deprived and in pain, you might be forced to give in.

You’ve seen the desperate things people do for access to medicine, even the dust at the bottom of empty pill bottles, because every single speck counts. It can be the difference between someone dying tonight, or in three days.

That was why you decided that waiting must be another tactic. He must be trying to scare you into submission so you’ll break down and talk. Even though each second feels as if it might drive you mad, you’ll have to refuse, you know it. You can’t tell him anymore than you already have.

You groan, lightly hitting your head against the floor again. –You're finding it hard to cling to any substantive thought for longer than a minute, feeling as if you may freeze to death despite your red cheeks and heated skin.

As uncomfortable as you are, you know for a fact no one can escape sleep forever. You can already feel yourself becoming less lucid with every second. Your eyes begin to drift closed against your will, the dark calm of sleep enveloping you, when you’re suddenly startled by the sounds of a scuffle outside the cell window, someone shouting from a distance.

A majority of the conversation is inaudible to you but there’s a clear, “Like hell I will!” The person quickly rounding the corner away from the window, their voice coming closer and closer until you can clearly make out what they’re saying from outside. “All that and you’re still standin’ over there talking? If you have a problem, then do it. ‘Cause I ain’t gonna wait for you to cry wolf.”

The door slams open and reveals Daryl’s agitated form. His face tense and sweaty like he suddenly dropped everything and came here in the middle of something else.

You try your best to sit up and talk to him, but you can't find it in yourself to move from where you are in your cell, your body too heavy to move. “Mm,” You hum, acknowledging his presence in the room.

He takes a good long look at you on the floor, your eyes half lidded, clearly feverish, and he grumbles. “You ain't lookin’ too good.” He mutters, coming over to the cell door. “Sit up.”

You let out a breath that sounds more like a wheeze as you turn your head away from him, your eyes nearly drifting shut again. The wound on your chest feels like it’s being eaten away at by an icy blaze.

“C’mon, I need those eyes open.” He repeats, approaching your cell, and shocking you to your very core— he starts trying to unlock your cell, flipping through a large ring of keys to search for the one that could free you.

Your eyes instantly shoot wide open, awake, struggling against yourself to sit somewhat upright and watch him. “What’re you doing?” You ask in a slur, running a hand across your face to wake yourself up more.

He ignores you initially, ripping a failed key from the ring. “It ain't right that you're in there. I shot ya’, I brought ya’, so I'm lettin’ you out. You're MY responsibility now whether I like it or not.” He claims, shoving another key in the lock.

You aren’t sure if his actions are heroic or if he’s completely lost it. “Are you insane, what about your leader? Isn't Rick going to pitch a fit if he finds out that you freed me?”

“Rick ain't the boss of me.” He snaps, before quickly taking back the words, regretting them as soon as he heard them. He lets out a grumble, trying to refocus on the matter at hand. “I'm not gonna watch a kid die because he's bein’ stubborn.” He explains, tossing another key.

He seems really angry about something, but you don’t know what. Whatever it is, it’s beyond the scope of what you know about Alexandria and the people within its walls.

The door opens again, Rick stepping into the room with sweat pouring down his face like he’d just ran here too. “Daryl, stop.” He pleads, holding a hand out at him. “Please, just listen to me.” He angles his head, nodding as if it would convince him to stop.

You would be afraid that Daryl might actually stop freeing you, but he seems so determined you don’t for a second think he’ll falter at the other man’s pleas.

Daryl continues testing keys, not bothering to take them off of the ring anymore. “You lied to me. You told me she died while Rosita was stitchin’ her up, but here she is locked in a cell. It ain’t right.” He points at you, his face tensing further, “Look at her, Rick. She’s dyin’.” His voice quiets, “I’ve already held one little girl in my arms, I won’t do it again.”

Rick keeps his distance, letting his hand fall as some kind of memory is provoked from him at Daryl’s words. “But she’s not B…” He cuts himself off, “This is dangerous, we don’t know what she’s capable of, we don’t know what her motives are.”

Daryl glances back at Rick, lowering the keys from the cell lock. “She did nothin’ but help us…” His face untenses, leaving room for something else to take its place. He looks lost and uncomfortable, the cognitive dissonance pulling him apart at the seams. “I just don’t get why I had to hear about this from someone else. Why lie?”

Rick takes this as a sign to approach. “Three days, Daryl, three more days and then we figure out what to do with her. -We could let her out.” He puts emphasis on could, a clear sign that he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying. “But right now, she’s too big a risk free. We need her for-“

“She’s ain’t dangerous, she dropped her weapon!” Daryl urges in a snap, resuming his endeavor with the keys, desperately flipping through. “She dropped it… and I shot her.” He lowers his head. “A kid, Rick. I shot a kid. How much further does this have to go before you admit that maybe you did the wrong thing?”

Rick steps back, torn watching Daryl fumble with the keys for a moment, his eyes taking in the full scene before he pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to him. “I don’t keep it on the ring.” He explains, his voice full of emotion as he crosses his arms.

“Thank you.” Daryl puts the key in the lock and breaks the seal on the cell’s door, freeing you. He reaches down, offering you a hand to help you get up, which you quickly accept, sending a nervous glance Rick’s way.

“Are you really letting me go? Like, for real?” Your voice is still hoarse, your mind spinning as you're suddenly raised up.

He pops his jaw, tipping his head from side to side as he thinks for a moment. “No.” He decides, glancing at Daryl. “She's not leaving Alexandria. You need to watch her, keep her from escaping. If she so much as gets within five feet of the gate… we'll shoot her on sight.”

“Yeah, alright,” Daryl is too distracted to really pay attention to what Rick is saying, his hands gently squeezing their way up your arm as he feels your fever. “Rick, she's burnin’ up.”

Rick stares at you for a moment, his skeptical gaze shifting to slight alarm as he sees the way your arms are hanging limply at your sides, your skin glossed with sweat despite you shaking like you’re cold. “I can see that.” He remarks, suddenly lifting the back of his hand up in your direction.

You immediately lean away from him, glancing up at his hand suspiciously. “What are you gonna do to me?”

He furrows his brow, giving you a look that reminds you of the one Dwight had given you— that pity, like there was something you just couldn’t comprehend no matter how hard you tried —and slowly, gently, his hand comes down to rest on your forehead. “I’m taking your temperature. Daryl’s right, you are burning up.” He concedes, immediately grabbing you by the upper arm to help walk you to the infirmary.

Again the movement surprises you, but what shocks you more than that is the way he haphazardly parades you through the middle of their settlement, his gaze fixated ahead. Your eyes, though, are scanning the faces of the Alexandrians who've noticed your newfound freedom. Most faces are completely unknown to you other than the very few you recognize from the battle at The Sanctuary, and Carl, who stands off to the side holding the hand of a young girl with dirty blonde hair.

His eye locks with yours almost as soon as you set foot outside, his mouth slightly parted in confusion and awe as he watches Daryl and Rick drag you down the street like you're a prisoner in cuffs.

You want to say something to him and you can tell by the look on his face he's feeling the same way– wanting to discuss what's happening, but Rick uses his shoulders to block your view of Carl, pushing you along down the street. “I told you not to look at him.” He warns.

You try to see past him, but it's too late. You can barely see Carl's face, and now he's turned away to look at the girl. “I know.”

When you arrive at the infirmary the first thing you notice is the woman sitting in the corner of the room, flipping through a notebook with a sentimental look on her face. She doesn’t look up when the three of you enter until Rick speaks up.

“Tara, do you know if we have anything for a fever? -Something that might also prevent infection.” He adds, leading you over to a small sofa in the corner of the room. You sit down on it, trying your best to avoid getting the sofa dirty with your tarnished, blood-stained clothes.

The woman hesitates, reluctantly shutting the notebook. “Uhm...” She pauses for a moment, rapidly blinking to snap herself out of what she'd been doing. “-Yeah, Denise had a note in here somewhere that said something about acetaminophen and mint for a fever. -Ginger also helps.” She shuffles around the papers in front of her before shaking her head, and pointing to a doorway. “There's some in there, in the cabinet. Help yourself to… whatever you need.”

You're about to stand up to retrieve the medicine when Rick forces you back down by the shoulders, resting a gentle hand on your forehead again. “When did you start feeling sick?” He questions, Daryl walking into the other room for you.

You feel a smile tug at your lips, the perfect opportunity to be sarcastic falling right into your lap. “Sick of this place? The second I got here half dead.”

He doesn't seem amused, his hand falling to the back of your neck. “The fever,” He clarifies. “How long have you been in there like that?”

You're about to crack another joke when he kneels down in front of you, resting a hand above your heart, feeling for your heartbeat and breathing. The motion is so fatherly that for a second you're too stunned to say anything except to answer what he'd asked. “A few hours. It started before mid-day.” You mutter, avoiding eye contact.

He seems pleased by your answer. “See? Now we're getting somewhere.” He muses, lightly pinching one of your cheeks. “Just a bit of friendly advice– When you help me, I can help you. Remember that.”

You nod slightly, watching as Daryl comes back into the room with a few pills and a glass of cloudy water. While you're still trying to process Rick's words, he hands both to you and steps aside, shaking his head. You look to Rick for answers about what the strange liquid is, but he looks just as clueless as you are.

“What did you just hand her?” He asks, staring at the mysterious cup. “Is that more medicine? Cold tablets?”

“No, definitely not.” Daryl shrugs, crossing his arms to look out the window. “Take it. It'll make you feel better… probably. It's more bang for your buck.” He dismisses.

You hold the glass up, swishing it around to see what consistency it has. It doesn't smell like it's been spiked by anything– but it does smell downright awful. “What… is “it” exactly?” You ask cautiously.

He sighs, wincing at the sight of the glass like it's an abomination. “Well, I made the mint ginger thing like she said, but they say chicken broth is better for ya’ when you're sick so…”

“So you mixed them?” Rick asks for confirmation.

Daryl takes a deep breath. “I ain't never claimed to be any kind of goddamn chef.” He says, looking to the glass and then to you. While it's something he may have subjected himself to for convenience, the longer he watches you hold the glass, the less good he thinks the idea is. “Don't drink that, it might make you vomit. Take the pills dry and then-”

Before he can say anything else, you've reluctantly thrown the pills and liquid down your throat. It tastes terrible, but you did have to admit, the mint felt cooling and the broth felt filling.

You struggle not to gag at the taste, an unpleasant chill going down your spine. “I'm never doing that again.” You warn. “Seriously, worst thing I've ever had.”

Rick raises an eyebrow, standing up. “Well you're being awful’ compliant today. Good on you. I don't think I would have done that.” He praises, then he turns to Daryl, his voice lowering. “I need to touch base with Michonne. Take the kid back to my house and let her get cleaned up in the shower. There should already be a set of clean clothes hanging out to dry that she can borrow. Wait for me there if you can, I shouldn't be too long.”

Daryl nods, motioning for you to follow him back outside. “I'll try, but no promises I'll stick around for that long. Kid needs rest, and I ain't the type to sit around waitin’ on people.” He opens the door for you to go through and closes it behind him.

“Heard.” Rick calls back as he starts walking away from the two of you, one hand slightly raised.

Daryl starts walking towards Rick's house, you following along beside him, silently searching for Carl as you walk. No longer are the people of Alexandria paying attention to you, which makes it much harder to spot him because they're not all facing you like before. You don't think you'd recognize him hunched over or turned away.

Daryl notices your strange behavior and tries to ignore it for as long as he can, until you're quite literally slowing him down to search. “What is it with you and Carl?” He asks abruptly.

You pause, your eyes immediately flicking back to the walk ahead of you as if you'd never been looking in the first place. It doesn’t really bother you that you couldn't find him. “What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed by his words.

“I mean, why is it that you two are so obsessed with disobeying Rick to see and talk to each other.” He pauses, “Don't think that Rick didn’t notice he was goin’ in there givin’ you water and crap.”

You laugh, slightly offended by his characterization of you. You had been in a CELL, were you supposed to refuse his visits somehow? –Although, technically he is right on some level, the two of you had been sneaking around on the walkie talkies to communicate.

“I'm not obsessed. He's just… fascinating.” You formulate, trying to remember what had drawn you to him in the first place. “I've never met another kid my age since this all started, and I've certainly never met one that'd put up with my shit. It's… refreshing. I feel like we agree about a lot.”

He makes you feel more human in a way you thought you'd never feel after realizing you're a killer by proxy to the man they call Negan. He's a killer and you were complicit in his crimes.

Daryl's face scrunches, his eyes looking away from yours. “Hm.”

You immediately match his face, trying to understand why he'd suddenly gotten so tense and uncomfortable. “What?” You ask, genuinely confused by his attitude.

He rubs at the side of his face, a small smirk of amusement appearing. “Nothin’, you just watch out for his girlfriend while he ‘fascinates’ you.” He insinuates.

His girlfriend? “Why? Is she mean?” Could it be that she doesn’t like it when other girls talk to him? Still, that shouldn't prevent the two of you from being friends.

He chuckles before quickly stifling his laughter. “She ain't mean, but teenagers can be… Nevermind, forget it.” He dismisses. “We're here anyway.”

He pulls the door of the house open, letting you enter before him, then he plops down on the couch. “Go shower, and don't try to pull anything. You heard Rick, they'll shoot ya’ if you do.” He parrots, tipping his head back to relax.

You look around the living room, eyes scanning the random objects of the house before slowly making your way upstairs to the bathroom, where you see clothes hanging out to dry on the shower curtain rod. Pulling them down, you turn on the shower and strip off your clothes, locking the door, when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

This is the first time you've looked at yourself since The Sanctuary, and boy, do you look rough. Your chest is battered, yes, but your face is pale and the circles around your eyes are deep and dark, your face twisted into a frown.

You definitely do look like someone that's been locked in a cell, but you barely recognize the person in the mirror as yourself. Quickly you avert your gaze and step into the shower, shocked to feel the warmth of it on your body.

You didn't have running water at The Sanctuary, let alone running HOT water. Your dad had told you about the running sinks here, but you never imagined it like this.

You see all the dirt and blood chipping away and pooling at your feet as you lather yourself, and for what feels like the first time in years you feel strangely… clean. Not physically, but mentally.

Stepping out of the shower, you once again size yourself up in the mirror. Only this time, you can see yourself looking back. Those relaxed eyes with that stupid childish look playing on your lips as if you're just looking for trouble. –Even your posture has improved.

“Hot damn, I really ‘oughta make more time to relax. I don't look half bad, all scrubbed down.” You mutter, feeling at ease.

Getting dressed and smiling to yourself slightly, you open the door to step out and begin making your way back to Daryl– only to immediately step out and hit chests with Carl, his hand already hovering above the door handle.

He seems taken aback by the sight of you, so surprised he doesn't even think to create distance between the two of you before his hands have found their way to your shoulders to steady you. “Ah, sorry, I just heard someone and I-”

“I-It's cool.” You stutter, trying to ignore his warm palms on your shoulders, and the way his touch makes your skin tingle slightly. You aren't sure if you like the odd feeling so you shrug off his hands.

“You look like you're feeling better.” He says softly, his eye slowly trailing down to your chest before widening slightly. He swallows hard, lowering his voice. “I know you're mature or whatever, but do you need help with that?”

You lean away from him, not enjoying the way he's invading your personal space. It nearly makes your heart stop. “With what?”

One of his hands comes up and tugs at the chest of your tank top, showing you the blood seeping through it from your wound.

“Come on, let me wrap you up.” He offers, brushing some hair away from his face. “–Not that you need the help, but you’re going to have a hell of a time wrapping your chest in your state.”

The offer –although nice– makes you slightly nervous and uncomfortable, but you’re well aware of how difficult it would be to securely wrap your chest by yourself.

“I don't know… That feels like something weird for two people who aren't even friends to do.” You doubt, nervously rubbing the back of your leg with your foot.

He can sense your nervous demeanor and tries to calm you, “Don't worry, I've already seen your chest.” He comforts, but the words send a jolt of panic through you.

“You what?”

He flushes, quickly realizing what he's just implied. “No, no, no, not like that! –I meant that when Daryl brought you here, we thought you were a boy, so my dad took off your chest plate for Rosita and, uhm,– But she realized you were a girl before you were, uhm… naked.” He pauses in his ramble, trying to compose himself, “I didn't see very much. -Just the wounded part, I swear.”

You can feel your cheeks burning too. You wouldn't have felt so nervous if he hadn’t reacted the way he did. “Fine… Fine! Let's just… get this over with.”

You follow Carl downstairs to the kitchen where he pulls out a homemade first aid kit, setting it down on the counter, then patting the spot next to it. “Come sit.”

“On the counter?” You question.

He washes his hands in the sink, “Yeah, the counter. -Wait a sec.” He hums, drying his hands before suddenly hoisting you up onto the countertop.

You gasp a little at the motion, “Stop touching me so much it's weird.”

“It's not like I mean to, I treat everyone this way. Nowadays you never get any kind of privacy or alone time, so you get used to being around people fast.” He says honestly, as he reaches into the first aid kit and pulls out a small bottle. “Are you ready? This is gonna hurt like hell.”

You swallow hard, tugging your tank top down just far enough that the wound is exposed, but not the intimate parts of your chest. “Do it. It needs to be done.” You permit, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Okay then.” He pours the bottle of alcohol into your wound, using a cloth to catch the falling liquid underneath the injury.

You groan, squeezing the edge of the countertop while he pours, until finally he's finished and he lightly dabs it with a sterile towel. “You're okay,” He reassures, reaching back into the first aid kit for antibiotic cream. “This part will feel good.”

It's in that moment that you think he would have made a good doctor before all of this, with the proper training. He's level headed, and kind, without bias towards anyone. -And fuck, was he right when he said the cream would feel good the burning ache in your chest dissapears as soon as he touches it.

“Hey,” He calls to you, “Open your eyes for a sec, would you?”

You open your eyes to see him, standing just inches away from you with the bandages in one hand, and the other on your chest still applying the antibiotic.

He hands you the edge of the bandage. “Hold it down, and let me know if it's too tight.” He instructs, starting the process of bandaging you up. He goes around a few times before pulling back. “Still okay?”

“Yeah.” You hum, completely content.

He finishes wrapping you up and pulls you down off of the counter, holding you against it at arms length for a moment. “Are you sure it's not too tight? I know you're a prisoner and all, but you can still tell me if you need something.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You're fine with the way he wrapped it, but if you weren't you would never tell him. “No, it's fine-”

“Carl.”

You both turn to see Rick standing in the doorway, his face tense and agitated. “Go upstairs. I told you not to talk to her anymore.”

Carl's hands slip away from you, but he doesn't move to leave. “I'm not going upstairs. I just patched her up, nothing more, nothing less.” He says coldly.

Rick's brow twitches, his hand coming up to pinch his brow. “I don't want you gettin’ attached and making things more complicated than they already are.”

Carl rolls his eyes, closing the first aid kit. “I'm not the one making things complicated. I told you what I thought and you ignored me. That was on you.” He huffs.

“Carl, watch your mouth.” Rick warns. “If you want to have this conversation, we do it away from her, where it's less dangerous. We can't let her hear things like this and take the info back to The Saviors.”

Carl slams the cabinet door shut. “No.” He snaps. “We have this conversation over and over and I can never seem to get through to you! What has to happen, dad? Who has to die before you realize that this is pointless slaughter?”

The words seem to go right through Rick's ears and back out again, a problem you'd had yourself with your own father.

“Enough. We'll talk later.” He dictates, ending the conversation. “And you,” He suddenly turns his focus to you, “Go sit with Daryl. We need to figure out how this is gonna work.”

You give one last glance at Carl before stalking your way into the livingroom and plopping down beside Daryl on the couch, waiting for Rick's return.

Daryl takes in your agitated demeanor. “You and Carl again?” He grumbles, unsurprised.

“Yup.” You concede, even though it's much more than that.

To you, this day has only served to make you miss your dad more. -Even all his annoying parts, like not listening to you.

“Hm, such brats,” He hums, “-The both of ya’.”

Chapter 9: Detox

Notes:

Let the teen drama begin. Enid is in this chapter.

This is kind of part 1/2 of chapter 9

Rick enters the room after a while, running a hand down the side of his face. “Jesus, that kid.” He grumbles, sitting across from you and Daryl. “I can barely keep track of him now, and he just keeps getting himself into more and more trouble. He’s gotta realize, I’m not just lookin’ out for him.”

“I was the same way. That’s just how kids are, even nowadays they're still just tryin’ to find their own way.” Daryl says gruffly, sitting up from where he’d been lounging. “Now back to this one.” He taunts, poking you in the side of the head.

You aren’t a fan of this, and you make sure it shows on your face.

This man may have freed you, but he’s still a stranger that you’ve only talked to via walkie talkie until a few days ago. —When he betrayed you and then shot you in your chest.

If your dad were here right now he’d be pissed seeing you just accept their strange newfound kindness without any kind of suspicion. You can practically hear him in the back of your mind, telling you to find a way out, and hang tight in the meantime, calling you a little shit and ruffling your hair.

Undoubtedly you have to make your way back home and to your dad. …Right? I mean, you love him despite everything he's done to others, even after meeting the people in Alexandria your love for your dad has not faltered. He's hardly ever done anything violent to you before, so you see no reason why you should be afraid.

But still there's these little nagging voices in the back of your mind; Dwight, Ezekiel, Lucille, and everyone else that’s ever told you Negan is a monster.

The words all blend together into a cocktail of confusion, your moral compass spinning and spinning as it tries to find which path is the right one to take. You want to go home, but is that really the RIGHT choice? If you go back does anything change, or are you just returning to the same complicit life you lived before?

Thinking of your father opens the floodgates and suddenly you recall hearing each victory story your dad had told you in jest. Except now it feels twisted and sadistic, the people in them becoming more human in your eyes. –You can picture their faces, their lives, their families, their funerals… and it hurts. It's a deep pain you've come to know as loss, and it's something you actively try to avoid.

You sink into your place on the couch, your previously upright and confident demeanor melting away. “Yeah, let's talk about me.” You agree. –Anything to get everything else off of your mind.

Rick takes a deep breath, glancing over at you and then returning his gaze to Daryl. “I would say that I'd keep an eye on her here, it was somethin’ I considered before the cell, but I don't like the idea. She'd have way too much alone time in the house, and I'm not lettin’ her be alone with my kids.” He glances over at you. “No offense, but I don't trust you. –I can help you, but I won't be putting myself in a position where I'd need to rely on your goodwill.”

You understand not wanting to test fate, but you've already been alone with one of his kids and you didn't slit their throat or anything, he should give you more credit.

You sigh, resting your face in your hand on the arm of the couch. “Yeah, whatever.”

Daryl throws his hands up in the air, “So what’re you expecting me to do with her? Keep her in a cage like a dog?” He scoffs, “We saw how that worked out already.”

You aren’t going back in that cell even if you have to fight everyone here to stay free. It’s too much of a risk with your wounds the way they are, they could get infected, not to mention you felt like you were going insane. You have to stay sharp.

Rick sighs too, lowering his gaze as he rubs at the side of his temple. “We can't have her wandering around free either. I know I said you needed to keep track of her, but that's not realistic…” He pauses for a moment to think, putting his tongue in his cheek. He's not even sure what to do with you, but he knows he needs to make a choice. “We could take shifts. I could stay with her when you're out, and maybe when we’re both busy Michonne or Gabriel. —I know Gabriel’s been talkin’ about wantin’ someone to help out around the church.” He suggests.

You sigh, “So you’re making me work in Alexandria after you… basically kidnapped… me…” You start to say snarkily, but you begin to trail off at the end of your sentence as you have an epiphany— your eyes widening as you raise your head. “Hold on, why can't I just stay with Dwight? That would be the best of both worlds, I'd be staying with someone I know already, and you'd have someone you already trust watching over me.” You say, glancing between the two of them.

Rick seems to tense at the mention of Dwight, Daryl squinting at you as the name comes out of your mouth. —Their reactions aren’t at all what you expected and an uncomfortable beat of silence passes, Rick and Daryl exchanging a few looks before Rick leans forward in his chair, tipping his head to the side slightly. “You know Dwight?”

“Yeah, he's…”

You can't tell them about Negan being your father, and him forcing Dwight to essentially beat you, a child, to make you stronger. It’d look bad for you and him, so you decide to simplify your relationship to something more innocent, “-A friend. We spent a lot of time together back at The Sanctuary. He kind of took me under his wing.”

He really did put a lot of effort in to not just beat you, but to teach you. He taught you how to escape and defend yourself instead of just leaving you scrambling to get away.

“A friend…” It almost seems like Rick is on the precipice of believing you, when he shakes his head softly. “Then why didn't he mention you? We spoke to him about the person on the walkie-talkie, and he seemed like he didn’t have any idea who you could be.” He doubts.

Shit.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, averting your gaze. “...Because I asked him not to?” You look away, “There was no point in getting caught up in the physical aspect of everything at the time and I… didn’t want to leave The Sanctuary.”

His gaze sharpens as he raises his voice, clearly trying to put more pressure on you. “Didn't or don't?” He pushes, “See this is what I don’t understand, this is where your story always seems to come apart. You say they’re your family and that you never wanted to leave ‘em or betray ‘em, but you did, and you can’t come up with a reasonable explanation why.”

Maybe it’s because of the recent internal struggle you’ve been dealing with, but despite all your experiences as a Savior being interrogated and trained as a hardened soldier, you feel vulnerable being questioned by him, your palms beginning to glisten with sweat.

There’s no way you could know it, but you’ve never had experience being interrogated by a real cop. He’s skilled, and despite all of your training nothing those petty criminals at The Sanctuary could have tried on you would have prepared you for this.

You swallow hard, “I-I don't know anymore, okay? Everything's too complicated. The adults don't even know what they want, so how the hell am I supposed to? If you don't believe me when I say I know Dwight then go ask him.” You snap defensively, stopping short of standing up to start yelling at him. You don't want to make him angry, but you want the focus off of you.

There are so many things you regret about your life, so many choices you wish you hadn’t made, but that's just it. You made them and you can't go back.

He parts his lips to say more, questioning your origins for what seems like the hundredth time, but as his eyes take in your closed off body language, he decides against it, leaning back in his seat with a twinge of regret. “I got carried away.” He excuses, rubbing the stubble growing on his face for a moment. “The reason you can't stay with Dwight is that we don't know where he is. He went MIA.” He says, as if the rest is self explanatory.

“M-I-A?” You repeat, cocking a brow.

Daryl verbally steps in, “The man vanished, kid.” He elaborates, his nose twitching upward slightly with a hint of disgust at the mention of the other man. “I'd almost be relieved if I didn’t know better.”

Vanished? That can't be. Dwight seemed so certain that what he wanted was to permanently leave The Sanctuary and join the people of Alexandria. He risked his life to help them, so what had happened to him?

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to prevent the tears you feel from welling up in your eyes.

“So he just disappeared? That's it, that's all you know?” You lament, knowing it's a genuine possibility that you're face to face with his killers– or that you would be if you returned home. For all you know your own father could have killed him, worst case scenario.

But somehow Daryl offers an even worse possibility, getting up from where he'd been sitting as if it were a pain to sit still. “He was alive, at least when I last saw him...” He huffs, slowly coming over to lean against the windowsill. “He went back into The Sanctuary as we left.”

You feel your heart breaking in ways you didn't know were possible, your breathing quickening. “Was he okay?”

Daryl lowers his gaze. “Better than okay. He went back into the building, givin’ orders.” He adds.

“What?”

Had all Dwight’s words just been a lie to get you out of his way? Had all that time together– all those lessons, all those talks, just been an excuse to make you turn traitor? Worst of all, why had it worked? Why do you find yourself questioning everything?

You want to cry, but you try to hold back your tears, sinking your teeth down further into your cheek until you draw blood.

“He wouldn't do that.” You insist, a few stray tears slipping down your face. “He’d never go back by choice. -He wouldn't lie to me.”

Rick slowly reaches out for your hand to comfort you, but you quickly snatch it away, puffing out your chest defensively. “Don't fucking touch me.” You stand up, coming to hover above Rick aggressively. “Don't you ever fucking touch me, this is all your fault!”

His hand instinctively lands on his gun but the moment he realizes it has and that you aren't a danger, he folds his hands together in his lap, letting you scream yourself out.

“I want to go home!” You shout, slamming a fist against your chest, right above your heart. “Why can't I just go home? Why do people like you always have to ruin everything? We were happy before any of this! –I was happy. I just want my da-” You choke back a sob at the word, cutting yourself off.

Daryl lowers his gaze, knowing that your parents are most likely dead, given your age and risky actions, turning his attention to Rick. “We need'ta make a decision.” He addresses.

Rick locks eyes with you, his gaze becoming intense. “I know that, believe me, I do.” He says, his eyes never leaving yours, “But we need to tell everyone else what's goin’ on.” His voice heightens before breaking.

He knows that Carl could have had a much different, worse fate had they not reunited, –a fate like yours, and the thought has been eating away at him.

The longer he looks at you, REALLY looks at you, the more childish features he identifies that remind him of his own two kids. And at the end of the day, that's all you are, a kid like his own put into a nightmare of a situation.

He can't just ignore the danger that comes with you, he can tell you're hiding something integral, but he also knows you're going to have different needs than the other people in Alexandria. In his mind, you were a gear in Negan's army for so long you probably can't even begin to understand all these new experiences you're having because you're so focused on returning to your real captor, The Saviors.

So, his plan? To detox you. Even if they send you back, at least this time you wouldn't be fully under Negan’s control, you'd have something to compare the conditions at The Sanctuary to.

Rick clears his throat to rid himself of the vunerability that had wormed its way into his voice. “We'll hold a meeting in thirty, when Rosita gets back.” He pauses for a moment, once again reaching out to lightly pat the back of your hand. “Why don't you go sit outside on the porch for a minute?” He suggests.

Daryl's head snaps up, “What? I thought the whole point of this was not leavin’ her alone?” He asks, puzzled.

Rick seems uncertain of his choice, but maintains his words. “She needs to calm down and Michonne is out there, she knows what's going on.” He explains, giving you a nod as if to release you from his watch.

You hesitate, your feet shifting where you're standing, but before you know it you're rushing outside to sit on a rocking chair on the porch.

The sun and gentle breeze feels good on your skin, the soft involuntary rocking of your seat settling something deep within you, your entire body relaxing. You lean your head back, closing your eyes when you hear quickened footsteps approaching, but not from the house.

“I cannot believe this shit.” A girl says, and your shoot open in surprise. Not because she scared you, but because her accent isn't the heavy southern one you're used to hearing around here, it's something closer to your own.

She shakes her head, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face with frustration. She's so caught up in whatever has her so upset she hardly notices you until the porch creaks as you sit up straight and put your feet on the wooden boards. “Oh,” She grimaces, “You must be that prisoner. -Carl said you totally saved our asses.”

You chuckle despite her sour tone. “The one and only.” You chime, eliciting a half huff half laugh from her.

She adjusts her shirt, trying to make herself look more presentable despite her being the most put together person you've seen so far. “Wow, I'm making a bad first impression, aren't I?” She sighs, “Sorry, it's nothing against you. My boyf- My ex, stood me up.” She corrects herself.

You cringe at her self-correction. “Sounds complicated…”

She smiles softly. “It is. We love each other, so much, but I can’t stay here anymore, so I ended things with him…” Her lips twitch slightly as she suddenly takes a seat next to you, leaning in. “Do you have any experience with dating? Was that the right thing to do? It felt like it at the time, but now it just…”

“Hurts?” You suggest.

She nods, crossing her legs. “Yeah. With every step I take I feel like I regret it a little more.”

You rub the back of your neck, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Well, I don't have any dating experience, but I'd say that you made the right choice. If you haven't tried to undo it yet, there must be some part of you that knows it was for the better.” You pause, taking a deep breath. “I guess that's kind of just how regret works. It eats away at your bones, taunting you with what could have been even if there wasn't any other choice.”

“Amen to that.” She hums, “Anyway, enough about my problems. You're literally being held hostage, I'm sure you have more important things to worry about.” She dismisses, using a hand to waft as if it could actually clear the air, her bracelets making a small clicking noise as she does.

Even you have to admit, the girl has a certain charm to her you can't describe. She's warm, but at the same time you can tell she has these overpowering underlying emotions, with a sweet honeyed voice that's like a tranq straight to the brain.

You can imagine that lots of guys would be interested in her, especially considering the lack of women, but she'd chosen one of Rick's kids as her partner. You aren't sure how many kids Rick has, but if they're all as kind as Carl had been to you despite your crooked origins, you'd definitely understand. Someone like her being with someone just as elite and seemingly perfect is just natural.

You decide to ask, telling yourself it's just for the hell of it and not because of the growing worry in your stomach, “So your ex is one of Rick's kids, which one?” You pry.

She shifts awkwardly, “Well, he only has one son, it's–”

Interrupting your conversation, Carl emerges from the house, running a hand through his tousled hair.

The second he spots her, he only has an eye for her, not seeming to notice you just a few feet to her right. “Enid,” He calls softly, coming to stand as close to her as he can get without touching her. “I-I didn't know you were here… Are you… back?”

She stands up, giving him a longing look. “No. Sorry.” She apologizes, her left hand drifting closer to his before she catches it with her right, putting a death grip on her wrist. “I was just leaving.” She says, starting her way down the porch steps.

His eye widens, the desperation clear on his face as he starts after her. “Wait, Enid, why did you come here?” He asks is a plea, resting his hand on her upper arm.

She glances away conflicted, clearly about to lie about something. Her faces are so transparent you think you could guess what she'd say next. “We were out on a run near here and I decided to stop by because I heard about The Sanctuary. -I wanted to make sure that everyone was okay since you never answered me.” She excuses.

Carl gives her a knowing look. Hilltop isn't anywhere near here, meaning she came out of her way to see him. “Enid,” He lets his hand slowly slip down to her hand, first cradling it, then squeezing it. “Stay.”

She bites her lip, looking away from him. “I-I can't Carl. You promised you'd let me be independent.”

He lowers himself to plant a few kisses on her hand and wrist, lacing their fingers together tightly as if he can't bear to part with her. “Stay.” He repeats. “Only for a little while. Please. I… I need…” He trails off, a wounded look in his eye like a kicked puppy at her repeated refusal. “I need you.” He finishes, just above a whisper.

You can see her face and the back of her neck turn bright red as she stares down at him pleading, their hands tightly interlocked.

Just watching the interaction your own heart is pounding in your chest. It's clear his love for her runs deeper than any other kind of love you've seen before in your life, and despite the slight discomfort you feel at the sight of the two of them together, you almost want her to say yes, that she'll stay with him.

“Carl…” She mutters sadly, looking around desperately for a moment before her eyes settle on you, and she gives you an apologetic smile. You wonder why she–

“Carl, look.” She says, nodding her head in your direction. “Isn't that an issue? She's free.”

You take in a small tense breath, not enjoying the attention she just called to you, but it seems like she knows what she's doing.

Carl looks up from Enid's hands for a split second and sees you calmly sitting on the porch, watching the interaction. “No, that's fine. It's probably good actually, people need fresh air.” He dismisses, but before he can return his focus to her, Enid has already pulled herself from his grasp.

She takes a few steps away from him onto the sidewalk. “Carl, I'm sorry, but there’s… there's no way you and I are getting back together unless it's sometime in the far future. It's not going to work out right now, not with me so far away while we're basically at war.” She rambles, looking off to the side at something that's blocked from view from where you're sitting.

Carl reaches to grip the porch stair railing so hard you think it might break, his eye glossing over with tears that he refuses to let fall. “Don't you dare, Enid, please.” He warns, fearing something that appears to be a familiar behavior to him, “Come inside for a little while, read with me, talk to me, anything. Just don't run from this, don't run from ME.”

She reaches down and picks up what she'd been looking at, slinging the backpack over her shoulder as she stares up at him, waiting for his permission to go.

A few seconds pass with the two of them just staring at one another in a dead-lock, before Carl lowers his head with defeat, Enid taking off down the street without wasting a second, ducking behind one of the nearby houses.

You stand up to see where she's going and see her pull out a few metal rods, heading towards the wall behind the Grimes’ house. Your eyes widen, “No way she's actually going to–”

“She is.” Carl says flatly, stalking his way back onto the porch so he can lean on the railing to watch her go.

You see her stick a spoke into the wall and start effortlessly climbing her way up the wall. She clearly has experience doing it before. “Won't she get into trouble for that? How does someone even learn they can do that?” You ask, impressed.

He gives you a piercing glare, “Don't get any ideas, I'll drag your ass back here myself.” He snaps with newfound intensity and irritation. “I won't have you getting in trouble and blaming it on her.”

You hold up your hands with mock surrender, laughing to try and ease him after what transpired. “Oh no, don't arrest me and drag me back to the place with hot water. That'd be tragic.” You say sarcastically.

Carl looks unnamused for a moment before the corners of his mouth upturn into a smile he tries as hard as he can to suppress. “Ugh, whatever.” He lightly hits his head against the rail. “You should go back inside before they catch us talking to each other.”

You stand up, coming over to stand at his side. “Maybe I want them to.” You joke, and slowly, strangely, your hand finds its way to his shoulder, patting it softly. It's something you've never really done before, but it feels like the right thing to do in the moment.

He stands up straight, glancing at your hand with a hint of shock. He hadn’t been expecting you to touch him, much less in such a reassuring manner. “What–” He cuts himself off as he sees your squeamish face, snorting. “You don't have to do that. I'll be fine.”

You give him a small nod, letting your hand fall after giving him one last pat in the form of the playful shove. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm not really allowed to go anywhere, so I'll be here.” You pause, “Even if we're not friends.”

He nods, watching as you enter the house, his eye on the doorway for a moment longer than maybe it should have been. He doesn't know why, but the warm feeling of your hand on his back lingers for a while. Once the moment passes though, his mind returns to Enid.

Chapter 10: Executioner

Notes:

(Standing on the left side of someone is a protective gesture.)

ALSO, I’m aware Gabriel gets trapped with Negan and he confesses to him during the attack on The Sanctuary, but I’m minorly moving around the series of events.

When you return to the house you immediately notice the two new people in the room. One of them you recognize as the woman who had introduced herself as Carol, and the other you immediately recognize from your dad’s stories of Alexandria.

The Samurai, Michonne.

Your dad didn't particularly like her, but she had earned his respect enough that he had told you her name once in passing, praising her excellent sword skills. Not to mention the Saviors were constantly rumoring about her stealthy escapades through bases that weren't The Sanctuary, though she hardly left witnesses to tell the tale, you could tell she'd been somewhere by the clean cut bodies left in her wake.

Rick watches your eyes scan the room, letting you get your bearings before he motions for you to have a seat. “We're still waitin’ on people, but there’s no harm in starting without them.” He gives everyone in the room warning glances, daring them to disagree with his next words, “We aren't makin’ any final decisions.”

Everyone stands around looking very serious, clearly tense about the discussion ahead. Back before everything started, they probably never could have imagined sitting around casually talking about whether not to leave a teen girl alive, and yet here they are.

You sit down in the chair, letting yourself sink into the plushness of it as your bones settle into a comfortable position, pulling your knees up to your chest with your cheek resting on the couch cushion. “Okay,” You mutter, rubbing your eyes. You're so tired.

You were feverish when you woke up in the cell this morning, and since then you've been through a constant emotional wringer. You just want to lie down and rest, but there’s so much that needs to be done, and even then you don’t think you could just sleep after everything. You can’t trust them.

Michonne steps forward to circle her way around to the front of the couch, the heels of her boots making a dull clicking noise as she walks, her eyes on Rick. “I don't see what there is to discuss. I said I'd watch her until we send her back or…” Her eyes flick over to you before returning to Rick's. “-Otherwise.”

Rick nods, still not knowing what to do with you just yet. You've only been awake a short while and he doesn’t know you well enough to know if you would acclimate well in Alexandria. Afterall, he'd known Ron for weeks, only for the boy to try and kill him and scar Carl for life. “I know that's what we agreed, but that doesn't take care of the actual details.” He counters.

“Yeah, like where she'd sleep, and eat, and what work she's gonna do, because she's still just a KID.” Daryl scoffs, not liking the implications of Michonne's words. He's still leaning against the same window he had been earlier, his eyes locked on the outside world, other than a few glances he sends Carol's way every now and then. “We ain't sendin’ her back if it's to her death. -Look at her.” He motions to you, but no one looks, “That's a damn baby, and I ain't no baby killer.”

Michonne lets out a small hum of condescension that clearly gets under Daryl’s skin.

“Hey, don't you fuckin’ “hm” me, we all know it's the truth.” He snaps, “Ain’t my fault you don’t have a heart for kids.”

Michonne starts approaching him, tugging at her sword strap as if she's going to take it off to give herself a better range of motion, but Rick quickly steps between them. “That's enough!” He shouts, holding up two hands to keep the two apart.

Daryl scoffs, turning his attention back to the window. “Enough my ass, that was all her. I didn't move.” He grumbles under his breath.

The door swings open and three people walk in, someone dressed as a priest who you assume is Gabriel, the woman from the medical office who they called Tara, and a man with a short scruffy beard who's wearing a stained blue flannel. You feel like you vaguely recognize him from the attack on The Sanctuary, but you aren't sure.

While you're distracted with trying to figure out who the unknown man is, the priest comes up from behind you and sets a hand on your shoulder. “Hello, my child.” He whispers softly, giving you a smile. You immediately jolt back from your comfortable spot in your seat, giving him a glare, but he seems unfazed. “My name is Gabriel, I'm the priest here in Alexandria. I look forward to helping you on your journey.”

Carol looks over at you just as you're about to respond with a series of foul insults, giving you a glare as if she could see all the words that went through your mind in that moment. “Stop doing that to people, Gabriel, it's off-putting.” She says, turning her attention to him. He nods, giving you one last smile as he stalks away to speak with Carol.

What is with these people? That was creepy as fuck.

Meanwhile, the clicking of Michonne's boots stop in front of the couch. “If you don't agree with me then let's take a vote.” She proposes, sitting down in the center of the middle cushion, laying one of her arms across the back of the couch. “That way everyone gets to say their piece.”

Daryl glares at her, two more people entering the room. You don't recognize either of them, but one of them, a man with a wooden staff, looks strangely stoic. The woman who entered behind him walks over to the arm of the couch Michonne is on and sits down, giving you a judgmental once over with her eyes.

Rick nudges you in the shoulder lightly, “Everyone is here, so let's get started.” He announces, taking his place at the front of the group, to your left. “Michonne is right, we should take a vote on what everyone thinks should be done, and then we can work from there.” He gives you an apologetic look before shifting back to look at Michonne. “Yours?”

She sits up straight, pulling her arm back into her lap. “We can't risk leaving her alive and causing a problem like the other person we held prisoner. We have to learn from our mistakes before they get us all killed.” She takes a deep breath, giving Rick a determined nod. “I say execute her.”

You feel your stomach drop at the word execute, knowing that it's entirely possible you die right here today if everyone votes against you, but it's just one vote, right? Not everyone can have their mind made up to execute you. They would never have left you in the cell and saved you if they planned to kill you the moment you were freed.

“Aaron?”

The man with the scruffy beard and blue flannel glares at you, looking you up and down with spite. “She's old enough to know that what the Saviors are doing is wrong.” He pauses, letting out a sigh. “We execute her.”

You feel a jolt of panic shoot through you, becoming wide awake as you lean forward on the edge of your seat. A second vote? You look up at Rick, your heart slamming in your chest. “What happens if they all vote to execute me?” You question, the anxiety evident in your voice.

Rick lets out a small breath to relieve some inner tension, not answering you, but giving you a knowing expression as if to say; If that's what they decide, then that's what happens.

Daryl watches the interaction and tries to quickly fill the awkward silence by offering his vote. “Yeah, well I vote that she stays alive!” He shouts, tossing his hands into the air. “You needa’ look inside yourself if you're even questioning for a moment what we should do!”

Everyone looks uncomfortable for another moment, their morals tested by the hunter’s words, then Rick continues taking other people's opinions. “Carol?”

She shrugs, “Kill her, trade her, makes no difference to me. She's probably a murderer.”

She says it so casually it's borderline callous, but it seems to make other people nod in agreement. She's right, you could be a murderer, but you aren't. No less than they are, and they need to realize that.

She continues, “This is what we do, it’s what we HAVE to do to stay alive. If the right choice here is to leave her be, then that’s always been the “right” choice and we failed to maintain any kind of justice from the moment we left Atlanta… Is that something the rest of you can cope with? —That we killed, and abandoned, and sacrificed for nothing? Because I know I can’t. I lost everything over and over again and I refuse to believe it was for nothing.”

There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room, even from the one person who’s voted for you to stay alive. Your fists clench the arms of the chair, your jaw wired shut from fear. That's three people in this room that want you dead.

“Rosita?”

The woman sitting on the arm of the couch smacks her lips, glancing over at you once again. There’s a moment where she opens her mouth to answer, but she pauses seeing the desperation on your face. “Well, shit.” She mutters, “Fuck it, leave her alive. We used a bunch of medicine on her anyway, it'd be a waste.”

Your shoulders fall slightly, but only slightly, you're nowhere near out of harm's way yet, and it's still terrifying to think what other people may vote, but it's comforting to know at least two people here don't really want you dead.

“Gabriel?”

The priest smiles brightly, giving you a small nod of reassurance. “Alive, of course.”

“Tara?”

The woman from the house they called the infirmary gives you a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry,” She mumbles, looking away. “But you people have done too much damage… You took the best of us.” She swallows hard as if the next word pains her to say. “Execute.”

“Morgan?”

Your eyes quickly shoot to the man with the wooden staff, the last person other than Rick. He shakes his head, his voice coming out in a soft mutter. “I… Does it even matter? You never listen to what I have to say anyway.” He takes a small breath in through his nose that sounds like a sniffle. “I can't stay here, seeing what I've seen. This is inhumane. You're talking about killing a child after everything… of course I want her alive. I don't want her traded, or tortured. I want her alive.”

Rick nods slowly with understanding, and then all eyes fall on him, the final vote.

You want him to break the tie by saying he'll leave you alive. I mean, you think it'd make the most sense after all the effort everyone put in, –and the resources like Rosita said, right?

He licks his lips, shifting from foot to foot as he scans all of the faces in the room until it lands on yours. He evaluates you for a moment, the flicker of understanding in his eyes fading as it's replaced with a look of appraisal, weighing the pros and cons of leaving you alive.

Then slowly he nods, his final decision clearly weighing heavy on his mind, disgust crossing his own features.

“We execute.”

Your eyes widen with distress and shock, glancing over at the door, but you know it would be futile to try and escape with all of these people standing around you with weapons. Your mouth opens to say something, but a choked noise comes out in the place of words.

Arms wrapped around your knees, you squeeze tightly, still afraid to die even after everything you've seen and been through. It all seems so pointless now, and your regret multiplies by tenfold.

Daryl is on his feet in seconds, “No! No way in hell you're laying a hand on this–”

“Daryl sit down!” Carol reprimands. “It was fair.”

Morgan shakes his head softly, “I need to go.” He mumbles, walking through the house to the back door, his staff at his side. “I’ll take watch at the gates, but I can’t watch this.”

You're frozen in place as the chaos erupts around you, watching as a few guilty people turn their heads away with shame, while others engage in shouting matches protesting the results.

You feel like a little kid waiting outside the principal's office. You know what's coming, and you know exactly why, even though your mind is running a million miles an hour, because maybe, just maybe, you deserve it. Maybe this is justice. Maybe this is the spectacular finale that your whole life has been leading up to.

Gabriel speaks softly, almost too soft to be heard over the yelling, “Please, be seated everyone. We should retake the vote, Rick, some people might have been feeling pressured when they cast.” He argues.

Michonne shakes her head, “It was fair.” She echoes.

This is really happening, you're going to be executed without getting to see your father again, without getting to apologize to Dwight, or do a million of the other things you'd always wanted to. You'll die young, and no one will know you were even here.

You almost want to cry, in fact you're on the verge of tears when abruptly there's a loud bang and the door swings open once again.

Carl slowly walks in, a disturbed look on his face as he stares at his father with head tipped to the side, disgust in his eye. “I haven't had my vote yet.” He says calmly, but you can tell by the fists clenched at his sides he's anything but calm.

Rick shakes his head, surprised to see that Carl had somehow evaded him and left the house, only to show up at possibly the worst moment. “You can't- This isn't- Carl, go upstairs to your room. You shouldn't be doing this.”

Carl laughs joylessly, “You're right, I shouldn't. I didn't think I'd have to vote because I thought everyone would do the right thing, but here I am.” He turns to you, giving you a soft look of empathy, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly at the sight of your distress to comfort you. “I vote that she stays alive, here in Alexandria.”

With his vote, it leaves everything tied up in a dead-lock.

You frantically glance around the room to see if anyone will contest his words, but Aaron and Tara simply lower their heads in shame. His words have struck a chord within them, and they can’t bring themselves to disagree with the truth.

You feel a wave of relief wash over you, glad that there’s someone here willing to stand up for you. Sure, Daryl had expressed his willingness to, but you can tell the man would never fully go against Rick if he put his foot down on something. –This was different anyway. This foreign feeling was new and exciting, like the stories you used to read as a child where the knight in shining armor knows just the right moment to burst in and save the day. –Even better, you're a knight too, a comrade. He’s one of the only people that acknowledges your independent strength and maturity, while also offering his help.

You only wish you’d met under different circumstances so you could have truly been friends. Maybe if The Saviors had— No, he wouldn’t have been under the same protection as you in The Sanctuary. He’s better off here.

Michonne stands up and makes her way over to him, gently reaching out a hand to straighten his hat. He leans back but doesn’t move away from the affectionate touch. “Carl, do you know what you’re saying?” She cautions, her eyes glancing down to your hands as if there was blood on them.

He nods, a gleam of determination in his eye. “I know exactly what I’m saying, and I plan to take responsibility for whatever happens as a result.” He stifles his next words, trying to articulate something less crude. “You can’t go back on murder, but we can always put her back in the cell. I know we’ve lost a lot but that’s no reason to take another life, we have mercy for a reason.”

“Okay,” Her hand slips from his head and she walks over to where you sit, slamming her hands down on the chair arms on either side of you, effectively trapping you to the chair. You stare up at her, putting your hands up to defend yourself, but she only points an authoritative finger at you. “Don’t mess things up for him or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.” She threatens.

You want to be afraid of her, not scratch the badass image of her you’d built up in your head, but you can see the intense fear in her eyes behind the display of anger. Carl is clearly something she holds dear, and she doesn’t intend to lose him, even if it means killing another kid (again) to protect him.

You lean forward to closely lock eyes with her, surprising her, and give her a nod. “I’m not going to fuck things up for anyone here. I want to help.” You affirm.

Her brief surprise at your confidence and bravery quickly fades, and she releases you, turning to address the group. “I’m changing my vote. She lives.” She glances over at Rick, “Even if Carl’s vote doesn’t count, mine does, and that’s more than enough.”

Rick gives her a nod, glancing around at everyone else in the room. “Does anyone else want to change their vote?” He opens the floor for people to change sides, but everyone remains silent, somewhat confident in their choice. “Alright, well, it’s getting late. We should all turn in for the night. Daryl are you..?”

Daryl stands up from the window, “Yeah, I’m taking her for the night. If anyone’s got a problem with that, take it up tomorrow. I ain’t got another second to spend here.” He walks over to you and ghosts a hand a few inches from your shoulder, ushering you to the door. “Rick, let’s talk in the mornin’, I need to hunt outside the walls and I can’t take her with me.”

Rick looks back at him, “Heard.”

You glance back over your shoulder as you're pushed out and see Carl, already occupied with something else in the room, laying his hat down on the table. He looks tense, but it’s clear that after he saved your life he’d simply moved on to the next issue bothering him.

Daryl pushes open the door, breaking the seal and exposing you to the cold night air. The sun is setting, giving the sky an orange-ish tint that makes you feel even more exhausted. “He's right, it is late.” You mumble, mostly to yourself.

He drops the arm he had been using to corral you in the right direction and simply lets you follow at his side.

Only a few steps in you slow to a stop in the middle of the deserted street, staring at his back. “Thanks for not… you know, voting to kill me. That was, uhm…” You trail off, not exactly sure how to thank him.

You hear him let out a heavy sigh, muttering to himself before her turns around to face you. “Listen to me.” He instructs, coming up to hover over you. “I ain't here for you. I ain't gonna protect you, and I won't save you. If you run, I'll shoot you down just like I would any other animal, you hear?”

You pause, a little startled by his abrupt change in demeanor. “Uh, yeah.”

He nods slowly, turning back around to keep on in the direction of his house. “Good.”

You can't tell exactly what's going through his mind in that moment, but you can tell he seems upset about something. You trail behind him, wanting to ask something more, when he abruptly stops in front of a house you assume is his. He walks up the porch and forcefully pries the door open, kicking a few objects by the inside of the door out of the way– mostly hunting supplies like knives, a compass, a few scattered bullets, and… crossbow bolts.

You're terrified of them, you can hardly imagine that rough pointed bolt head pressed deep inside of your chest, yet they almost seem to draw you in. They make you curious. You feel a shiver go down your spine as you reach down, about to touch the point of one of the bolts when Daryl calls out to you, having seen your odd behavior. “Go sit on the couch.”

You look around and see the tattered leather sofa sitting in the middle of a pretty much otherwise empty room, and make your way over to sit down on it.

He walks into the kitchen attached to the living room, where you still have a clear view of him. “Don't be pokin’ through my stuff or I might actually have'ta crate you at night.” He grumbles bitterly, ransacking his cabinets.

You look down at your hands in your lap and start fidgeting. It's not like you were trying to snoop through his belongings, they were quite literally sprawled out in front of you– but you can't say that. Not after what he did for you earlier, so you stay silent.

He reaches up for the cabinet above the fridge and pauses as his eyes pass over it, realizing that you haven't eaten anything in days. “Are you- Do you… need to eat or anything?” He asks as if it pains him to have to feed you.

After everything today you really just want sleep, you don't want to have to pour another concoction down your throat and you don't want to have to sit up and eat anything. “No, I'm okay.” You say, your eyes blinking slower with each moment.

He stares blankly at you for a moment, then slowly cracks something that barely qualifies as a smile, about to say something joking to you– when he winces and glances away, realizing where he put what he'd been looking for. He reaches down to the cabinet under the sink and retrieves a mason jar of clearish liquid, staring at it longingly.

You tip your head to the side. “What's that?”

He raises his head to look at you, “This,” He shakes the jar, “Is moonshine. It's off-limits, so don't ever touch it, in fact, don't even think about it.” He shoves the jar under the sink and pulls out a tall brown bottle, practically ripping the cap off to chug some of it.

Now, this one you recognize. “Whiskey… Can I take a swig?” You call to him, but he simply flips off the light switch so the kitchen goes dark and you can’t see him anymore.

Then out of the darkness you hear a gravely, “No.” and it goes quiet again.

You curl up on the couch, pulling your arms closer to yourself and kicking off your (borrowed) shoes. It's chilly, but you can't complain. There's a roof and four walls which is better than what you and your dad could find some nights before The Sanctuary.

At the thought of your dad, your eyes flutter shut and you drift into unconsciousness.

For a while Daryl simply watches you from the kitchen, throwing back what would be a damn near lethal amount of whiskey, when in his emotional, drunken state he goes up to his room and retrieves a blanket and pillow, coming back down to carefully and meticulously tuck you into bed like a child, even lifting your head to lie it back down more comfortably. Then once he's finished, he sits on the floor opposite of you and keeps drinking for a while, watching your every little movement, before he goes upstairs to sleep himself.

***

Dwight pushes open the door to Negan's room for him, watching the tall man go in with a cocky smile, his freshly buffed leather jacket pulled over his shoulders. He'd just been ordering around the workers in The Sanctuary to speed up their reconstruction of the building when he'd suddenly pulled Dwight aside and asked him to walk to his room with him. The smile drops as soon as the door shuts. Once he's away from all the people he has to control, he can actually let himself breathe. –Let his mind slip to you, his daughter.

He sits down on the sofa hunched over, his face in his hands, his eyes red from sleepless nights. “Any word?” He asks quietly.

Dwight shakes his head softly, “No, they didn't find anything.”

Negan had sent squad after squad of Saviors to search for your body, turned or not, and there was still nothing. It made him scared, yes, but against all odds it gave him the cruelest twinge of hope that you might still be alive somewhere.

He eyes the empty office chair next to him, the one you had claimed when you were younger because you saw that it spun, and gently kicks it with his foot to make the chair go around a few times. “My baby girl didn’t just vanish, she wouldn’t have left like that if she were alive.” He attests with a bittersweet laugh.

Dwight stares off into the space of the dimly lit room, his mind wandering. “Well, how do you know she didn’t? Maybe she took the fight as cover to try and save The Sanctuary. She might have just gotten pushed out of the city lines.” He proposes, thinking of all your rebellious behavior. He knows you didn’t just walk off, but he also knows the best way to get information out of Negan is to use you. —Dead or not, lying is the way to go.

Negan kicks the chair as hard as he can, sending the chair shooting across the room and falling onto its side, rising to his feet. “Because I saw that wild mutt shoot her and she was bleeding out on the ground. Even if she tried to, she could barely move.” He snaps, “I should have been able to scoop her up and tell her everything would be okay, but instead that prick tried to shoot me.”

Dwight stares at the fallen chair. “So you just want to find her body? You don’t want to entertain the idea she might be alive?”

Negan pauses at this, sitting back down and slicking his hair back. “That… was what I wanted at first. To lay her to rest properly, give her a good burial and all the things she never got to have.” He swallows, “But now I’m gonna do a whole lot more than that. Rick needs to pay for this… They’re ALL going to pay for this.”

Dwight’s brows twitch at his first sentence, memories of when he’d first met you coming to mind for the first time in years. He remembers you being this bright little ball of curiosity, but you never sought out anything, never asked for anything— you were too preoccupied with being a little adult and looking out for everyone else, a fate so many children fell to when everything started, and Negan pushing you to being stronger didn’t help. The light in your eyes slowly faded, crushed by responsibility.

He takes a step forward, “Why couldn’t you?”

Negan drops his hands from his face, realizing that Dwight’s asking him a question. “What?”

“Why couldn’t you give her the things she never got to have?” Dwight clarifies, taking a few more steps forward, sensing that Negan isn’t going to harm him at the moment. The man is too preoccupied with thoughts of you to think of anything else, or question the fact Dwight is borderline disrespecting him.

“I thought if she got a little stronger we wouldn't have to worry with… situations like this. She'd just be safe.” He winces, taking in a deep breath to quell the pain in his chest. “She was supposed to be better than this. She was supposed to earn her way to those kinds of privileges.”

“She was supposed to earn a childhood?” Dwight puzzled, unable to imagine how someone like that would grow up normally.

He'd seen you before, sitting in a corner of the work floor not knowing what to do when you didn't have an assignment. You were in front of a table full of toys and gadgets, yet you couldn’t imagine what to do with them, not even sparing them a glance.

“You broke her, she's never going to get it. Even if she's not dead, you can't rewind time.” Dwight criticizes, “She's past the phase where she'd be interested in anything other than growing up.”

“She could've–”

“When? When was she even supposed to figure out what she liked?” Dwight bites the inside of his cheek, but the years worth of regretted suppressed words come pouring out. “What was her favorite color? What did she like to do? What was her favorite food? When was the last time she even yelled, or screamed, or cried?” He pushes, not even knowing the answers himself.

Negan finally breaks, his eyes filling with tears that don't fall but one. “Don't you think I've thought about that? How much I regret every single day I made her do something dangerous, something she didn't want to, everytime I looked into those pretty little eyes and said, ‘no’? It's eating me alive, Dwight.” He confesses.

Dwight feels his quickened breathing slow as he comes back to his senses. “What do you want me to do?”

Negan swipes a hand across his face to get rid of the singular tear. “Send a message.” He responds coldly, “Send a new squad, a smaller one, and tell them that they need to bring me all the traitors from Alexandria, Hilltop, and The Kingdom alive, or they'll be executed.” He leans back where he's sitting, picking up Lucille to have it closer to him. “Make them find my baby girl's body by ANY means necessary. I want to see her face by the end of the month.”

Dwight’s eyes widen, “We're already short on men, I don't think two weeks is enough time…” Not to mention Dwight doesn't plan on sticking around here for that long.

“It's a bluff. Just do it.” Negan dismisses, glancing out of the window. He can see the stars peeking out from the black sky and he hopes you can see them too.

Chapter 11: Sinner

Notes:

Time to feed y'all again

TRIGGER WARNINGS ALL AROUND - LOTS OF VIOLENCE

HEY: I really wanted this to be one chapter, so it’s really long. BUT I added numbers next to each scene change so that you could pick back up where you left off if needed.

Daryl lets out a small groan, peeking through his squinted eyelids at the window. It's early morning, the sun just barely beginning to make its way up into the sky for dawn, but he already dreads the coming day. His head is pounding and he can't stand the intensity of the sunlight. He flips over onto his other side, only to lock eyes with your figure crouched beside him on the floor. “Jesus, kid, what the hell?”

You stand up, looking down at him in the bed, your hands tightly gripping the hem of your shirt. “I didn’t want to wake you, but it's morning.”

He sits up, tossing the blankets aside. “Yeah, I can tell.”

You don't mean to be so intrusive, but after you woke up your mind wouldn't stop racing with thoughts of the previous day. Still, you try to organize your thoughts for Daryl’s sake. “Do you think Rick's awake yet?”

He snorts, “No, definitely not.” He stands up from the bed, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “With Michonne he's been gettin’ up later than usual, but it should only be a couple hours… ‘nuff time to eat.”

“Oh.” You clench the fabric in your hands tighter, anxiously swaying side to side. “Well, when do you think he will be? Like three hours?”

Daryl observes your fidgety behavior and simply shrugs at you. “Maybe I oughta let you have that whiskey last night. You're actin’ all squirmy.” He says, nudging your hand with his.

“I’m not squirmy,” You deny, “I’m just worried that while you’re out hunting or whatever that Rick will put me with one of the people who want me dead.”

Daryl grumbles, grabbing you by the upper arm to drag you out of his room. “He ain’t gonna do that. I think it’s most likely he’ll put ya’ in the church so Gabriel will shut the hell up. Now quit your cryin’, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Before he can fully get you out of his room, there’s a knock on the front door followed by the sounds of someone entering the lower floor of the house.

“What the hell?” He mutters, turning to you, “Don’t—“ Before he can even finish his sentence you’ve already sprinted your way downstairs. “For fucks sake, it’s too early for this shit.”

You skid across the kitchen floor, coming to a complete stop upon seeing the empty living room. Everything is untouched making it seem like no one is here, yet you can sense there’s someone else in the house. Could it be one of the dead? You instinctively reach for the knife you spot on the kitchen counter before remembering the large walls surrounding Alexandria.

Whoever it is can’t be the living dead, and you'd be in a lot of trouble if you hurt them and the person wasn't dangerous.

You drop the knife. “Hello? Who’s there?” You call out, and the figure emerges.

Carl quickly pulls the little girl climbing on the couch back to his side, firmly but gently gripping her hand in his. She has light blonde hair and a big mischievous smile on her face, clutching a tattered doll in her arms. “Sorry, she ran off and I… Oh.” He stops speaking upon realizing it hadn’t been Daryl that came down the stairs, but you. “Uh, how are you doing?” He asks, scooping the girl up into his arms.

You shrug, kicking the back of your foot with the other behind the counter. “Fine, I guess. I don’t feel very sick anymore.”

He nods, “That’s good. Do you think you'd be up to–” The nod of his head causes the little girl to giggle and pull his hat off of his head, claiming it for herself. She chews on the brim of the hat for a moment before he takes it and gently sets it on her head, which she seems to like even more. He smiles softly at her and the sight sends a jolt through your heart. “Aw, Judy, what’s that? Huh? You got my hat? Is that right?” He coos at her.

You can’t help but crack a small smile at the interaction yourself. How can this kid be so sweet with everything that’s going on in the world?

“You’re a good dad.” You say, not thinking much of it until you hear a cackle from behind you and see Carl’s cheeks go a light shade of pink.

Daryl moves past you to the cabinet and opens a door, pulling out a box of cereal. “That ain’t his kid, that’s his sister, Judith.” He corrects, still struggling to keep himself composed. “Speakin’ of dads, did yours say what to do with her?” He asks, motioning to you.

Carl clears his throat, “He was busy, but yesterday he told me he planned to take her to Gabriel.”

Daryl nudges you in the arm, shoving a fist full of cereal into his mouth. “See? You’re gonna be just fine.” He looks out of the window and sees the sun is past the horizon. “Shit, gotta go ‘fore all the good prey gets snatched up by walkers and coyotes.” He says, snatching up his gear and haphazardly shoving it into his bag. “See you ‘round.” He says, shutting the door behind him.

You look to Carl who immediately averts his eye from you. Your shoulders fall. Once again you seem to have messed things up with someone before you could even get anything going. Of course he wouldn't want to be friends with someone who'd just implied he was an early father. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward, I was just—“

“I lied.” He says simply.

You tip your head to the side. “What?”

“I’m not taking you to Gabriel. I just- I was- It was a lie, okay? I don’t know what my dad wants to do with you, but I don't think he should be in charge of you after what he said yesterday.” He lets out a stressed sigh, adjusting his hold on Judith so that she's resting on his hip. “Not to mention he's already seemed to forget that you literally have NOTHING here. You need clothes, you need shoes, and we can't keep dividing up our supplies… So while my dad and Michonne are out looking for guns today, you're coming with me and we're gonna look for things you can use.”

He's taking you with him? “Outside the walls? How can you be so sure I won't just take the chance to run off?” You question.

He pushes Judith's head against his chest to shield her vision, drawing a pistol with a bulky silencer on the end of it. “I doubt you'll cause a problem, you seem pretty tame, but if you do I have more than enough to take care of you myself.” He threatens, reholstering his gun.

You try to bite back the smile appearing on your face. You have to admit, along with the other long list of reasons you find yourself fascinated with him, the boy is entertaining. “And she's going to come with us?” You ask, motioning to the child in his arms.

“Of course not,” He responds as if your words had been a personal insult, clutching his sister visibly tighter. “She's the one who's going to stay with Gabriel for the day.”

You pick up your shoes from beside the couch and start to walk towards the door when he stops you with his other hand. “Not yet, you need to eat something first.” He warns, “I won’t have you collapsing on this run because you were sick and hadn’t eaten anything. That risks both of our lives.” You want to ignore him, but the longer you stand by the door the deeper his frown gets.

You groan, reaching over and shoving a hand into the cereal box the same way Daryl had done earlier, then putting into your mouth. “See, happy?” You say sarcastically, but you cut yourself short as the sugary, fruity flavor of the cereal explodes in your mouth. It’s almost deathly sweet, the instant the feeling hits your senses your stomach growls. “Oh, fuck, I AM hungry.” You realize, using your other hand to pick up the box so you can properly scoop actual handfuls of the cereal into your mouth like a racoon sifting through the trash.

He smiles, “Yeah, you had to be. There was no way you weren’t after eating nothing for four whole days.” He watches you eat for a moment and then abruptly averts his gaze, looking outside to note the position of the sun. “Come on, let’s get to the church before sunrise and everyone wakes up. Bring the cereal with if you want, but start walking.” He beckons.

You follow beside him through the streets of Alexandria, cereal box in hand, and oddly enough now that you're not being paraded through the streets like a criminal they look abnormally peaceful. They're almost completely silent in a way The Sanctuary never had been.

You assume by the look of their houses and yards the reason for the silence is the lack of metal work and production being done– they never seem to make anything new from what you can tell, just scavenge, leaving a thick eerie silence in the place where you'd picture slamming hammers and roaring ovens.

You come to a stop at the edge of a pond just before a rickety wooden bridge that looks like it could collapse any day. The pond itself doesn't look very deep, but you can't see the bottom. Dark green plants, vines, and delicate pink flowers grow in its mixture, along with a few fallen branches floating at the surface of the water.

It's a rather secluded, dreary area for one that supposedly leads to the only church in Alexandria.

“You aren’t going to try and murder me now are you?” You joke, watching him step onto the bridge with Judith tightly cradled in his arms.

“Don't be ridiculous,” He says, turning back to look at you. “If I wanted to murder you I'd do it once we reached the other side.” He smirks, holding out his free palm to walk you over the first few damaged steps that attach the bridge to the earth.

You feel your heart once again pang with electricity as you accept his hand, stepping onto the bridge to let him lead you across. His palm is warm and slightly sweaty, but his grip on your hand is gentle and cautious. You swallow, trying to distract yourself from the fact your hands are locked together in an awkward way. “So how would you kill me? The gun? That feels too, to use your words, ‘tame’.”

“No, no,” He chuckles softly to himself, “I'd probably just let you keep talking until you embarrassed yourself to death. Seriously, you should've seen your face earlier- bright red.”

He breaks his hold on you and steps off of the bridge, holding out his arm to stabilize you on your descent, but you decline it and step down by yourself.

“So? Gonna let me talk myself to death now?” You grin.

He bites back a smile and turns his face away from you, continuing to walk in the direction of the church. Which you can now see ahead of you, standing tall. “No, we probably shouldn't even be talking this much… it's not allowed.”

His actions and his words always seem to conflict, with his words often taking after Rick's idea of what's right, and his actions being that of his own free will. Which begs the question of why bother pretending to follow Rick’s rules at all? He’s not allowed to even TALK to you yet here he is sneaking you out on what’s essentially your first free day in Alexandria. “Then what? You're just so honorable you want to help everyone, even if they're a murderer? There’s no other reason?” You press.

He steps over some brush, going off path to enter the church from the rear. “It's not that I'm honorable… I've made my own fair share of mistakes.” He groans, adjusting his hold on the little girl so that she's more comfortable. “It’s not fair to call you that either, everyone is a murderer nowadays. You might’ve even killed less people than we have.”

You click your tongue. “I doubt it.”

Even if you hadn’t killed anyone directly, in your eyes you were still responsible for the murders you let happen while you watched. If you hadn't stood for it, maybe things would have been different.

“Even so, that's not what it's about.” He looks down at the little girl in his arms, her sleeping face pressed up against his shoulder. “Doing what you think is right. Not for you, or for ‘them’, but for everyone. -Everyone deserves a chance.” He pauses for a moment before nodding to himself. “I have no way of knowing what you've been through, but I know that I've seen some pretty horrific things. -Had to DO horrific things just to survive.” His hands find their way up to cradle the little girl's head protectively. “If someone found Judith, in a terrifying world where she was alone like you, I'd want them to be respectful to her. Kind even.”

You hadn't been expecting such a long and meaningful answer to a question you had asked on a whim. “Huh, that's… actually really sweet.”

He opens the back door to the church and steps inside, holding the door open for you to enter behind him. “Gabriel!” He calls into the visibly empty church.

The man stands up from the middle of the church pews, turning to face the three of you as a look of recognition crosses his face. “Ah, welcome.” He greets, quickly walking over to you. “I assume you're here to help me today?”

Carl steps between you, setting Judith down on one of the pews as she stirs awake. “No, she’s going to spend the day with Rosita. We just stopped by because Judith was crying for another story from you. I think she said something about a duckling?” He lies, the dishonesty never quite reaching his features.

Gabriel nods, his smile fading slightly. “Of course, the ugly duckling is a riveting tale of perseverance and a great way to teach children kindness. -Not that Judith needs to be taught it, she’s quite a smart girl. I can honestly say that I enjoy reading to her.” He turns to you, giving you a nod of acknowledgment seeing as Carl had answered for you. “I wish you luck until we meet again.” He aspires.

“Uh, yeah… thanks.” You get uncomfortable, a feeling you can only describe as guilt invading your senses as Carl begins to leave the church. You turn to leave too, but stop in your tracks, balling up your fists at your sides and spinning back around. “If you ever actually need help around here, just let me know. I can do it.” You offer.

It feels wrong to lie to him, but it feels even worse that in lying to him you’re also avoiding responsibility. This is someone that actively made the choice to vote that you keep your life, no matter the reason behind his decision he deserves your respect. You can’t just leave him hanging.

Gabriel’s smile falls, his mouth parted slightly, but he’s only shocked for a moment before giving you a wide grin, patting your shoulder in an only slightly less creepy way. “Thank you, it would be of great help to me if you’d offer your time to the church.”

“It's, uh, no problem.” You dismiss. “Honestly, I just don’t want to be bored during the day, you know? I'm not a patient person.”

He gives you a knowing look as if to tell you he knows you're lying. “Of course. We can’t have you bored, can we? It’s the number one factor pushing children toward bad behavior.”

You feel the tips of your ears turning red with embarrassment. It’s weird to have someone talk to you like this, it reminds you of when you were younger before everything happened and the adults tried to clumsily dodge their way around cursing in your presence.

Carl pauses in the doorway upon seeing the interaction, his eyebrows raising in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting you to so readily offer your help so early into your stay here. In a few weeks, sure, but by then you’d have realized that everyone was just doing their best to survive. But helping now? …Maybe there’s more to you than he originally thought.

He shuts the door, standing outside to think for a few moments before you hurriedly follow out behind him.

It’s time to leave Alexandria.

*** (1)

Dwight steps beyond the limits of The Sanctuary, his boots crunching on the gravel as he clutches a shotgun in his hands, making his way over to where Negan is ordering around a group of Saviors loading up a singular truck.

“What are you doing?” He asks apprehensively, but it's more of a wake up call than an actual question.

The tall figure laughs, his leather gloved hands tapping on his forearms impatiently before he rips the gun from Dwight’s hands. “I need to pay Alexandria a visit.”

Dwight’s eyes flick over to the men loading the truck with weaponry and sighs quietly through his nose. “This isn’t a good idea. We don’t have enough men to keep facilitating pissing contests between you and Rick while half our cut population is rebuilding The Sanctuary and the other half is out there looking for your daughter’s rotting corpse.” He chastises.

Negan calmly puts the shotgun on his back by the strap and then spins around, gripping the other man by his face. “Now, I know I might be at fault for letting you talk to me like that during my little “moment”, but that doesn't mean you get to fuckin’ talk to me like I'm some piss-poor henchmen, Dwighty-boy.” He lowers himself to get closer to the other man's face. “So when I say bark, you best be fuckin’ barking. When I say hunt, you hunt, yeah?”

Dwight nods. “Yeah.”

Negan brings his other hand up to the other man’s neck and shakes him. “-And when I fuckin’ tell you to send all these bastards out into the woods to search for something, someone, corpse or otherwise, what do you do?” He questions, holding a hand up to his ear.

Dwight clenches the muscles in his jaw. “I do it.”

“And you?”

“Don't say shit.” He completes, the back of his neck turning red from shame. How had he ever genuinely taken orders from this asshole?

“Good,” He releases Dwight from his grasp. “Now I need to make this little trip, and when I get back I expect to see some kind of progression. I want good news, maybe make the genius make me a rocket launcher or some shit. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” He replies, disobedience burning in his gaze.

Negan turns away from Dwight, making his way down the stairs at the rear of The Sanctuary to his truck with a smug look on his face, climbing on the hood to address the group.

He whistles, gaining their attention as all eyes are immediately drawn to him. “Load up boys! I want squads out today too, bring me back that body and you'll be payed HANDSOMELY for it!” He spins around, pointing a finger at everyone around him. “And this isn’t just any piss poor payment, ladies and gentlemen, I can assure you! What I'm offering you will have you and your family set for LIFE.”

The men cheer and clap as Negan gets into the driver’s seat of the truck.

***

You stare up at the wall, it suddenly feeling much larger now that you're next to it. You can hardly imagine how the hell Enid managed to climb it herself, and so effortlessly at that. “Are you sure this is… safe? -For lack of a better term.”

He hands you a few metal poles, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. “I do it all the time.” He says, not quite answering your question. “Just be slow, take your time. I'm right here if you need any help.”

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you stick the first pole into the first slot and step onto it, balancing yourself. The slots in the wall's metal are larger than the polls so they rock when you step on them. You can tell that if you rocked too far or made a wrong move the pole would completely slip out, leaving you with nothing to hold onto. “Is there another fence outside of this, or if I fell on the other side would I be living dead chow?” You question, laughing nervously as you stick the next two polls in and continue to make your way upwards.

“Living dead?” A look of recognition crosses his features. “We call them walkers. -But yeah, you'd be toast.” He replies, his eye trailing down to your feet. “Slow down or you'll-”

Your foot slips as a result of your oversized borrowed shoes, nearly sending you plummeting back down. It's high enough that you'd certainly break a few bones if you fell the wrong way, but not high enough that you'd die.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” You cry with laughter, adjusting your grasp on the next few poles, your palms starting to burn from your death grip on them.

Carl comes over and sets a hand on the wall, unable to reach you. “It's okay, just focus, alright? I… I'm going to start climbing up behind you.” You hear him start making his way up, pulling out the poles to collect them as he does so.

Finally you've reached the top, the view out into the woods looking particularly beautiful after spending days in a dark cell. You let the wind push you around as you straddle the top of the wall, then stand, listening to the sounds of chirping birds. It’s calm, quaint. It reminds you of the view you used to get from The Sanctuary’s roof. You miss The Sanctuary…

“Hey,” You call down to him, furrowing your brow as you squint. “Who owns the big white truck?”

“What?” He pulls himself up onto the top of the wall, putting his arm out in front of you to push you back and get a good look at the truck billowing out thick dark smoke at Alexandria's gates. “That's… That's not one of ours.”

You turn to face him, the sight of the truck now making you feel sick. “Could it be from the other place? Hilltop?”

He seems at a loss for words. “I- I don't know. That's not like any other car we've ever used, it's too flashy.” He grabs your shoulder and turns you away from the scene. “Come on, let's hurry up and get back. I don't want to be away from here for too long.”

You nod, following him down to the other side of the wall. Once you're both on solid ground you turn towards him again. “If I could, I'd suggest going through the woods at least until we make it to civilization.”

That truck gave you a really bad feeling.

He draws his pistol, “Yeah, that was always the plan but now it's especially important you be as discreet as possible. Don't pull anything, or I actually will have to shoot you.” He reinforces. “And keep up.” He calls, sprinting off into the woods. You chase after him, clumsily ducking and dodging brush and branches because you aren't as familiar with the area.

In some places the forest is lush and full of green with birds and flowers, but a majority of the forest looks like a graveyard. It’s bleak and grey, ankle deep with rot and trees that look like they might collapse any day. You’d think no one ever came out here if it weren’t for the cute little carvings engraved on a few trees.

“So that girl, Enid, you and her sneak out here often?” You call up to him.

He groans softly, clearly not over the way their last interaction had gone. “We used to, but lately she’s been saying she doesn’t want to be out here. That the woods are more suffocating than the walls now.” His voice becomes strained, “She…” He lowers his volume, shoulders falling. “She changed. She doesn’t need me around anymore and we want two different things.”

“Maybe that’s true.” You lower your gaze, feeling a small ache in your chest. “Or maybe when the “war” is over you and her will get back together. She said things wouldn’t work out ‘right now’, so maybe later on things will get better and she’ll come back.”

You think you know that if she came back, he’d have no reason to hang out with you. The last time she’d come around he’d been so enveloped with her he hadn’t even noticed you were sitting there next to her, directly in front of him. Who needs a friend when they have a girlfriend? Especially if that friend is the lying piece of shit daughter of your enemy.

He lets out a long sigh. “I hope so, but even if she doesn’t need me anymore I really hope she’s happy. She deserves it after all she’s been through.” You see him make a strange movement with his arm, but you don't get very much time to consider why, as the branch he'd pushed out of the way swings back and nearly decks you in the nose.

You just barely react in time to hold up your arms and block your face. “You think maybe you could warn me the next time a branch is about to bitch slap me?” You say bitterly sarcastic, but he doesn't answer, instead staring off into space for a moment before yanking you up by the arm. “What? What is it?”

“Shh,” He hushes, stopping at the edge of the street before a small town. “Be quiet, we're here.”

Your eyes scan the street but find no sign of any “walkers”, instead the road is terrifyingly silent, more so than Alexandria. “Why are you shushing me? The streets are empty.” You whisper, then your eyes flick down and you see the charred remains of about dozen bodies of the living dead, a light smoke still filtering off of them. “Someone was just here.” You say, your heart starting to race at the terrifying realization.

“Yeah.” Once again, he yanks you by the arm, but this time down into the bushes as he picks up a hefty looking rock. “Trust me?” He asks, smiling awkwardly.

You smile back, glancing down at the hand wrapped around your upper arm. “I guess so, I mean, you didn't murder me at the bridge so why now?”

He angles his arm with a deep breath and throws the rock into the street, ducking down and pulling you closer to him by the arm.

But there’s nothing.

He holds you for a moment longer, the only sound in the woods being his own heavy breathing, his arm tightly clutched around your shoulders. Then he releases you, letting you feel the full absence of the warmth he’d just lent you. “Stay.” He orders, stepping out into the street, gun drawn out in front of him with his finger on the trigger.

“No, don't.” You call out with distress, clinging to his hand, but eventually he gets too far to hold on any longer and he slips from your grasp. He makes his way out, creeping into the middle of the street before standing up straight and spinning around to look for any sign of life. Even then though, there's no response to his presence.

He looks around before holding a finger to his lips and motioning for you to come out and follow him again. You stand up, dusting off your pants and making your way over to the sidewalk with him.

He creeps into the overgrown decorative plants in front of a store and lowers his upper body slightly. “Okay, just ‘round this, I think there's some kind of clothing store.” He explains, peering around the corner. After a moment of observing the street he abandons all stealth, walking out in the open towards it.

You look both ways to make sure the two of you truly are alone and then cross the street behind him with frustration. The store he's talking about has “Jessica's Boutique” written across the window in pink cursive lettering, the store looking like it had once been a bustling business but was now a complete wreck.

You see him reach for the door and nearly have a heart attack as you see the bell above it start to swing, but he quickly reaches up and grabs the tongue of the bell to prevent it from ringing. “I got it, I got it,” He whispers, motioning for you to go inside with a jut of his head.

You slip in beside him and lightly shut the door, glaring back at him. “What the hell was any of that?! Everything you just did was so fucking unecessarily risky!” You reprimand, but he just rolls his eye at you and leans up against the wall after clearing the room.

“Yeah well, we got here didn't we?” He looks over his shoulder with a paranoid face that you immediately take note of, despite his attempts to hide it from you with nonchalance. “Hurry and get what you need, this place is giving me a bad feeling today.”

You don't press further, instead starting to search through the store for anything of use.

*** (2)

The doors to the church fling open, slamming against the wall as someone struts their way into the room, their shoes thudding against the wooden floors.

Gabriel stands up straight, gently setting Judith down on a cushioned bench to intercept the person. “Hello, what can I—” He stops upon seeing who exactly it is that’s made their way into his church, their grin almost sickeningly wide as they parade their way in, the famed bat Lucille hanging limply over his shoulder.

“Hey, father. We didn’t exactly get to finish our little conversation did we?” Negan asks, slowly making his way into the center of the church’s pews. Gabriel moves to step down from the altar, but Negan holds up a hand to stop him, sitting down in the front row with a sigh. “You can stay right where you are. I’m not here to fight you.”

Gabriel clutches the sides of the altar giving a nervous glance to where Judith sits just feet away from the other man. She doesn’t look bothered by his presence, instead gnawing on the edge of a picture book. “Then what is it that you’re here for?”

Negan tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking for a moment before resting the bat at his side as if it were sitting next to him in the pews. “If I could be fuckin’ candid with you, what you asked me hasn’t left my mind since.” He looks up at the stained glass windows, beautiful scenes of life playing out in their pictures, but his eyes are immediately drawn to the red. The foreshadowing of death in every single picture getting clearer and clearer. “Every night those god damn words play back in my mind because I had no fucking clue what shit was about to happen next.”

Gabriel tips his head to the side, relaxing slightly as he recalls his failed attempt to get Negan to admit to his sins during their attack on The Sanctuary. “So you’re ready to confess? To tell me more about the woman you hurt, your… wife, was it?”

Negan laughs, “No, no, nothing I could ever say in such a short time would do that woman justice. She was truly a force to be reckoned with.” He winces at the mention of his wife, memories of the three of you and their marriage before the world flipped on its head flooding his senses. He feels as though he may actually tear up. “This is about a little girl.”

“A little girl?” Gabriel’s mind is invaded with horrible possibilities of what the man may confess. Still, he tries to keep himself measured, careful to remove all judgement from his voice. “This little girl, she was also your wife?”

“Oh, god no.” Negan answers simply, offended that someone might even think that of him, but he can't exactly be too mad either given his track record with women. “This girl was… someone I took in.”

He can't do it. He can't call you his daughter or he might just snap before he says what he needs to.

Gabriel gets more comfortable sensing that what the other man truly wants with him, is to confess some type of unforgivable sin. Now what that sin might be, he doesn't know, but given who Negan is, whatever he did must be particularly heinous to make him feel guilty about it.

He raises his head, looking down at Negan from the altar. “Tell me.” He advises softly.

Negan snorts, memories of you in your younger years, some from even before all this started passing through his mind in a flurry. It's hard for him to choose how to describe you in just a few words when you'd been so many things at once, but he feels like he has to in order for your life to be acknowledged.

“She was a sweetie. -A real fucking trouble maker, but she had the biggest smile I'd ever seen. It was all goofy and lopsided when she was younger, but as she got older it straightened out and you could just tell.” He feels the tears start to well up in his eyes again. “She was going to make for an amazing woman. Strong. Confident. She was kind and optimistic, almost to the point it made her stupid, but she always weasled her way out until…” He clenches his jaw shut, closing his eyes as he rubs his temple.

Gabriel feels himself start to tear up, the picture Negan was painting of an innocent little girl, getting to him. “Until?”

“The attack on The Sanctuary.” Negan swallows hard, pushing down the emotions that had seeped their way into his voice. “She tried to save the people there, you know? They told me after, she stood up on a table and screamed at the top of her lungs for everyone to get out, fought her way through the dead.”

Gabriel closes his eyes and lowers his head. “That's… unfortunate. She was a hero.”

Negan clicks his tongue a few times in a row. “Oh, no. That's not how she died. You think I'd be here in this shithole if it was?” He asks, gently stroking Lucille. “She would never die in such a lackluster way, if she did something, she went all out.”

Gabriel raises his head to look at the man once again. “Then… how?”

“She came running to save me. -Heard me yelling, probably.” He speculates.

He could picture it in his mind, you, running through that stupid horde of walkers only to get to him and find two even worse monsters.

“She was always a bleeding heart, trying to save people who didn’t deserve it. I know there’s at least twenty people at The Sanctuary that owe their lives to her, else I would'a killed them the second I found ‘em.” He snorts. “Like one of my men, Dwight. I wanted to strangle him and nail him to the fence, talked about it all damn day… But she got attached and I couldn’t… I couldn’t take him away from her. So… I had to find different ways to punish people.”

Gabriel parts his lips to say something of comfort when he stops, reminding himself of why the other man had come to him. “Confess.” He says simply.

Negan slowly raises his head, letting a singular tear slip down his cheek. “I was cornered after we talked, that bastard Daryl kept trying to shoot me, and then Rick that prick… There was no way out for me with everything going on at once…” He trails off, “But she came to save me.”

“Confess.” Gabriel pressures.

“I didn’t get a choice. I didn’t have any time to react.” Negan argues, running a hand through his hair. “She was shot and I… I wasn’t. Rick dragged me away from her, I tried to get back, believe me, I did. I would do anything if it meant I could've held her and comforted her, she was scared. I could tell.”

“Confess.”

“There were so many things she deserved that I didn’t give her. So many times I tried to suppress the child she was to make her grow up faster. I thought she needed it, I thought that was the only way.” He shakes his head, “I asked them to BEAT her, rough her up. -Grown men, beating a little girl bloody. She was just a kid, how could I have done that to her? If I had known this was all the time she’d get, I’d have given her the goddamn world. I should have done it anyway.”

Gabriel feels himself start to weep for the child you’d been. “Confess.” He demands for the final time.

Negan swipes a hand across his face, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “She was… shot. In the chest.” The image of you crying for him, your father, while you choked on your own blood still fresh in his mind.

Gabriel is startled by this. “The chest? This girl was shot in the chest?” He questions as a surge of panic shoots through his body.

“That bastard, Daryl, shot her.” He confesses. “I wasn’t there when she needed me. I left her and now she's… suffering in death because these idiots can’t find her body.”

The realization hits Gabriel like a truck. The girl is you. Negan is mourning the loss of a child that still walks among the living, a child they've been holding hostage in Alexandria. He can’t tell him that, but he can at least try to quell the guilt of the other man, give him a sliver of hope in the dark, can’t he? “Raise your head. You’ve no sins to confess.”

Negan lets out a long borderline villainous laugh, his arm coming up to clutch his side as he wipes away an imaginary tear of joy. “Oh, I know that. I'm not here to confess to MY sins.”

Negan's sharp change in demeanor is startling to Gabriel. “Pardon?”

“Rick. Ezekiel. Daryl. Everyone involved in that attack is responsible for her murder, and I fully intend there to be consequences.” Negan stands up from the pews, making his way over to where Judith is sitting.

Gabriel tenses, choking back words of protest. The gun in the church, where is the gun? He thinks, running back the days in his mind. Which row? Which book? Does he even have time to get there before something happens? He’s in a flurry of panic as he stands by, once again too weak to do anything except watch.

He stares down at the toddler, a phase in your life he hadn’t gotten to see, and his heart aches. Your time on this earth wasn’t supposed to be so short. “At first I thought about what I could do to Rick, somethin’ to make him fully understand the gravity of what he'd done.” He reaches out and gently strokes the little girl's soft chubby cheeks.

She smiles, babbling as she reaches out for him, clenching and unclenching her little fists to signify that she wants to be picked up by the man.

She recognizes him as the person who’d come over and made dinner, the man that held her on the porch and stuck little clips in her hair. She has no way of knowing what this same man had been considering just hours ago.

“But she wouldn't have wanted that.” He releases the little girl, approaching the altar. “So instead I came here to confess Rick's sins.”

Gabriel takes a step back, the bible in his hands slipping and falling to the ground with a loud thud. This interaction could have ended so differently, so tragically, if even a single thing had been different.

Negan continues, “He's going to be held accountable for his sins. I'm going to make sure of it. -Other people will get caught up in the crossfire, sure, but this isn't a choice anymore. He didn't leave me a choice when he took that little girl's life away.” He comes up and grips either side of the altar with his hands.

“Why confess if not to your own wrongdoings? Why do any of this?” Gabriel questions nervously. “There was no reason to have come all this way if you were only going to talk, no reason to tell me all of this.”

Negan releases the altar and turns to leave. “That's it, really.” He nods to himself, giving Lucille a swing. “I just wanted people to know why what's going to happen has to happen. I want them to know about her, so be sure you tell them.” He pushes open the doors to leave and Gabriel lets out a sigh of relief.

“I'll be sure to let them know.” He agrees, “She sounds like she deserves to be remembered.”

Negan pauses at this, hanging in the doorway. It’s a small nitpick, but it rubs him the wrong way. Deserves and not deserved? It's a mistake anyone might make, yet coming out of the other man's mouth with that look in his eyes…

“I fully intend to search this place top to bottom.” He grins, biting his bottom lip with irritation. “You better hope, pray, whatever the fuck, that I don't find you hiding her body here. Because IF I do, I can assure you, your sorry asses will regret it.”

Gabriel tenses himself up, hoping and praying just as Negan had suggested, that you were somewhere out of sight with Rosita as the church door slams shut and the other man begins storming around the grounds of Alexandria.

***(3)

A few pairs of mismatched and wrong size shoes later, you have yourself a semi-decent pair that at the very least won't slip off when you're climbing up the wall with those thin metal rods, a few sets of clothes that are a little too big, but not so much they'll hinder your movements, and a few sets of clothes that are perfectly your size.

You’re about to come back out from where you are when you see Carl standing by the front of the store, his gaze on the floor with a bittersweet look on his face, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

He looks… miserable. You observe him for another moment before quickly ducking back behind the counter and switching into one of your new outfits and shoes, stuffing everything else into a torn duffle bag you found behind the counter. Then with a sigh and a grain of salt, putting a ridiculous holiday headband on.

You step over a rat skittering across the floor, approaching him with a smile on your face to make him feel better (since technically it was you that had brought up his girlfriend dumping him). “Ta-da!” You announce, giving him a comical spin. “Rate my outfit? It’s a ten out of ten, isn’t it? I know it is.” You egg on. If what he needs right now is a clown, then you’ll be his goddamn clown.

Initially he doesn’t seem amused, so you take it up a notch, turning on the light up function of the leprechaun headband, shifting into a dance, and he finally bursts out laughing. “What the hell made you think that was a good idea?” He reaches out and pulls the headband off of you, turning it around in his hands to inspect it.

You shrug, batting your eyelashes at him. “I don’t know what you mean, I think that’s the best headband ever. It matches my shoes.”

He raises a brow, “Only if you’re color blind. Seriously, this might be the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen. You can’t honestly think this is cute, can you?” He asks, trying to hide the wide grin on his face.

You shrug with a wink and he shakes his head at you softly. “What’s gotten into you? Was there black mold back there or something?”

“If you really want to know,” You pull his hat down over his face, “I’m acting like this because of you.” You admit truthfully.

He pushes his hat back up, smiling. “Me? What did I do?”

You set a hand on the door, smiling coyly as you glance back at him over your shoulder. “I dunno know,” You say, feigning ignorance. You see a look of pure terror cross his face just as you push open the door and the bell rings out into the streets.

You reach up, trying and failing to grab the tongue of the bell as it rings loudly until finally it stops on its own. “Shit! Shit! I’m sorry.” You apologize. “I wasn’t trying to open the door to make the bell ring, I swear it was an accident!”

Here you are, messing everything up again. Why did you think you could make him feel better, and by acting like an incapable child at that? Your dad would be disappointed in you if he saw you cohorting with Rick's son like this.

He grabs your forearm, snapping you from your thoughts. “Shh, don’t panic. Don’t panic, I need you right now.” He tugs on your arm. “Come on, let’s go.” He instructs, his voice also racked with fear.

He’d been so careless earlier, and now with this additional noise if the people who left the bodies in the street were anywhere nearby they would definitely know you're here.

You step out into the street with him, still cursing at yourself, when he draws his pistol to open the magazine, loading a few more bullets into the gun. “When I say, both of us are going to run back to the tree line, okay? Be as quiet as you can but focus on getting out of here.”

You press the heel of your palm to your forehead, still ashamed of your own childishness. “Wouldn't it be better to hide?”

He shakes his head. “If there were more of us, or if someone knew we were out here, then yes, but as it stands we don't want to get cornered. I think running would be best, but if you want to hide–”

You quickly interrupt him, realizing your own mistake, “No, you're right. God, I'm such an idiot.” You chastise again, hitting your hand against your forehead to nail this experience into your mind.

You keep reprimanding yourself excessively and it's distracting him. He can't figure out the right moment to go, until all of a sudden his head snaps up and he hits you in the shoulder blade to get your attention. “Now!” He whisper-yells to you, taking off ahead.

You try to follow, but realize your footsteps are much louder. Anyone who saw or heard you, would probably soon after notice him right next to you. “Carl, I can't…” You start to explain, but he's too far away to be able to hear you.

So you make yet another poor decision and peel off from Carl’s trail, following him so loosely you start to lose sight of him once he gets beyond the treeline.

Branches and vines tangle around your ankles, slowing you down further, but eventually you look up and realize you can't see him at all. “Carl!” You call out, spinning around lost in the woods. “Carl, where are you?”

You see a figure come running from the distance. “Here!” He shouts, panting, “I'm right here.”

“Carl,” You pant, “I'm too loud when I run, -my footsteps, they're going to hear us.”

He rests a hand on the top of your head, looking around to inspect the forest for movement as he catches his breath. “We'll slow down then. I don't see anybody anyway. -If they were ever here, we probably lost them back there.” He speculates. “And it's only natural you're a little uncoordinated given your condition… don't be so hard on yourself.”

You nod with a pout on your face, looking up at his hand. It's strange to you that he acts so familiar, but the more he does it, you notice the less it bothers you.

He turns back towards you and follows your gaze to his hand, quickly yanking it back to himself. “Ah, sorry.” He apologizes, the back of his neck turning a light shade of pink. “Come on, let's get moving again.”

This time he waits for you before walking a few feet ahead, letting his gun guide him through the brush. —He looks like he belongs out here. All his movements are carefully calculated, every step he takes miraculously avoiding making noise despite his eye being focused on the walk ahead and not his feet.

It’s impressive, and it’s even more impressive to you that he’s able to slow himself down to your pace and still have his footsteps be completely tacet.

You walk in silence for a while, trying to copy his movements so you can learn them for yourself, until you remember what else he'd done for you just yesterday. He’d burst in and save you, and you hadn’t gotten to say anything back. I mean, you should say something, shouldn’t you? It can’t possibly get any worse than this.

You clear your throat to signify you're about to start speaking to him and he nods in response, eye still trained ahead. “I never got to thank you for saving my life yesterday with the voting thing... It… really meant a lot that someone cared enough to do that for me when everyone else was just letting it happen.” You say, the words that had left a heavy weight on your chest, lifted. “I mean, Daryl tried, but no one was really listening to him because they knew he wasn’t going to stop them.”

“Uh-huh,” He mutters, turning towards a bush and stepping around it to head in a different direction.

He seems completely disinterested in what you're saying, so you nervously go on. “You were nice to me. Way nicer than anyone else has been to me in, like, forever… I know you said we aren't friends, but I mean we… we kind of are, no? You save me, I save you, ‘round and ‘round in circles.” You laugh, feeling yourself start to sweat. “I don't see any real reason why we can't be. You never ACTUALLY listen to Rick...”

He uses his hand with the gun in it to push a drooping branch out of the way. “Yeah.” He agrees, still not paying attention to your words. Then it seems to register, his face twisting into one of confusion and disbelief. “Wait, what?”

You flounder, quickly trying to explain yourself without sounding like a complete lunatic. “I was just saying that–” An arrow buzzes just a few inches from your shoulder, pinning your shirt to the tree you'd been walking past.

For a moment you're frozen, body paralyzed by fear as your eyes trail down to the familiar thin angled shape once again just barely missing the opportunity to end your life.

“Carl,” You call out to him, voice shaking. “Carl stop.”

He stops walking and glances back at you, startling as he sees the arrow trapping you. “What happened? Where did it come from?” He says in a hushed tone, running up to stand next to you with his gun aimed in the opposite direction the arrow is pointed.

You desperately yank at the arrow, but it’s sunk deep into the solid wood. “Over there, I didn’t even see it, coming and then it—” The bushes where the arrow originated shift, someone quickly rushing towards the two of you from a distance.

“Shit,” He seethes, reaching up and yanking at the arrow, equally desperate, but he also can't dislodge it. You reach up and help tug on it together, but even then it doesn't budge. “We don't fucking have time for this!” He curses under his breath, tearing the pinned piece of your shirt to free you.

You quickly reorient yourself and the two of you start running, trying and failing to be stealthy about making your escape. You feel another arrow whizz by your head, then a shot fires in your direction, barely missing your neck. The bag slung over your shoulder is weighing you down and preventing you from keeping up with him.

Carl glances back at you, hearing the shot pulling you down into the brush. “Ditch the bag.” He instructs, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a revolver, handing it to you. “We're going to have to split up, we're too noisy together.” He pauses, giving you an apologetic look. “Turns out you were right all along, we should have hidden and then escaped through the back.”

You stare down at the gun in his hands. “Are… are you sure? What if I just take off instead of going back to Alexandria with you?”

He shakes his head, taking the safety off of his gun. “I said I'd take responsibility, and I meant it. You can do that, but I guarantee someone gets killed because of it.”

You nod, eyeing the woods before snatching up the gun and sprinting in two different directions. He goes left, and you go right. What's terrifying though, is that the movement in the woods doesn't seem to fracture off or splinter in the slightest at this change. The people you thought were chasing after and shooting at the two of you, aren't interested in Carl in the slightest. They want you. They're chasing YOU.

You try to evade them and the movements get fewer and farther between until the brush thins out and you can tell there's only one person remaining on your trail.

It doesn’t take very long before they catch up and you swing around to face them, but to your surprise this one is a face you know.

“Simon?” You call out, feeling your heart start to calm down at the sight of him. It's just Simon, the man you'd grown up with around The Sanctuary, a man your father trusts. “Why did you shoot at me?”

He shakes his head, averting his eyes from yours. “Nuh-uh, see, I'm not going to let you try and manipulate me. You know very well why I have to kill you.” He says plainly, lifting his arm up with a gun in hand.

You quickly move out of the way and the bullet pierces through your shoulder, causing you to scream at the top of your lungs. You fall to your knees, looking up at him. This man had helped raise you, yet here he was trying to kill you under the most confusing circumstances. “Stop, please! What's happening, why are you doing this?!” You shriek.

He starts to approach you, reloading his gun. “HEY! Stop it with the screaming, alright? Don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I'll make this fast, just for you.” The gun clicks into place and he raises it, aiming at your forehead. “Goodnight, Eli.”

Those words, the same special, innocent words he'd said on multiple occasions tucking you into bed as a child, now have a whole new meaning. He'd been so nice to you, spent so much time helping and teaching you, you'd always thought of him like an uncle. How could he do this to you?

You close your eyes bracing yourself for the shot when he pulls the trigger and the gun jams. You don't waste another second getting up and sprinting away from as fast as you can.

Once again, you don't get very far, because you are completely and utterly lost now that you've been turned around. You try to find carvings in the trees, but there’s none where you are. Every. Single. Goddamn. Tree. Is. Blank. –And to make matters worse your arm is bleeding heavily, practically gushing.

“Ca–” You cut yourself off, coughing through the pain of your burning throat, unable to scream any longer.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else heard you anyway.

A man stares at you from a few feet away, grinning from ear to ear. It's the man that stood up to you when you tried to evacuate The Sanctuary. “Well, look at that.” He taunts, stepping closer. You turn to run only to get a wave of nausea, nearly tripping over your own feet and falling, but you catch yourself before you fall, glaring at him. “Oh, you poor thing. Come here.” He coos, wrapping an arm around your neck and squeezing.

You pry at his arm. “Let go! Let me the fuck go!” He groans at your struggle, shoving his fingers into your open gunshot wound. You scream again and it feels like you've shredded your vocal chords. You reach for the revolver Carl gave you and shoot him in the foot.

He yells, throwing you down on the ground. “You little bitch!” He shouts, reaching down to clutch his injured limb. “You’ll pay for this. -For all of this, and for everything that’s happening to the people of The Sanctuary right now!”

You lift the revolver again and he kicks it from your grasp, just feet away, pouncing on you. “Me? I tried to save you! All of you! You were the asshole that stopped me! You killed those people!” You argue, fighting back as he tries to pin you down.

He punches you across the face, splattering your blood on the forest floor. “Thirteen kids! Thirteen, all dead because of you!” He cries, punching you in the chest. Immediately a red spot forms in your shirt, the blow shocking you just long enough that he gets his hands around your neck. “You took up time! You took up medicine and food while everyone else starved, and why?! What the hell is so special about you?”

You cough, pulling his arms away from your neck using the last of your strength. “And what happens when my dad finds out you pricks killed me? Huh? What are you going to tell him?”

His frown fades into a wide smile, stunning you. “Oh, you poor, poor thing. I don't have to explain a thing to him, that's the best part.” He laughs. “Your luck finally ran out. Negan declared open season on your dumbass.”

“What?” Your hands slip, allowing his to wrap around your neck fully.

He squeezes tight enough to hurt you, but not enough to kill you just yet. “Yeah, it was great. -Only thing he wants is your body back.” He reminisces with a smile on his face, eyes glazed over with joy. “I could do whatever I want to you, and he'd fucking THANK me with a smile on his face.” His hand plays with the hem of your shirt for a moment before making its way upward.

You kick him as hard as you can, shutting your eyes and walking yourself through the advice Dwight had given you years ago about being strangled, trying to ignore his presence.

The man sees your attempts to disregard him and tries to get your attention again. “He's going to reward me. Your own father is going to reward me for this, isn't that funny?” He taunts. “You should have to pay for your crimes. For his crimes.” He punches you in the chest again. “Answer me!”

A shot fires and the man yells, letting go of you to clutch his freshly wounded shoulder.

Carl shoves the man off of you, trying to pull you up to run away, only to be yanked into the fight himself. The two of you are just teenagers, trying to fight off a grown man.

You manage to slip your way out of the fight, weakly crawling to where the revolver had been kicked aside. “I'm sorry,” You whisper to yourself, starting to cry. “I'm so sorry.” You don't even know what you're apologizing for yet.

“You think this is over? You think you can just get away with everything after everything I've lost?” He cries, wrapping his arms around Carl’s neck, sealing his own fate.

You stumble up behind him, aiming the gun at his head. Carl makes eye contact with you and nods, encouraging you to shoot the man despite your sobbing. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” You repeat, hands shaking as you fire the gun.

It doesn’t kill him. He cries and pleads with you not to shoot him again, but you can't stop now, can you? Not with his head open like that. “I'm sorry,” You fire again. “Oh, god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” And again. “Please make it stop, I'm sorry.” You sob, and finally it's over. You've done it.

Your first kill.

Carl pushes the man aside and comes over to where you're crying, observing your beaten form for a while before he rests a hand on your back. “You had to, he was hurting you, you don't know what he was going to–”

You smack his hand away. “My dad wants me dead. It's never going to stop, they're all going to…” You trail off. “My own FAMILY. The Saviors are going to…” You pant, running a hand through your hair. “I-I can't do this! What do I do?” He tries to reach out for your injured arm, but you pull away again. “You were right, I'm just a stupid ass kid! I can't do this without them! I miss my dad! I need–”

“Stop for a second.” He wraps his arms around you, gently using his hand to push your head into his shoulder as he softly hums to you.

You melt into him, finally able to relax enough to regain rational thought as you get a second to breathe. It feels... strangely safe in his arms. He just keeps saving you doesn't he?

You try to shake such thoughts from your mind and focus on your current predicament. “A-a squad is usually upwards of seven men. We need to get out of these woods before someone else finds us and...” You look down at the man on the ground. “Him.”

Carl nods, pulling back to lightly cup your cheeks, brushing some of your hair out of your face as he inspects the severity of your injuries. “Mhm, yeah, but are you going to be okay? With… all of this?”

“I…” You stare into his eye for a moment, trying to think of a way to answer that won't give away how you're actually feeling in the moment. “I can't afford to not be okay right now. If we don't get moving I'll bleed out.”

He sighs and releases you from his grasp, seeming to realize the way his hands had just been all over you. "Right, sorry. We need to get you treated as soon as possible." He agrees. "Come on, let's go."

***(4)

Negan stands at the gates of Alexandria, massaging his brow. “That's really it then, isn't it? She's not here.” He sighs, trying to hold back the tears coming to his eyes and instead letting out a hearty chuckle.

He can't believe he let himself think you were alive, even for a second. It was stupidly, no, criminally ignorant.

Rosita sets her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “Yeah, that's it. She's not here, so why are you still?” She hisses at him.

Gabriel doesn't say anything, afraid that whatever he says might push the man over the edge and break the little amount of peace he's found.

“Right,” He agrees, staring off into the distance. “Why am I still here, that's the question isn't it?” There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to why the world took you and Lucille, but left him, the worst of the worst alive.

Rosita quirks a brow, unable to tell why he's blankly staring up at the sky. “What?”

Negan shakes his head, watching the gate slide open and stepping through it. “Nothing. Just remember; I'll be back for Rick.” He points a finger, wagging back and forth. “This isn't going to slide, sweetass.” He calls back.

Rosita steps forward, but not beyond the gate. “What the hell did you just call me?”

Negan glances back over his shoulder, smirking and winking at her. “I was talkin’ about the priest, sweetheart, don't get your panties in twist.” He jokes, blowing the other man a kiss. “See you next time, father… Or should I call you daddy?”

He's overcompensating for his grief with humor, something he'd used as a crutch when dealing with the loss of Lucille except now it's much, much worse because he mourns two people– his whole family, instead of one.

Gabriel doesn't say anything in response to that, watching as the other man steps into his truck and begins making his way down the road. Then he calmly turns to Rosita. “What… the fuck.”

“That man is a complete psycho…” She sighs, then she sees the two beaten forms emerging from the woods and instantly becomes alert. “Where the hell were you, Carl?!” She shouts, stepping outside.

You turn to Carl, staring up at him as he just smiles nervously in response.

You had no way of knowing your father had just been where you stand, looking for you alive just minutes ago.

Chapter 12: Peaches

Notes:

Carl kept something from last chapter and it's in his back pocket (for now).

 

Peaches; Sweet young flesh, they don't last very long, only about five days if not cared for properly, they represent immortality/longevity and luck.

Warning(?): Mentions of underage drinking

Carl shuts the cooler he's bent over, coming around the corner to where you're sat down on the couch, your knees tightly pulled up to your chest with your face buried in them. He waits for a moment, worried about touching you when it was something you clearly hadn’t enjoyed the last time he’d done it wrapping your chest, but then he gently moves your hair out of the way to put an icepack on the front of your neck.

“There you go.” He mutters, backing off.

Rosita had already patched the two of you up for the most part, but she declined all of the lies Carl offered as an explanation for why you'd both been beaten so badly.

“When Rick gets back he might just put you back in that cell and throw away the key, you know that?” She approaches where you've been quietly crying for the past half hour and lightly slaps you on the back of the head. “Him I expect, but you? You knew how precarious your situation was. I heard you out, tried to be understanding, and look where it got me. -You don't even want to bother explaining what happened to me?”

You don't respond, clinging to the sides of your shirt with a glare. She’s been nothing but condescending and mean since your return— and the way she patched you up was rough to the point it bordered on being careless.

She scoffs at your behavior, rolling her eyes as she walks away from you. “Of course you don't. Christ, maybe he should lock you up, we don't really know anything about you.” She cracks open her flask of water, but doesn't even get to have a drop before she continues to ramble with frustration. “I didn't want you dead but that doesn't mean you can't be incarcerated. That'd probably be safest anyway, looking at you right now the person you'd be the biggest threat to is yourself.”

Carl snaps his head up at this, “Hey, don't–”

“Shut up, I'll get to you in a minute. The only reason she's going first is because I had high hopes, and she failed first day.” She seethes, glaring at him, then she directs her rage back to you. “You do a lot of random risky shit like this when you were a Savior?”

She lets the question sit, giving you time to answer, but you still don't.

You HAD done a lot of things that were risky, but nothing you hadn’t been told to, nothing your father hadn’t signed off on. You’d walked across telephone lines above streets that were basically pits of walkers, covered yourself in the guts of the dead and walked through them, and slept out in the open just for the hell of it, —because all those things made you stronger in your father’s eyes, and you’d walk through fire if it meant something to him.

She huffs at your silence, “I bet not. They would have killed your weak ass in a heartbeat. -They don't like liabilities.” She concludes. “So why us, hm? You think we won't do the same thing? That we won’t put you down if we have to? We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again. Keep testing us and you'll find out just how cruel we can be.”

The door opens and in storms Daryl holding the duffle bag you'd ditched at the entrance of Alexandria after retrieving it from the woods.

“The hell is goin’ on in here? What's all this crap doin’ on the–” He pauses upon seeing your huddled form and blood stained shirt. “Holy shit. Gabriel, what the fuck kind of work did‘ya do at the church?”

Gabriel startles at his name, shaken from the thoughts swirling in his mind. “No, it wasn't me.” He quickly shakes his hands in the air in denial. “She and Carl left the walls and came back like that.”

He decided not to tell the rest of the group about your close relationship to Negan, at least not until he understood the dynamic between you and the man.

“Jesus…” Daryl taps on your shoulder to get your attention. He can’t see the full extent of the beating you took, but he can tell it’s bad. There’s dirt all up the back of your shirt like you were dragged across the ground, and cuts littered all across your body from the forest floor— he’d think you’d fallen out of a tree or in a ditch if it weren’t for the bruising on your face and your busted lip. “Hey, y'alright?” He calls gruffly, but you remain locked in place. He narrows his eyes and turns his attention back to the other adults in the room, sitting on the arm of the couch next to you in solidarity. “Did you get a hold of Rick?”

Rosita claps her hands together, pursing her mouth into a thin, sarcastic line. “We called two hours ago. He's on his way, but he and Michonne were getting far out. They almost got to where they think the weapons cache is...” She glares at you and Carl. “You hear that? You might have just cost us this fight.”

The worst part about Rosita reprimanding the two of you is that everything she’s saying is a hundred percent true. You really may have just cost them this fight, and it might have devastating consequences.

Carl opens his mouth to respond to Rosita's bitter attitude, but is cut off by his father entering the room with a panicked look on his face. “Dad?” He calls out to him, and the moment Rick spots him, his eyes become glossy.

The man quickly rushes to his son and pulls him into a tight hug. “Carl.”

At the sight of Rick, everyone seems to relax a little bit. Finally, their leader by choice has returned home and can get things sorted out. Hopefully he can make sense of the excuses Carl keeps providing.

Rick pulls back, leaving his hands on his son, stroking the bruising on Carl’s neck. Two and a half hours, yet they've already darkened.

“Tell me what happened.” Rick says simply, his voice low and dangerous.

Carl hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, then raises his voice so that you can hear the story he's telling and go along with it for now.

“We saw the truck coming on our way to Rosita and Eli told me it looked like one they used at The Sanctuary. I-It seemed like a bad idea to let the Saviors know we had her so soon, so I took her outside the walls.” He searches his father's face for any sign of doubt before continuing, “-We were just going to wait them out, but…” He pauses, shaking his head. “There were walkers and they pushed us back. I know you said not to, but we went into the woods to get away and there were Saviors out there. They tried to kill us. -Well, her, actually.” He corrects, cocking his brow.

Rick gives Carl’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. He can tell that Carl isn't telling him everything, but with years of having a cop for a father Carl has found ways to dull his father's suspicion. So Rick gives Carl the benefit of the doubt and lets it go.

“You can't- You can't run off like that. What if you'd been hurt? Or worse, …bitten?” He shakes his head, “I can't lose you Carl. I can't lose you.” He kisses the top of his son's head preciously, stroking his hair, face full of anguish. The boy looks so much like Lori it pains him.

Carl flushes with embarrassment, nervously glancing at the others in the room. “Dad, stop…” He groans weakly. He almost feels guilty for thinking that his dad is embarrassing him, when just a few hours ago they were both risking their lives for the good of the group. “Did you hear what I said? The Saviors were after HER. They wanted to kill her because Negan told them to. She’s not one of them anymore.”

Gabriel tightens his mouth into a narrow line.

“I heard.” Rick sighs, turning to look at you. “The problem is that I'm not sure where that leaves us with… her.”

“The exact same place.” Rosita shrugs, interjecting their conversation. “They want her dead, right? So we can still trade her if that's what everyone agrees on.”

Rick grimaces, giving Carl a glance. “Not yet, I want to hear what happened from her.” He slowly walks over to where you're balled up on the couch, shaking you by the shoulder. “Hey, come on, I need to talk to you.”

You look up at him with a glare, exposing your beaten and bloodied face with tears running down your cheeks. That's where the worst of it is– your face and throat. Rick knows from experience that usually when someone targets the face, it's personal, especially when the goal, according to Carl, was to kill you.

“What's there to talk about? Put me back in the cell, it's all my fault.” You confess, “There's nothing left. The Sanctuary is gone and my family wants me dead.”

Rick's mouth parts and then clamps shut. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of response out of you, anger, maybe, but all he sees is a sad, scared child. You aren't acting like a typical cocky, ruthless Savior and it's throwing him off.

He lowers his voice, motioning for everyone else to disperse as he takes a gentler approach, kneeling down in front of you. Once everyone has left except Daryl, he gently nudges your arm. “Hey, look at me.”

You rest your face on your arm and look up at him, still crying silently. It's difficult for him to look at you, the sight of a beaten little girl tugging at his heartstrings and reminding him of all kinds of awful experiences from his days as an officer, but he tries to seperate the two.

You're a killer. A monster. He has to remember that. You CAN be both a scared little girl and a monster at the same time, but… you remind him of too many people. Just your very existence is proof of the fate his own children could've had if he hadn’t been around for them.

He pauses for a moment, his hand creeping its way up until he wipes away your tears, his voice coming out softly. “Listen to me. -It is not your fault. Nothin’ that happened today was on you.”

Your eyes widen. “But if I hadn't been here, Carl wouldn't have–”

He interrupts you, narrowing his eyes. “Doesn't matter. -Not. Your. Fault.” He emphasizes, “If you weren't here right now, I'm sure there would be a lot more people dead. Remember that, kid, you got here because you warned us. Helped us. For days on end, not knowin’ what was going to happen to you because of it.”

You lower your gaze, the tears streaming down your face slowing down. “You said if I got you guys into trouble you'd do what you had to.” You remind him.

“And I-” He bites the inside of his cheek. “-I shouldn't have said that to you. It was wrong.” He gets a little more comfortable wiping away your tears, resting the palms of his hands on your cheeks. “You deserve my respect until you've done something to lose it, and I'd be damned if you hadn't worked hard to get it in the first place.”

You laugh slightly at this, loosening your grip on your knees until they fall and you're sitting criss-cross. “I did try really hard.” You admit, a lilt entering your voice.

He smiles at you, eyes taking in the way your features change when your mouth is turned upwards into a genuinely happy smile. It's a face he hadn’t seen on you before, and in that moment he decides that he can't send you back to the Saviors. Ever.

Not to trade, not for safety, -not even if you're dead because of some kind of horrible accident. He's not sending you back.

You really are just a kid, no matter what you've done, and he can't accept sending you back to your death. -Not after seeing you clumsily stumble around life like a baby deer, awkwardly navigating around situations you should have already experienced at your age. You remind him of his son in some capacity, except in his son's case he forced himself to grow up too fast. You didn't get a choice, and god knows what kind of horrors you've witnessed.

“That's right.” He agrees, ruffling your hair. “You've got potential, and I'm not lettin’ it go to waste.”

You feel a rush of adrenaline you hadn’t been expecting at the man's words, his confidence that somehow YOU had potential that he needed around Alexandria.

You nod in agreement and he turns to Daryl, who's still sitting on the arm of the couch that your back is toward, his arm resting on the back of the couch at your side. “Take her home, okay? Let her get some rest. -With her injuries and the reopened chest wound she shouldn't be workin’ for at least three days.” Rick advises.

Daryl scoffs, throwing his arms into the air. “You think I don't know that? I was just goin’ to bring her home.” He claims, and his hands slip under your arms and knees. You're about to ask what he's doing when he scoops you up and adjusts you in his arms, cocking a brow at your stiff form. “Ain't you just itchin’ to get comfortable? Put your arms around my neck.”

You quickly do as you're told but give him a skeptical look. “Don't drop me. Seriously, I don't think I can take anymore damage today.” You plead.

“Drop you?” He scoffs. “Who the hell do ya’ think carried you here when I shot you? I ain't gonna drop you.” He's carried plenty of other girls your size before, in fact, you're younger than the last one he lugged around, yet you seem more afraid than she had been. “You seem antsy again, want me to put you down?”

You think about it for a moment, reminding yourself of the pain shooting through your legs. “No, I… guess not.”

Carl comes around the corner to watch you go, Judith in his arms and a sappy smile on his face that Rick immediately clocks.

You smile back at him and he holds Judith's arm up, cooing to her to tell her to wave goodbye to you.

Daryl carries you outside, your arms tightly clung to him like your life depends on it. It takes you a few minutes to get used to the feeling of relying on the man to keep you from hitting the ground, but once you untense your muscles and relax into him, it's actually… nice. Soothing, even.

Rick turns towards his son after shutting the door behind the two of you. “Carl, we need to talk.” He says, tension in his voice.

Carl worries for a moment that his father had caught him in his lie, but after a few minutes pass and his father doesn't say anything, he realizes he's in the clear. “Okay...?”

Rick massages his brow with anxiety and frustration. “I said not to talk to her and you just keep breaking that rule…” He reprimands. “Even before I told you, you knew it was wrong, that's why you had to sneak around. I let it slide at first, but... but this? Today? This is too far.”

Carl groans, rolling his eye. “God, dad, you need to stop being so overprotective. I can take care of myself. I'm not going to get attached to her, I promise.”

“No,” Rick denies, pointing an accusing finger at his son. “Not you, Carl, her. She's getting attached to you, I can tell.” He pauses and takes in Carl's stunned demeanor. “Didn't you ever even consider that as a possibility? -I'm not just lookin’ out for you. That girl needs help, she's not like you. She's probably afraid and feeling lost, and she’s already backed into a corner. —Let’s say she goes back, right? What if she decides she doesn’t want to go alone anymore, drags you down with her because she wants you around now?”

“I… She's…” Carl sets Judith down on the couch, handing her a doll. “She's not getting attached to me. She's just bored. —And trust me, if you saw what I did earlier, you’d know she’s never going back.” He denies.

Rick stares his son down, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. You said you'd take responsibility? We'll see what happens when it comes down to it, just like we always do. Just know I’m going to look out for you and the others before her.” He sighs, “Is there anything else you need to do today or can I ground you?”

Rick had become used to the fact that if Carl had something he wanted to do and he wasn't supposed to leave the house, he'd just sneak out anyway. So he decided to add a level of transparency to their relationship and let Carl do what he needed as long as he told the man where he was going.

Carl reaches for his back pocket, checking something and then shakes his head. “I need to do one more thing. -Outside the walls.”

His father sucks in an irritated breath. “Outside? Again? You…” He sighs, trying to calm himself down and think rationally. “Alright. Take Michonne with you? She needs something anyway.”

Carl's mouth turns up into a smirk. “Is it protein bars?”

He'd said it in a joking manner, partially to distract him and partially because it was too good of an opportunity to make the joke, but when his father doesn't answer instead rolling his eyes, Carl starts laughing. “Oh my god, it totally is, isn't it? Stealing Morgan's wasn't enough?”

“She only took one.” Rick defends, face still serious as ever. “That was forever ago.”

Carl clutches his sides with pained laughter. "Yeah, the last one!” He exclaims in a fit of laughter that quickly turns to coughs.

“The last peanut butter one.” Rick corrects. “You weren't even in the room at the time, how do you know about this?”

***

Daryl sets you down on the couch before entering the kitchen once again. It seems almost like a routine to you, he comes home and he drinks, –at least often enough that he's only minimally inconvenienced by his hangover the next morning.

There's the rustling of something from the kitchen and he raises his voice so you can hear him, “You ain't sleepin’ on the couch tonight.” He retrieves a bottle from underneath the cabinet, grumbling to himself. “There's another room upstairs… It's all bones, but you can have it.”

Your own room? You feel a slight jolt of panic at the thought you might be staying here –away from your dad– for long enough that you'd need your own room. “I-I mean, I don't really NEED a room, do I?” You ask nervously.

He enters the living room and sits down on the couch next to you, holding a bottle of scotch with one hand and two cans in his other. “You do,” He pauses, seeing the worried look on your face and realizing what you mean. You'd said the Saviors were like your family, so of course you'd worry about being seperated. “Gah… People used to stay in fancy hotels all the damn time. This isn't any different, your passin’ through and you need a place to lay your head down, that's all.” He holds out one of the cans to you, a can of peaches.

You take the can and roll it around in your hands, enjoying the familiar feeling of metal ridges. “I thought you said you weren't going to take care of me?”

“I'm not.” He averts his eyes from you, tensing the muscles in his upper body as he tries to block the name that comes to mind everytime he looks at you. –You aren't her, he knows that. You don't look or sound like her, but your spirit, your attitude towards life is uncannily similar to her’s. “I let you sneak out with a boy and get your ass kicked, and I'm about to let you drink. -That's not taking care of you.”

You glance down at the bottle in his hands with a snicker. “Some would argue it is. It’s like… pain management. -I’ve been all beat up, and I just can’t take it.” You recite dramatically.

He sighs deeply, trying to hide his smile as he opens the bottle to take a swig. You watch, eagerly awaiting your turn to drink when he pulls the bottle away from himself and gives you a weary look. “You sure this is alright? When you drank before, did’ya take shots or what?”

You ignore the question, instead inserting your own question about his choice of pairing. “Scotch and peaches?” You question with a lilt, “Never seen that before… You make it up?”

He frowns, catching on to your attempt to distract him. “You ain’t drinkin’ anything ‘till I get some answers. I need to know you aren’t goin’ to collapse and die if I give you some’a this.” He dangles the bottle above your head, “Talk.”

“Fine…” You groan, rolling your eyes, but then you get an idea, smirking. “I’ll tell you, but I say we make it a game.”

He freezes for a moment, eyes scanning you critically. There you go again, acting exactly the same way she had, that beautifully playful attitude even when things are serious. —He would start to wonder if all girl’s your age act this way, if it weren’t for cool and melancholy Enid.

He uses a hand to tussle his hair, trying to stifle the emotions building within him. “Shit, it’s like you’re doing this on purpose…” He mutters to himself.

You can't hear what he said. “What?”

He finally snaps. “No games. Ever. -We ain't friends.” He pulls the bottle away from you where it had previously been dangling above you. “You tell me what I need to know, or you don't get your way. That's how this works.”

He sounds so bitter, you hadn’t expected him to reject you when you were trying to be playful. –If anything you'd expect the people of Alexandria to hate you more when you're miserable and at your weakest.

“Okay, jeez...” You apologize, lowering your gaze. The memory he's asking you to recall isn't a hard one, it's just not something you've ever had to articulate.

You glance off to the side as you recall the events of that day. “The first time I drank I stole it from my dad. -I dunno why, it was just… it looked pretty with the light reflecting through the glass, and my dad always seemed more relaxed after he'd had a glass on a tough day. I just… wanted to understand.” You pause, frowning, “That was after everything started. I was thirteen.” It had made you violently ill pretty much immediately.

Negan never left his alcohol unsupervised after that day. In fact, the only time he let you drink after that was single shots of watered down alcohol when everyone else drank in celebration, and he never offered it to you or let you out of his sight once you had drank.

His eyes soften. “After you stole it, you kept on drinking?” He asks, starting to understand you a little better. You were just a helpless little kid seeking comfort when everything started, so you soothed yourself the only way you'd seen how.

“Every now and then… I've had a lot of hard days.” You swallow, feeling guilty as you realize you're about to drink for the first time without your dad's supervision. “I can handle a glass or two.”

He slowly hands you the bottle. “Eat some of the peaches first, and then pour half a glass's worth in. You shouldn’t be drinkin’ on an empty stomach at your age.” He turns away from you, staring off into space. “And no, I didn't make that up. It was pretty common in Georgia, lots of people there did it, but usually the peaches were fresh.”

You pluck a cold wet peach from the can and put it into your mouth, letting it melt and its soft flesh come apart as you close your jaw, licking the juice off of your fingertips. “‘S good, even if it isn't fresh.” You trail off, savoring the taste until it vanishes.

You don't remember if you've ever had peaches, and for some reason that thought pains you more than your injuries do.

You ball up your fists with frustration. “...I know I'm going to die someday, be forgotten, but it's kind of crazy to me that everything else is just… gone. -Dying isn't anything new, but everything else around us seemed so permanent.”

Even today, your life had nearly been taken from you in an instant. If that gun hadn't jammed…

You shake your head, “I-I can remember being taken to grocery stores and doctor's offices, seeing people go to the movies, and bars… I never got to that bit. -I never will. Everything we ever knew is gone. All our wishes, hopes, and dreams burned when the dead started walking.” A tear you didn't know you'd been holding back slips down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away, reminding yourself of what your dad had always told you. “Well, for people your age anyway.”

Daryl turns to look at you, eyes glazed over with tears as he watches you finish off all except one peach, your eyes staring down into the can.

“I mean, there's gotta be someone left though, right? -At the end when everyone else is gone?” You let the question hang in the air, imagining all the possibilities of who it might be and how they might go out. It seems likely they'd end it all themselves, I mean why would anyone want to live in a world full of monsters? You suck in a tense breath, “Whoever they are, they're one unlucky motherfucker.”

“Go to bed.”

You don't try to fight him on it, setting the can down without ever getting a single lick of scotch. “Yeah, okay.”

You set the can down on the floor, snatching up the duffle of clothing and starting to make your way up the stairs when Daryl calls out after you, “Night, peach.”

For a moment you freeze just beyond his view. Peach? Why had he just called you…? –You hadn't eaten the peaches in a particularly delighted way, so it wasn't like he was calling you by the name of your favorite food. Did that mean it was… a term of endearment? You consider turning back around to say something else, but you don't. These people are weird, and you're oddly used to it now.

“G'Night.” You say back, quickening your pace up the stairs.

He swipes a hand across his face, taking in and releasing a deep breath to calm himself. While he was listening to you speak he was suddenly hit with an overwhelming grief that he couldn’t understand. A dull ache in his chest that made him want to cry– but he still couldn’t call it sadness. It was more… complex than that.

It was bittersweet in a way that almost made him want to smile, but the feeling was tainted by the shadow of death. And that upset him, that now he can’t think of his own memories without recalling the twisted end.

Glenn had once told him the meaning of peaches in Korean culture while they were elbow to elbow, covered in slop and geek blood, eating out of cans around a fire. He'd just said it in an attempt to keep conversation going, and Daryl hadn’t thought about that night again until you had started rambling. —Afterall it had just been one routine night of many, and it all sort of blurred together.

When Glenn was talking, of course, his eyes were clearly on Maggie. A young, sweet woman, she knew how to care for herself– surely, she'd last long, he said. And he'd been right.

At the time, if Daryl were to have placed his bets on anyone, let anyone be his peach, his sure thing… He would have said Beth. That girl deserved to live. She was the beautiful light in the darkness that always kept morale high even just by flashing a small smile.

At the farm, her life was a motive to keep going. At the prison, her singing was a reason to get out of bed and keep pushing along. Even at the hospital, she still made sure that Noah was safe with them. She cared. She was so strong in so many ways, and even after losing everything, she lived.

But Glenn had been right. If you don’t care for a peach properly… they rot.

***

You set the duffle bag on the floor, taking in the sight of the room he’d offered to you. For the most part it’s empty, other than the mattress sitting on the floor… and the large, black graffiti symbol on the wall at the head of the bed— A mark you recognize as the Saviors having cleared out a place.

It hits you suddenly; They ransacked every single house, didn’t they?

How had your father let this happen? —No, how could he have MADE this happen? How could he have done this to them, to you? His own daughter, and he asked the Saviors to hunt you down and bring back your corpse. He essentially gave them the go ahead to kill you, yet you can’t find it in yourself to be rightfully enraged with him.

You unzip the duffle and take out what you think is a set of pajamas, although the shirt definitely doesn’t look like it, and start stripping down and changing into them, still ranting in your head.

So what does that mean for you? —For your family, if your dad, Negan, truly was the villain everyone claimed. You know these people are no better— all your father was guilty of doing was the same thing everyone else had. Who cares if he seemed to outwardly enjoy it? Is that so wrong? Feeling guilty doesn’t make what you do any less twisted.

You tug your shirt on, fully dressed.

And where does that leave you, now that he’s ordered them to kill you? You can’t go home, but you also can't stay here— not permanently. If you don’t die by the Savior’s hands, you’ll die in the war Dwight had been talking about. —Where is he anyway?

You hear the sound of the window sliding open and gasp, snapped from your thoughts, only to see Carl again, clamoring through the window. He swings his legs inside and pushes through, into your room. “Jesus, Carl, what the hell?” You say, and his head immediately springs up in your direction and he freezes where he is.

“Oh, shit.” He laughs under his breath slightly, “I really didn’t know you were in this exact room. I was just trying to get in so I could find you. —Lucky guess, I guess.” He says jokingly.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You were trying to find me? Why?”

He steps closer to you, small, cautious steps like you’re a skittish stray, then reaches behind him into his back pocket.

You eye his hands, feeling more nervous the longer time he spends hesitating.

Then he takes a deep breath and holds out his arm, looking anywhere except at you as he presents the stuffed rabbit. It has light grey-brown fur that looks soft and little shiny black eyes. “It’s like, a get well present, I guess.” He says, twisting his hand so that the stuffed rabbit’s head falls sideways. “I just wanted you to know that, even though the Saviors aren’t your family anymore, you still have a place here. Daryl cares about you, Morgan, Gabriel, Rosita, even though she can be kinda mean sometimes. You aren’t alone, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

You cock your head to the side, matching the stuffed animals position and flick your eyes up to Carl. You can tell he’s nervous, his southern accent managing to slip through a little as he rushes through what he’s trying to say.

You reach out and put your hands on the bottom of it, feeling the texture of the fur and the little felt ridges on the feet. It really is just as soft as it looks. But you can’t accept this. You’ve never had stuffed animals before, and you know you’re far too old for them now.

Frowning, you reluctantly pull your hands back and safely away from it. “What are you doing, Carl, really? You could not have just come here to… give me a gift or whatever.” You reason.

He sees the sad look on your face and it makes him feel like he’s been punched in the gut. “I did, I really did. You looked so miserable earlier, I just wanted to help.” He takes your hands and sets them on the stuffed rabbit, then releases his grasp on you and the toy, forcing you to cradle it in your hands so it doesn’t fall on the floor. You try to start moving away but he holds your gaze, not letting you move an inch. “What were you saying earlier in the woods?” He asks softly.

“I-I can't.” You deny. It seems so childish now, begging the boy to be your first friend. “Not right now.”

He gives you a pleading look, “I know you don't owe me anything, but it would really help if you could tell me. It's… been bothering me ever since then.” He can't get the image of him callously ignoring you just moments before the attack out of his mind.

You bite your lip, nodding to yourself as you bounce the idea around in your head, trying to figure out how he's going to react. “I… I was just saying that I really appreciate everything you've done for me and I…” You squeeze the stuffed animal close to your chest. “Carl, I want us to be friends.”

His eye widens and then he lowers his head with a wince. “No, we CAN'T be friends with one another.” He adamantly denies, “Working together is as far as this goes… Mutual interest, remember? –Minimizing the death count.”

You grimace, looking down at the floor. “That can't be it.”

“It is.”

You feel your anger rising to the surface. “But what about this?! All this?” You hold out the stuffed rabbit, shaking it in his face, stepping closer to him. “Feeding me in the cell? Talking to me every night over the walkie? Risking your ass for me over and over again? If it's not friendship, then what is it? You can't expect me to believe you'd just do it all for any stranger.”

He swallows hard, backing away from you. It's clear the direction this conversation is going in is making him uncomfortable, but you're done taking all the blame and stepping back when you think you've messed up. Nothing will ever get done that way.

“No!” You shout, pushing past him and slamming the window shut. “I want this! I want to talk about this, and figure out what's so wrong with me! With US!” You clutch the rabbit in your hands. “Just… talk to me. Tell me what I have to do to prove that I want to be here and help…”

He clenches his jaw and turns away, pulling his hat down over his eyes. “You're delusional.”

“What?” You scoff.

He tries to move you out of the way so he can leave, but you aren't budging, so he continues. “You were in that cell all alone for so long after basically being neglected for your entire life. You were scared and… lost.” He can't believe he's repeating what his father said earlier, but as much as he hates to admit it, it makes sense. –In fact the more he thinks about it, the more sense it seems to make.

“Everyone was hurting and betraying you, so when I showed up, you clung to me like a lifeline. Hell, I WAS your lifeline. -But it can't stay that way. I have my own life and my own problems and people to worry about, and so do you. I can't… WE can't be friends. It's dangerous. You're a Savior and it's only going to end up with one of us hurt or dead.” He pushes you a little harder, but you still don't move away from the window.

“So you think I have Stockholm syndrome?” You deadpan, laughing from the insanity of the accusation. “You'd rather believe that than have to admit that we have a lot in common and get along well?”

He finally snaps, reaching up and shaking you by the shoulders. “It's not about that! Why can't you understand what a bad idea this is?” He pauses, huffing from sheer intensity. “You're a Savior, and I'm not completely sold on the fact you don't still want to make your way back to Negan! You have secrets, you won't tell us who you are, and you have a bounty on your head now!”

“So I'll get stronger!” You shoot back.

“No!” He pushes you slightly in the shoulder. “That's not what this is about! Even if none of that were true, even if you were just a normal girl, I STILL wouldn't want to be friends with you!”

Your face falls and your eyebrows raise, mouth parted slightly, because suddenly, you're that little girl sitting on the bench by herself again, waiting for someone to come and save her.

Even if you were normal, he said, he still wouldn't like you. –It makes sense, none of the other kids had liked you that much before either, but coming from the one person you thought might, stings.

Why are you always alone in this world?

You drop the stuffed rabbit at your side and step away from the window, allowing him to leave like he'd been trying to. There's no point in trapping someone who doesn't want to be here with you.

He immediately tries to backtrack seeing your face, his own becoming panicked. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, that's– that's not what I meant. That's not what I meant, okay? That came out the wrong way.” He reaches out for you but you go and sit down on the edge of the mattress on the floor, holding your head in your hands. “No, don't do this… Please.”

You look up at him without moving. “I'm not doing anything. You can go.” You motion to the window, but Carl only flicks his eye over to it for a second before crouching down in front of you.

“You are. You're shutting me out. We have to work together, remember?” He says weakly, then he just bites his lip. “Look, I didn't mean what I said. I just…” He sighs deeply, “Pretty much everyone in my life has died. -And if they don't die, they change, and it's never a good change. They get a little harder, or a little more violent, angry, murderous, even.” He lowers his head, looking down at his shoes. “If we were friends, one of us would go at some point and leave the other behind and I… I don't think I can do that again. I'm already worried sick about Enid and Maggie, and everything is just so–”

“–Complicated.” You say in unison.

He raises his gaze to look at you, feeling your empathy, and it seems like he finally hears you. “Carl, I want this.” You repeat, “I know the risks, I know what could happen, and I'm still choosing you. I'm not delusional or crazy, I just care.” You tip his hat back up. “I want to run through the woods with you again, and climb walls, and break into stores, and whatever else it is that you do. So… be my friend?”

He lets out a small groan of uncertainty. “Well, later on if… this really is Stockholm syndrome or whatever, and it wears off, you'll tell me, right? You won't just run off? A-And you know that you're free to stop being friends whenever you want?”

“Yes, I do.” You click your tongue. “Do I really seem like the type to do something I don't actually want to for longer than a second?”

He laughs softly, looking away. “No, not at all.”

You nudge his shoe with yours to regain his attention, tipping your chin up to present yourself as being more confident than you're actually feeling after bearing your raw emotions for the first time. “Then answer me.”

“I…” He swallows hard, “... I want to be your friend.” He admits softly.

Chapter 13: Path Paved In Blood

Notes:

Enjoy this fluff while it lasts y'all…
(This chapter is not the best because I am super ill right now, but here it is)

Your feet slam against the pavement heavily with each stride as you sprint your way down the streets of Alexandria. It's barely dawn, dewy outside from the morning rainfall, your legs are spattered with water from having to cut through the grass.

Everyone is still sound asleep, even the sun isn't up yet, but here you are.

Back at The Sanctuary this is exactly what was expected of you, you wake up early, you train, you run, you lift weights, you fight with someone... You had to stay in peak shape so that you could fight for the Saviors, but from what you’ve seen of this place there’s no existing structure. They take it day by day, only take just BARELY enough when they go out, –which you find extremely juvenile compared to what was done at The Sanctuary.

Nonetheless, it's been a week now since you were caught by the Saviors with Carl and you can finally get back into your regular routine. It’s a real pain in the ass to work this hard while injured, but you need to get stronger. You have to if you want to be able to defend yourself and this place, and you need to prove your worth to Rick and the others.

You spot a familiar tree and jump for it, swinging yourself up so that you can grip onto another branch and begin climbing your way up. The branch slips through your grip the first time, a sharp pain shooting its way across your chest, but your second attempt is successful.

–It was hard for you this past week to think about being away from your dad for so long, but eventually you realized you had to come to terms with the truth. That your father wants you dead, and that's the end of it. You don't get another chance or a choice in the matter, and all that's left is to move on.

You step off of the tree and onto the roof, carefully making your way around to Carl’s window. You only know which one to go to because he’d shown you which room was his from outside, when he was telling you about the first time he’d witnessed Enid sneaking out.

You slip your fingers around the lip of the window and slide it open to climb your way inside.

Immediately at the sound of your entrance Carl sits upright in his bed, hair a mess with his eyepatch shifted slightly so that his scar is almost exposed, his hand confusedly reaching out for his gun on the bedside. At least until he realizes that it's just you and tiredly swipes a hand across his face, shoulders falling into a more relaxed position.

“Mmph, what are you doing here so early?” He asks, his voice deepened by sleep. He shifts to look at the window, trying to see where the sun is– or rather, isn't. “It's barely four in the morning...”

You shut the window and step into the center of the room, hands on your hips, taking in the sight of all the objects scattered around the room. It's the first time you've actually been in here, so you find yourself curiously searching the room with your eyes.

“I have to come early or Rick will catch us and get pissed off.” You explain, even though you know he already knows why. You narrow your eyes and cross your arms at him. “You never got back to me when I asked what the plan was for today.”

He groans. “Ugh… ‘S too early to sneak out yet…” He flops backward on the bed with one of his knees up, patting the spot next to him to invite you to sit with him. “You want to read comics for now or something?”

It's clear to you he has absolutely no intention of getting out of bed this early.

“Sure,” You reply, but when you see his hand movement, you catch something hanging from the headboard and your eyes light up with amusement. “Oh my god. -You didn't.” You say with disbelief, staring at the hideous, green, saint patrick’s day headband.

The thought that he'd kept the damn thing, –no, not even– hung it up like a PRIZE endlessly amuses you. You can’t hold back the snickers that slip their way out of your mouth in that moment, but you quickly slap a hand over your mouth to stifle them. You have to be quiet or you’ll risk waking Rick and Michonne.

His eye shoots open, seeming to immediately know what you're talking about. He yanks the headband down, chucking it across the room. “Damn right I didn't.”

You settle yourself enough to drop your hand, grinning from ear to ear as you bend down to pick the annoying object up. “You kept it? -And hung it up in your room? Awww, you really do like me, huh?” You tease, brushing some hair behind your ear.

Even though you’re just messing around about the headband, it feels surreal that someone actually cared enough to keep something so terrible just because you’re friends. Actual, genuine friends, for the first time in your entire life.

He groans again. “No, I don't. -I hate you.” He denies, but his voice holds no real malice. “That thing is fatally ugly, it should be a crime to make something so horrific.”

You laugh, pouncing at the foot of the bed and crawling your way up next to him on your stomach, swiping the comic laying on the floor. “You totally liked it. You loved it so much that you kept it.” You grin, flipping the comic open to the first page and starting to read.

“That's not why I…” He mutters under his breath, then he seems to catch himself and quickly moves to straighten his eyepatch, clearing his throat. “Anyway, are you cool with me having to watch Judith while we hang out today? My dad asked me and I couldn’t exactly say no without giving him a reason.”

“Yeah, that's fine.” You mutter, engrossed in your reading.

He watches you for a while, eye darting across your face and hands, analyzing your position and your mannerisms for nearly twenty minutes before he lets out a small sigh. You’re still such a mystery to him.

There are so many things he wants to ask you, like who you are and where you came from before The Sanctuary, but he already knows if he asks you’ll just shut him out. Anytime he pushes you a step too far, you take two steps back into yourself, right back where you started.

He doesn’t want that to happen right after you let down your defenses around him for a multitude of reasons, but above all it's not good for you. You're clearly already stressed out about your situation.

He watches you flip to the next page, kicking your legs behind you every now and again in the same restless way you had yesterday sitting in the grass. Every time you catch yourself, you lie your legs down flat on his mattress, but they swing right back up again once you get lost in the words on the page.

That’s the frustrating thing about you— you’re stupidly likable, but you try to hide all of it. You don’t like to be seen as a burden or someone that needs caring for.

It’s true most of the time that you don’t need anyone else, he can tell that much, but it worries him that when it’s not true, like when you were in the woods last week… it just screws you over, and you let it. It makes you weak.

His eye glances down at the comic you’re reading, fluttering shut, before he completely relaxes and his body goes slack with sleep.

***

You shut the comic once you're done with it and turn to him for answers, afterall it had been him that convinced you to start this particular series… but when you look over and see the slow rise and fall of his chest, arm across his eyes with his mouth slightly parted, you realize he's asleep.

It doesn't bother you in the slightest, in fact it only makes you more comfortable now that he's not awake, staring at you.

I mean, what’s the appeal of that anyway? Staring down at someone while they’re busy…

You toss the comic down on the floor, biting the inside of your cheek as you go against your better judgment and slowly shift on the mattress, careful not to make the bed creak as you sneakily make your way above him. When your weight is added to the place he's lying he lets out a small huff, turning his head in his sleep, and your eyes immediately snap up to his face.

It was just curiosity at first, but now that you're getting a good look at him, you understand the appeal. He looks… strangely peaceful in a way he wouldn't if he were awake. The tension that’s usually abundant in his shoulders and neck have dissipated, his breathing is even and calm. He looks approachable and soft, like someone you could trust wholeheartedly without having said a single word to. –Which is so accurate to his character when he's awake, always helping people. He’s so… He's so… so…

You furrow your brow with confusion, swallowing hard as you get a little closer, trying to make out what the feeling in your chest is… and a little closer… until suddenly there's the sound of a man's muffled voice from the other room.

“We — get goin’ — that — soon. Yeah, it's—”

You raise your head at the sounds of distant shuffling and someone speaking in the house. You hate to have to cut this moment short, but you don't have a choice. It sounds like Rick and Michonne have woken up.

Turning back to him, you realize how close you’ve actually gotten and lean away. “Carl.” You call, “Carl, wake up, I need to go, your dad is up.” You shake him by the shoulder until he stirs awake.

He seems disoriented at first, initially startled by the sight of you in his bedroom before the recognition kicks in and he realizes you're supposed to be in here, then he shifts to confusion, not having caught what you’d said.

“Huh?” When he sees you starting to leave he grabs you by the wrist and lightly tugs to try and pull you back. “Wait, what's- what's going on?”

“Your dad,” You repeat, opening the window. “He's awake, I have to go. I'll see you in a bit!” You call back, stepping out onto the roof.

“Oh,” He tosses his covers aside, following you over to the window, tiredly waving goodbye, before shutting it tightly after you. Once the window is closed and you're safely on the ground, he lets out a small sigh, stretching and resting his hands on the window sill.

Perfectly in time with your escape, Michonne knocks softly at the door and lets herself inside of the room. “Carl, you alright in here?” She asks, staring at his hands fidgeting at the window locks.

He turns around at the sound of her voice, smiling at her. “Huh?” He follows her eyes to the window. “Oh, yeah, I was just getting some fresh air. -There’s a nice breeze because of the rain last night.” He excuses.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, nodding slowly. “Okay, well… Everyone is going to meet at the cars later so we can discuss the weapons run. This time we think we might need to split up to cover more ground, so either more of us are leaving or Rick and I will go solo.” She shakes her head with disappointment, “The last attempt would have had the perfect conditions for it, but at least now we know for sure the weapons are around there. It might have been a good thing we had to wait…” She pauses, glancing over at the spot on the bed where you’d been sitting.

She isn’t sure that you were actually there, but there's this feeling in the pit of her stomach that you might have been. The only question is, why? You and Carl aren’t close to her knowledge…

“You can tell Eli that, the next time you see her.” She provokes, trying to gauge his reaction, and the response from him is pretty much immediate.

Carl straightens himself, sobering from sleep in an instant. “Pfft, what do you mean by “next time”, when was the last time? I haven't seen her in, like, four days at the least.” He rambles nervously with paranoia, a clear lilt entering his voice.

With his dad he can pretend, but Michonne is basically his best friend, he can't lie to her.

Michonne raises an eyebrow with a hum, taking note of the strange behavior as she provides an excuse of her own. “You'll be seeing her around eventually, won't you? She seemed upset about it before, so let her know it wasn't all bad.”

His shoulders fall with relief. “Yeah, okay. I'll do that.” He agrees, shaking his head. He can’t believe he almost broke when she had absolutely no idea what was going on between you two, she was just making an effort to be nicer to you.

She doesn't like how careless her trust is making him. She doesn’t know what's going on, but she certainly knows that something must be up. “And Carl?” She calls to regain his attention.

He glances back over his shoulder in a casual way, clearly not worried about the situation anymore. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.” She says as a final warning.

He knows exactly what she means. –If he were to be objective about it, being entangled with you in any kind of way, even friendship is extremely dangerous. You're a Savior, you're in some way still loyal to Negan even after he ordered the Saviors to kill you, you're emotionally unstable, and far too jumpy for anyone's liking since the attack…

But he refuses to acknowledge it.

“I'm always careful.” He replies calmly, reaching down to pick up his discarded jeans and belt.

Michonne leans her head out of the door to give him some amount of privacy while he's getting dressed. “I know you USED to be careful, but recently it's felt like as long as you're doing something for the good of the group or to help someone, you don't care what happens to you...” She grips the doorframe tightly. “Carl, you aren't a sacrifice. We need you. Forget everyone else for a moment, think about your dad and Judith, how devastated they'd be if something happened to you.”

She wasn't able to meet Carl when he was young or get to know him in the same way that his father and sister had, but he's one of the most important people in her life. She hates to see him acting like he isn't worth anything.

If only she could find a way to express that with her words without the fear of him ending up like Andrea– entangled with someone dangerous and taken away from her the moment she was able to open herself up to them and start building a more stable relationship.

By the time she's finished speaking, he's already gotten dressed and moves his way past her. “I know, believe me I do, but…” He pauses in the doorway next to her, locking eyes. “I need to look out for my people first.”

The quote from his father is like a slap to the face for Michonne. “That's- That's not what he meant. It's not the same for you.” She reaches out for Carl’s shoulder, but he dodges her. “You aren't an adult, it isn't your burden to carry everyone's lives. You can't…”

“Carl, can you feed Judith for me? I need to pack some things up!” Rick shouts from downstairs.

Michonne shakes her head, trying and failing to grab Carl a second time. “This isn’t over, Carl, we need to talk about this. I want to know that you aren’t going to put yourself in unnecessary danger.” Her eyes follow him as he walks to the staircase, then terrifyingly sharpen. “You've been reckless ever since Enid left.”

He pauses at this, his back to her, and then takes a deep breath clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. “This isn't about her. I… I gotta go feed Judith.” He excuses himself and hurriedly makes his way down the stairs to his baby sister.

Michonne quickly follows behind him, but once on the main floor, she gives him one last concerned look before she parts ways with him and leaves the house with Rick.

“Judy?” Carl coos at the little girl, “You want to come with me after breakfast? Yeah?”

He rummages through the cabinets until he finds a singular banana and cuts it up to feed her.

Bananas are possibly her least favorite food. They aren't sweet or sour like the packaged foods she's used to seeing after a good run, they're slimy and bland… But when Carl cuts them up into little stars and hearts? She'd choose it over candy any day.

Love makes food taste so much better.

Once the little girl has finished eating, Carl tugs a sweatshirt over her head and lifts her up, walking out onto the porch to scan the area for any sign of you.

It doesn't take long for him to spot you on the other side of the street sitting on the curb, grinning ear to ear as you pretend to have your nose buried in some kind of book. He smiles softly and starts crossing the street to where you are. “Hey, stranger.”

At the sound of his voice, your entire demeanor softens like butter, your smile becoming more genuine and your cheeks turning pink from the strain of your grin on your face. “Hello again.” You reply, looking up at him.

The face you're making sends a strange jolt of electricity through his chest, so he quickly brings the free hand not holding Judith up and rests it there, but the feeling has already gone. “I decided what we're going to do today.”

“Oh, yeah?” You shut the book and stand up. “What's that?”

“Well, there's this radio and a few tapes not too far from here inside the walls.” He watches your expression shift and suddenly feels embarrassed by the idea. “I thought that because Judith likes music, and it's in a field pretty far away from where everyone else will be… there's no risk of us getting caught… we could just kind of …relax there. –Not have to worry about going somewhere and stressing about where Judith is and what she's doing while we're doing whatever we're doing.”

You toss the book onto the empty porch behind you. “That sounds like it could be interesting. Lead the way.”

The three of you make your way over to the aforementioned field, and oddly enough you walk in the middle of the street together. Something you're only able to do because everyone else is occupied on the other side of the settlement, but it almost makes you feel like you belong here. Almost.

You miss your father, and everytime you see him tending to Judith you can't help but wonder what he's been doing. Has he thought of you? Does he miss you? Is he mad that you haven't made your way back to him yet? Disappointed?

“Here it is,” Carl calls, setting Judith down on a blanket that's already laying in the grass. “It looks like someone else came out here not too long ago, but that shouldn't be an issue.”

The field of green isn't very large, clearly littered with dandelion weeds from years of neglect, but it's also… pretty in a way. Deserted and frozen in time.

“Hm, well no one's come back here yet, so that's a good sign.” You comment, sitting down next to the little girl, leaning back on your hands.

Carl moves over to a rusted silver radio and starts futzing with the dials and tapes, shuffling them in his hands. “Let me find one she likes really quick.” He pauses, looking over at Judith, so you do the same. “Which one, Judy?”

She giggles at the two of you when you glance over at her, so you pluck a dandelion and tap it to her nose, sending the fluff flying. The little girl reaches her hands out for it, trying to catch some.

“Judith is such a cutie.” You grin, picking a few more to start crafting her a crown of them. There aren't many options for flowers, so you even use some that aren't fuzzy, adding the little yellow flowers for a pop of color. “Hey, Judith, did you know if you blow on a dandelion and make a wish, it'll come true?”

Carl chooses a random tape and sits down with the two of you, yet again simply observing. You wish you knew what was going through his head at moments like these.

Judith narrows her eyes at you when you call her a cutie, then points a finger at you. “Sweetie!”

“Aw,” You laugh at the little compliment, and Carl does the same. “Thank you Judith.”

He crosses his legs and leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “Judith, I can assure you that girl is anything but sweet. She was mean to your big brother earlier.” He whines, feigning hurt.

The little girl seems frustrated and reaches up to grab at her own cheeks. “No. –Confess.” She insists.

You tip your head to the side with confusion before realization hits you. “Oh, alright.” You dramatically rest a hand across your forehead. “I confess, it was me, I bullied him… but only because he deserved it.”

“Hey!” Carl interjects playfully. "Don't listen to her, you shouldn't bully people."

Judith shakes her head again, looking like she's about to cry out of frustration. “No! No, no, no!” She cries, balling her fists, then the next words out of her mouth completely change the mood of the interaction.

“It's Negan!”

Carl's mouth falls open and his eye flicks over to where Judith is. It was rare that the little girl string together something coherent, but something about Negan? “Judy, what's wrong? You… you don't have to be scared, I'm right–”

She screams at him, kicking her legs. "No! No! No!"

He doesn’t seem to know how to handle a tantrum like this, Judith has always been so calm. "I-It's okay, Judy, just calm down." He coos, reaching out to her, but it only seems to make her more upset. "Are you tired? Do you need a nap, what's wrong Judy? You don't have to be upset, I'm here..."

You hold your hand up to silence him, giving him a pleading look. “Let me, please. I think I know what this is about.” When he gives you a nod to go ahead, you take a deep breath and then take the little girl's hands in yours. “Judith…”

You feel a stab in your chest, not at your wound, but in your heart.

“You don't have to worry about Negan anymore, because I'M here. I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect you and keep everyone else here safe. –What happened before, all the murder and violence and fear… It'll never happen again.” You swallow hard. “Because I'll stop Negan.” The words are like acid all the way up and out of your mouth. It feels like you've just crossed a boundary you weren't aware existed.

Tears well up in your eyes, as the weight in your chest grows to an overwhelming amount, the rage, the confusion, the fear, from being attacked on your father’s orders mixing into a dangerous cocktail in your body. –A recipe for disaster. “I'll stop Negan.” You repeat, laughing quietly to yourself.

Carl should be glad you're finally severing yourself from Negan, it would justify your friendship and help you acclimate to Alexandria… but the way you're reacting to it is… scary. Terrifying, even. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like the way it's hurting you either.

You use your shoulder to wipe away some of your tears so you don't have to break contact with the little girl, who's now staring up at you with confusion. She barely even knew what she was trying to say, but she knew that everytime Negan came around everyone freaked out, except for the last time.

You don't like where you see yourself going, but it's like you can't stop. You don't have a choice. You wanted to leave here so badly, in fact you still do, but you can't escape without finishing what needs to be finished first. You know from experience that the Saviors don't stop hunting until the fight is over, and you'd be damned if you weren't your father’s daughter.

“I'll stop him.”

You really are just like him, even if there's no blood between you.

Chapter 14: Goodbye Blues

Notes:

Reader has been away from Negan for 15 days. —Don’t worry, Negan will be back for his baby.
(This is the day after the last episode)

THE BURN IS BURNING, THE KIDS ARE YEARNING

You're carrying a stack of what essentially amounts to garbage into the church when you hear the methodic thuds of Rick's footsteps behind you. They aren't heavy like anger, or rushed like anxiety, they're certain and consistent with each thud being perfectly timed after the last.

Setting the “recyclables” down, you turn around to face Rick, not quite sure what to expect.

He could be angry that you've been hanging out with Carl for the past eight days, or he could've caught onto what you've been doing in your spare time since yesterday when you abandoned Carl and Judith in the field… Or maybe he's just sick of you being around. –They're already low on supplies, they don't need another injured mouth to feed.

What you weren't expecting was for him to hold out a closed hand, smiling softly.

“Give me your hand.” He instructs.

You glance around the church nervously, double checking that he's actually talking to you, before realizing that you're completely alone with him. “Why?” You ask skeptically.

He lets out a huff, shaking his head slightly. “Just do it. I ain't gonna hurt you, I don't bite.”

You hesitantly hold out two cupped hands and watch as something shiny drops into them. –A golden necklace with a glass star and small crystals lining the loop at the top that connects it to the chain.

At first, the part of you that wants to respond with joy hijacks your face and you break out into a smile, but that's not who you are anymore. The girl who needed acceptance from the people around her has burned, the ashes locked away deep inside of you. The only person you need now is yourself.

You frown immediately after, letting one hand drop as you use the other to bring the necklace closer to inspect it. “...What is this?”

It's clear that although harmonious, the necklace was assembled of several disjointed pieces he deliberately hunted for and put together himself. It's beautiful and delicate, the glass star and jewels reflecting small rainbows of ultraviolet when the light hits it, but it's also durable, the metal chain absent of any holes or cracks in the rings it's constructed of.

“It's a necklace.” He explains calmly. “Want me to put it on you?”

You send a glare his way, knowing he knows damn well what you meant. “No, I mean what's this for? As in, why are you giving me this?”

“Well… All sheriffs need a deputy, don't they?” He takes the necklace from you and makes his way behind you, brushing your hair aside to clasp the necklace. “It might be foolish of me to say, but… you've grown a lot in these past fifteen days and I wanted to honor that. You're making an effort and I see you.”

It really has been fifteen days since you were shot and dragged into the situation that would permanently change your life, hasn't it?

For the worse or for the better, who knows? All you know is that you're stuck in it now, and here's this man– this stranger, acknowledging your efforts in a mere fifteen days, when you spent years trying to get your father’s recognition.

Rick's touch on you is far too caring, it's cautious and soft, more so than it's ever been during the time you've known him, even softer than on the night you came back from the woods beaten bloody.

“You're being weird.” You criticize.

He lets out a half-laugh, putting your hair back into place. “You caught me,” He admits, coming back around to face you. “But I could say the same of you. –Ever since you both came back from outside the walls you've been inconsolable… and I noticed that you got a lot worse yesterday. It was sudden, but it was sharp. Your entire demeanor changed…” He sets his hands on your shoulders and squeezes softly. “You aren't the same person we had locked in that cell.”

You so badly want to cry right now and tell him everything, but you can't. So instead you try to push him away by being blunt and critical. “You should be glad. Didn't you hate the person who was in the cell? You basically told her you did, over and over again…” You pause, biting the inside of your cheek. “And she believed you.”

Rick can see right through your attempts to push him away, and he can also see that talking about yourself in this way seems to help you open up.

“No, I didn't hate her.” He says, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. “The girl from the cell had lots of great qualities about her that I noticed as soon as she woke up.” He pauses to think for a moment, before answering. “She had a great sense of humor and a laugh that was contagious. She… could be a little brazen, but she knew not to cross certain lines… She was always lookin’ out for other people in her own way, and she loved to test my patience.” He laughs softly.

You avert your eyes, lowering your head with shame.

“Where'd that girl go?” He taps your chin to try and get you to raise your head, but you don't, so he pauses for a moment, then sighs. “I'd hate for somethin’ to happen to her, so if I need to be worried about that, would you let me know?”

You nod, then your brows furrow as you recall a similar conversation you'd had with Dwight. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?” You ask softly, feeling tears come to your eyes even though you aren't particularly attached to the man. You've come to care for him, despite him being the mortal enemy of your father– No, of Negan.

He takes a step back, letting his hands drop. “We're goin’ on the weapons run today, and I wanted to say goodbye to you before we left. I wanted to make sure you weren't goin’ to…” He trails off. “Look, I know this is hard for you, but never feel like in order to make things go away you have to end them. Life goes on, and one day you'll find yourself with everything you could ever want. You're strong willed, don't forget that.”

You feel yourself break down with one final sigh like the dying engine of a car sputtering, and then the tears start flowing.

“Oh,” His hands reach out and wipe at your tears. “No, don't cry, it's gonna be okay.” He coos at you softly, brushing your hair out of your face so he can see your eyes properly.

When he pushes your hair aside he notices the smudge of dust on your cheek and licks his thumb to wipe it off, a gesture so fatherly you finally snap and launch forward into his arms. He instinctively reaches for his gun, but your arms are around him before he can even touch it, clinging to him like a scared child.

He realizes what you're doing and stops reaching for the weapon, your emotions dampening any remaining fear of you. “Oh, kid.” He rests a hand around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head. “It's gonna be okay.”

***

“Carl.” Michonne calls out sternly.

The boy hears her tone of voice and keeps his back turned to her. “Nope, not doing this again.” He resists, drying his hands on the dish towel before tossing it aside.

She sits down on a stool at the kitchen island. “You're right, we won't again after this. –It's my final warning.” She insists, “We could be leaving any day now, and I don't know if I'll get another chance to have this talk with you before we go.”

He frustratedly slams a dish into the cabinet, still not bothering to look in her direction. “You can talk all you want, that doesn't mean I have to listen.”

Michonne takes a deep breath through her nose, trying to figure out how to approach this conversation without making Carl shut her out completely. She knows their dynamic changed after Jesus broke in and unveiled she’d been spending nights with Rick, but she doesn’t want him to start ignoring her and seeing her as an authority figure like Rick where he has to lie and try to avoid her to do what he wants.

She runs a hand across the top of her head, fingers grazing her dreadlocks.

“She’s not right in the head, Carl,” She cautions, “I saw her try to steal my sword and she was snooping around the armory.”

He physically jumps at this, shattering a glass bowl on the floor. “The armory?” He whips around and eyes the door nervously, “Well, you stopped her, didn’t you? She didn’t- You didn’t let her take that stuff, right?”

He knew from the other day that you intended to take some form of measures against Negan, but he hadn’t expected you to act so fast, so dangerously.

Sasha had done the same thing, and look where that landed her. –The thought of you ending up the same way makes his heart race, and not in the pleasant fluttering way it does when he sees you.

Michonne watches him jolt and lets her hand fall, leaning back in her seat. “So you knew about this?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, lowering his head slightly.

“Ha, I knew you two were sneaking around! Every few days I swore to god I heard her voice around you, but she always vanished before I could actually see her...” She speculates, pointing at him, then she realizes the implications of what she's discovered and returns to her serious state. “This is a dangerous game you're playing, Carl. Now, I know boys your age try to fix all their problems with girls, but that's not going to fix anything. You need to talk to her.”

Carl’s eye flicks away, his hand coming up to massage the back of his neck. “I know… I should have said something the moment she snapped but I was honestly a little terrified.” When he blinks he can still see that unsettling look in your eyes, swearing to Judith you'd stop Negan. “I’d never seen her like that before…”

“Well, Enid is a tough girl. She's been through a lot, but I'm sure once you say something she'll open up.”

"What?” Carl glances up at her, realizing that this entire time Michonne hadn't been talking about you. She was warning him to stay away from you and work things out with Enid… but strangely, he realizes he hasn't thought of her in days. “Oh, yeah…”

“So stop bothering with that other girl, Carl. She's not worth the risk and you have other things to worry about… You don't need anything more, you’ve been through so much already.” She slaps the counter, standing up from her stool. “–And clean that glass up, Judith is wandering around free because of those child locks.”

“Uhm,” He glances down at the glass around his feet, still struck by the fact he hadn’t thought of his (ex)girlfriend in nearly six days. “Yeah…”

***

You watch as Rick loads the last of the three supply crates into the car, fat tears rolling down your cheeks when he turns around and thumbs the droplets away, bending over slightly to level eyes with you.

“What did I say about those tears?” He says, poking at the star around your neck. “I need you to be a good deputy, remember? ‘Can’t have Carl runnin’ this place alone, every sheriff needs a helping hand.” He lets out a soft sigh of content. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Rick knows for a fact that you’ve been sneaking around with his son. He’s not stupid, he was an officer for years, he could tell pretty much the second day you two started cohorting in private.

“Rick!” Michonne calls, sprinting up to him. “We ready?”

You hate this feeling. This sense of foreboding dread like something’s about to go terribly wrong again, and this time you don’t know if you can take it.

He lets his hand fall from you and gives her a determined look, angling his body towards the car. “Yeah, we’re ready… You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Her eyes flick over to you briefly, a suspicious look in them. “No,” She shakes her head, refocusing on Rick. “It’s not goodbye, we’ll be back soon, there’s no reason to worry him.” She pops the passenger seat door. “Let’s hurry up and go so we can get back.”

You take a few steps back, watching as Rick opens the gate and disappears into the driver’s seat of the car, driving away from Alexandria. Once the gate is shut behind them, you can’t even tell they were there in the first place… it’s just… still. And quiet.

You stay there by the gates crying like a lost little kid, but you aren’t entirely sure why this specific situation makes you so sad. –So sad that it brought you to tears like nothing else had except maybe being on the brink of death.

“Hey,” Carl calls to you from afar, fully intending to confront you, but as he approaches and sees the state you’re in he slows his pace down until he’s stalled at your side. “What’s… What’s going on, are you okay?”

You use the heel of your hand to wipe your tears across your face, trying to form something coherent but instead coughing and whining meekly while staring at the gate.

He pauses for a moment, watching you suffer until he just can’t take it anymore. “Come here,” He says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder gently. He hates that even in this situation, his heart is still pounding like crazy.

You bury your face into the crook of his neck, exhausted because of your lack of sleep. You never went to bed last night because you were prowling the streets of Alexandria for weaponry that people wouldn’t notice if it went missing— at least, not for a while anyway.

He looks up at the gates, putting a hand into your hair through the nape of your neck. He can see the pain inside of you, but he can’t even begin to imagine it. —Being raised in an environment like that only to be told by strangers that it’s over, that you’re safe now, and that the people you’d known for such a large portion of your life had been the bad ones all along, that your childhood was constructed entirely of malicious falsities.

He takes a deep breath, trying to comfort you, although he’s not sure how he could ever begin to do so. “You don’t want to do this…” He whispers. “You don’t HAVE to do this, it’s not your fight.”

You shake your head softly. “It’s everyone’s fight. Blood in the water spreads, it can’t be stopped.” You say, just above a whisper.

The sky cracks loudly with thunder, small drops of water dancing across the pavement as a downpour starts.

He pulls away from you, slinging his arm back around your shoulders as he starts ushering you in the direction of the Grimes’ house. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

You wrap your arm around his shoulder so that you’re walking down the street side by side with one another. There’s no one in sight except the two of you as the sky darkens, contrasting with the warm light flowing from the other house’s windows, and you silently make your way down the street.

Once you enter the Grimes’ house Carl releases you and kicks off his wet shoes, so you do the same, following him up the stairs to his room, but he stops you at the doorway.

“Uh, it’s a little… Well, just wait here for a sec.” He mutters, opening the door and slipping into his room, leaving the door cracked open.

You wait for a moment, just barely keeping your patience before you push the door open and step inside behind him, seeing his attempts to stuff away all childish remnants.

“You know I’ve been in here before, right?” You remind him, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

His face visibly flushes at the cheeks. “I know…” He mumbles under his breath, stuffing more comics and trinkets into a basket before tossing it into his closet. “But it’s different now.”

You tip your head to the side, then flick your eyes down to the little glass star around your neck, hands coming up to fidget with it. “Different how?”

“Well… for one thing, you’re different.” He says, hiding the last of his comics before sitting down on a chair across from you. “After the attack you started acting all… mature… and then yesterday you started being all responsible and distant. I don’t—” He cuts himself off, trying to subtly cover his mouth with his hand.

Your eyes flick up as he stops talking. “You don’t… what?”

He lowers himself awkwardly, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want you to think I’m some pathetic little kid.” He tosses his hat down beside you on the bed. “I can be mature and cruel too. You just haven’t had to see that side of me yet.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not a good thing.”

He lets out a half-laugh, half huff, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. “You said people are monsters, right?” He shakes his head. “I’m just another monster.”

You know that’s not true, otherwise why would he have spoken to you over the walkie to protect the people of Alexandria, or fed you in the cell, or voted that you live even when he wasn’t given the option to vote.

“You’re not.” You deny, but he’s not having it.

“I am, everyone is.” He says simply, holding up a hand like he won’t accept any further denial of what he’s passing as the truth.

You rise to your feet, giving him a glare. “You know what, I’m not doing this today. I have more important things to do than sit here and argue with you while you pretend that—” You’re cut off as he suddenly grabs you by the wrist and pulls you closer to where he’s sitting, the look in his eyes darkening.

“More important things…” He seethes sarcastically, testing the waters. “Like your little weapons stash?”

Your eyes widen, a jolt of panic shooting through you as you try to pull yourself free of him, but he shoves you back down on the bed, forcing you to sit down and listen to him.

“Michonne caught you, you know? She told me she saw you sneaking around the armory and trying to steal her sword. Do you know how stupid that was?” He lectures. “If you would have moved, looked, even acted the wrong way when you did that, she might have just killed you right there!”

Your heart is pounding from anxiety, but you manage to steel your appearance. “Yeah, so? Go on, Carl, tell me what you want me to do about it now that it’s over.”

He shakes his head, gripping his face with one hand the same way his father does. “For fucks sake, I want you to tell me why. Why would you do this, after all this time? Do you not feel safe? Are you scared they’re goin’ to get into Alexandria somehow?” He shouts.

The intense emotions he’s showing make you feel… embarrassed… about what you’ve done. You start rethinking the way you went about finding the weapons, despite knowing there wasn’t a better way.

“I-“ You lower your head, crossing your arms over your chest to soothe yourself. “I have to stop him right now. I can’t wait anymore.”

“Stop who right now?” There’s a moment where he seems completely confused, then it shifts into recognition. “Negan… Of course it’s Negan, it’s always Negan…” He mutters under his breath.

“You can’t stop Negan right now, are you actually insane?” This is even worse than what he imagined, you hadn’t even bothered to prepare yourself like Sasha had. “What is it with you and him? Please just fucking tell me, I can’t keep doing this guessing game where you hide who you are to him and then get upset about it.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, after all it wouldn’t matter if you told him you’d been Negan’s daughter because… because you aren’t anymore.

“I…” You start, hating the way he’s hovering above you, all his attention on you in this overwhelmingly negative way. “I was…” You clutch your shirt in the center of your chest, eyes catching the star dangling from your neck. “I… I can’t, Carl, I’m sorry.” You admit, a tear slipping down your cheek.

He shakes his head with disappointment. “You should go.”

You nod, standing up and walking towards the door, only for him to stop you before you can leave with one last statement. “Put the weapons back where you found them.”

You shut the door behind you and start the treak to your temporary home, hanging your head with frustration. If only he could see you follow through on your words, he wouldn’t be so angry with you… he’d finally see why it’s so important that you do this.

You enter the empty house and get on your knees in front of the couch, reaching underneath to pull out a duffle— the same damaged duffle bag you’d found at the clothing store, and unzip it, pulling out a bright orange flare gun.

If only Carl could see you, fighting Dwight in The Sanctuary. All the smooth, methodical takedowns you’d had of him over the years, all your perfect shots during target practice, he’d understand.

You load it and unload it a few times, practicing, before you start aiming it at different spots in the room, safety on.

You aim it at the window, “Bang,” then turn and aim at the picture on the wall, “Bang,” and finally, the kitchen— “Shit.”

Daryl is in the kitchen, mid-way through a piece of jerky, staring at the duffle bag on the floor and the flare in your hands aimed at him, eyes wide.

It’s clear he’s been standing there longer than you’ve been in the house, too shocked to say anything while he watched you pull out what essentially amounted to a mini arsenal.

You lower the flare, dropping it at your side. “What are the chances you didn’t just see that?”

He comes around the other side of the couch, staring down at the duffle with bewilderment. “None, absolutely none at all. —What… is all this?” You avert your eyes, but he nudges your foot with his. “‘Ey, chin up. I ain’t mad, you ain’t in trouble, just… explain, alright?”

You pause, throwing the idea around in your head before nodding slowly. Daryl hunts, he probably understands what you’re getting at with all these weapons. “I’m going to hunt them, hunt… him. I’m going to take down the Saviors.”

He cringes. “That’s not goin’ to work how you think, peach.” He kicks the duffle aside and sits down on the couch, letting you stand above him. “Trust me, I’ve tried to stop them before. You haven’t been on our side, so you don’t know how it is for us, but we’re outnumbered and surrounded. There isn’t any inch of those woods they aren’t watchin’ like hawks.”

You suppose that’s true, you’ve seen first hand just how far the Saviors go to cut their targets off from any escape routes or other options than complete submission to Negan. “I guess…”

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad idea to retaliate or whatever, but the way you’re goin’ about it is wrong.” He explains, but he’s completely calm, not angry or frustrated like Carl had been. He almost seems… worried about you.

“We have a plan, okay?” He comforts, nudging you again. “That’s why Rick and Michonne went to get the guns, we’re low on everything because they TAKE everything.”

You raise your head, “But I can stop them from—“

“No, listen to me,” He cuts you off, “Say you get caught, right? -And you have all this on you,” He motions to the duffle. “That’s ALL our stuff. We wouldn’t have anything left, and you’d leave us even worse off than if you waited… I’m not sayin’ don’t fight, I’m sayin’ be smart about it... I know this has gotta be hard for you, but try to be… Oh, what’s the word? -Objective. Be objective about it, kid.”

Objective… Well, if you were to think about this as if you weren’t yourself, but someone else like… Lucille…

“That’s not love either… He’s going to get you killed…”

You flush, feeling more than a little ashamed of your rash behavior. “That makes sense. —Waiting, I mean. I don’t want to ruin any progress you’ve made…”

“Good,” He smiles, ruffling your hair. “Now I ain't sure where you got everythin’ from, but you need to put the gun back in the church first and foremost. -It's for emergencies only.”

“Okay, I'll…” You pause, realizing what he's said. You hadn’t even known there was a gun in the church until just now, had you grabbed it by mistake? You glance over all of the weapons on the floor, but there’s no gun, just the flare.

A real gun might actually just be your saving grace, the final thing you need to show everyone what you can do with a real weapon in your hands.

“I'll go return that first.” You lie, scooping the contents back into the duffle as you make a smooth exit out of the house.

***

Of all the stupid things that make you feel guilty, ransacking a church to find a gun to kill a man with, is probably at the top of that list.

You shove more disconnected notes and papers aside, kneeling down to look underneath the altar. Nothing. Taped to the underside? Again, there's nothing.

It's strange to think that just earlier you were in here, volunteering without knowing that just feet away from you was exactly what you'd been looking for, exactly what you NEEDED. How many times had you passed it?

You ball up your fists, picking up the bible on the table and throwing it across the room– but something strange happens when you do and it lands, the book falls open and you see that the inside is hollowed out.

You laugh exhaustedly, running a hand through your hair as you stare at the hollow book. “Oh my… for fucks sake.”

You hadn't even considered that as a possibility, but of course it had to be something as ludicrous as that, I mean look where you are. “Alexandria”... “The Sanctuary”... “Hilltop”... “ Virginia”...

It doesn't matter, they're all driving you insane.

You march through the pews and throw open every single book, until finally tucked inside of the last one, because of course it was the last one you checked, there's a small, handheld pistol. It's shiny, and heavy, unlike anything you've shot with before, but it won't take you long to get the hang of it. “Glory be to god.” You say sarcastically, tucking the gun into the back of your pants.

“Child?”

Spinning around before you can even take your hands off of the gun, you're met with the priest, Gabriel.

You feel ashamed, yes, but not enough to give up on what you need to do. “Sorry, father, I'll bring it back once I'm done doing what needs to be done.”

His face is still in shock as he shakes his head. “There's no bullets.”

“There's no…” You open the gun and are met with the sorry sight of an empty chamber. “Oh.”

That's right, isn't it? Negan took the only man who knew how to make them.

You start to snicker, then chuckle, then you break out into full-blown maniacal laughter that pains your sides. “Oh… Oh, wow.” You toss the gun aside in your fit of laughter, Gabriel watching you with wide eyes. “So much for that, right? I'm the world's biggest fuck up.”

He pauses for a moment and then comes closer to you, giving you a soft, knowing look like he can see right through you… and maybe he can. “Negan took you in.” He states, as if it's not a question, but a fact.

Your eyes sharpen, and for the first time in days it feels like you're awake.

He knows he has your full attention, and by now he knows what to say to you after more than a week of contemplation.

He's not going to shame you, or ask for any more information than he has, or try and make things better, although he'd considered all those options… He's just going to be and that's enough.

He takes a deep breath to begin speaking.

Chapter 15: Us

Notes:

Reader has been away from Negan for 17 days…
The long awaited and dreaded, Season 8 Episode 9, only this time Carl isn't the one to die.

POINT OF MAJOR SHOW DIVERGENCE

All that can be done is wait, and that’s exactly what you’ll do.

Rick will come back and you’ll show him just how much you’ve grown while he was away, even if it’s only been days, because you’ve been busting your ass to pull your own weight around here and then some. —So he’ll see how much you’ve contributed to Alexandria, and if he’s smart he’ll realize he needs you to fight at his side. So he'll ask, with that same reluctant tone he always uses when talking to you, and you’ll fight, because it was never really a question of if you’d fight at all. —You’ll survive the battle, of course, and then once it’s all over you’ll finally figure out where you belong in this world, far away from it all.

—That’s the plan you’ve settled on, anyway, but to do any of that, you first have to keep working as hard as you can. Which is exactly why you find yourself in your current situation, in a black tank top and black shorts that are definitely too small for you in some places, covered in mud and grease, trying to fix the suspension and do an oil change on a car that definitely can’t be fixed.

It was a fruitless task Tara sent you on (probably to get you out of her face), when you asked if there was anything you could do to help out. She barely even pointed at the car, avoiding eye contact with you, the angry edge in her voice heightening the longer you stood near her, so you left without argument.

You’ve fixed cars before, so you immediately recognized by looking at it that the engine was completely rusted out beyond repair. —But if it’s a clean, “fixed” car Tara wants, that’s exactly what you’ll give her.

You crank the wrench harder, trying to get the oil drain plug off, only for the bolt to snap and send expired oil gushing out of the car. “Son of a bitch!” You roll out of the way and scramble to get a pan to catch the liquid, but the tray is suddenly pushed over in your general direction.

Snapping your head up, you find yourself locking eyes with Judith, who’s cradling a little doll, grinning ear to ear.

“Oh,” You mutter, then quickly shift your expression away from disappointment. You weren’t sure who you were expecting, or hoping it had been, but it wasn’t her.

“Lily!” She happily calls, reaching out to you. Her shoe once again accidentally pushes the tray towards you as she bounces about, showing you her doll. It’s clear the doll has been through a lot, patches of yarn hair missing like it’s under extreme stress, but it remains clean enough to be safely handled by the toddler. “A princess.” She explains, her R’s cutely still softened to a W.

She's still too young to do very much and hardly knows what’s going on, but she still likes to try and help you. —Help everyone. It’s sweet.

You smile back at her, slipping underneath the car to place the tray before coming back out and stride sitting with your knees up. “It's Eli.” You correct, ripping the rubber gloves from your hands and tossing them aside.

They weren't doing much to protect you anyway, your palms already dirtied with the mess you’ve made.

She giggles. “Ellie?”

“Eel-eye.” You snicker, running a hand through your hair, only to be slightly shocked by the shortness of it. –You'd cut it off in a fit yesterday after it got in your way of gardening. “Are you supposed to be out here?”

As if on cue, Carl clears his throat and knocks on the hood of another car, briefly making eye contact before his eye flicks away from yours. “Judith, let's go.” He says, ignoring your presence.

He's been ignoring you ever since you fought, but every now and again you'll lock eyes and the two of you will awkwardly shuffle around each other. It makes you feel sick to your stomach every time he goes out of his way to avoid you, after all, you've only noticed his gaze on you because you've been looking at him just as often, hesitant to approach him.

As much as it sucks to admit, you do owe him an apology for the way you left things. He was frustrated, you were frustrated, things got heated and out of hand which culminated in the night ending with you ransacking a church for a gun.

“Carl, wait,” You call out to him, just before he can scoop his sister up into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

He stops and peeks up at you from behind his sister, who quickly flees the scene giggling, not wanting to return home just yet. —Which leaves the two of you alone with one another.

His face is a mixture of consideration and hesitance before his nose scrunches up with anger. “I don't want to talk to you unless you plan on telling me the truth... I gave you more than enough time.” He says, glaring at you with his arms crossed. But god, the way you look right now, even covered in grease is just… Jesus, what is he thinking? He’s supposed to be angry with you.

You spring to your feet, a determined look on your face. “And I will!” You pause, “Just… not yet, okay? Right after we win, I'll tell you everything. -The whole story. No lies, no filter.”

He narrows his eye, suspicious of your sudden compliance. “Why now?”

“I'm sorry I couldn't do it before, but I was scared. I'm still scared…” You swipe a hand across your face, “I don't want you to hate me, or attack me like everyone else, and it seems like not telling you is only going to make you more upset so… I have to. —Plus, it wouldn’t be right for me to stay here like this without telling everyone the truth about me.”

His arms fall to his sides, frustration momentarily satiated by your responses. “Fine…” He takes a few steps towards you, grumbling to himself as he averts his gaze. “And for the record, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, and pushing you down was a step too far. It could have escalated and… I could tell I hurt you.”

You subconsciously reach down to touch your shirt in the place he’d pushed you, fingers loosely clinging to the fabric.

“You didn't hurt me, there's not any bruises or anything, I was just a little shocked I think.” You mumble, recalling the incident.

At the time the shove felt like it’d hurt, but when you checked there was nothing there. Even days after you still feel a slight sting, a dull ache with no particular origin. It’s not even from the spot where he pushed you, but it always comes back when you think of that moment, one of your lowest.

His eye softens at the sight of you confusedly, and innocently clinging to the spot on your shirt where he pushed you.

“You can be hurt and not have bruises.” He explains, coming closer to you, “Words can hurt too, and sometimes the damage lasts longer.” He reaches out and sets a hand on your stomach where he’d shoved you, staring at it for a moment.

“Carl?” You call, eyes darting between his hand and his face. What the hell is he doing?

His soft, steady gaze shifts up to meet yours and it feels like the world stops for a moment, your eyes darting across his face, heart pounding as if you’re afraid of what’s going to happen.

His hand slips further to the side, nearly wrapping around your waist, but not quite. Experimenting as he puts some pressure in his grip and squeezes your waist a little, causing you to jolt.

You hadn't meant to flinch so hard but his hands are warm and his touch is ticklish, leaving butterflies in its wake. “Carl, what are you doing?” You call again, shocked, and just before the intensity of the moment can climax, he comes back to himself and drops his hand.

“Sorry, I-” He coughs, using his hand to hide the expression on his face. “I was distracted, that was inappropriate. I would never- I didn’t, uhm, that wasn’t… I wouldn’t do that to anyone, just grab them like that without their permission.”

You decide to take his word for it, but you wonder if that were true, then why had he grabbed you without your permission and borderline groped you?

“Uhh, okay?” You both take a step back from each other. “What has you so… distracted?”

His mind runs through all kinds of things, your tight clothes and the way they hug your figure, your actions, your flustered face, the cute way you'd reacted to his grip, before settling on trying to bring the conversation back to seriousness.

He’d been needing to tell you about what he’d went through, but with the two of you at odds he avoided you as much as he could until now.

He reaches up and fidgets with the brim of his hat. “There was this guy out in the woods, his name was Siddiq.” He sighs deeply, clenching his fists at his sides. “He was starving and he needed our help, so I cleaned out the sewers under Alexandria to hide him there. Originally I was just going to keep him there until my dad got back so he could see. —I just wanted him to see.”

Siddiq? Siddiq… Siddiq… The name doesn’t ring any bells, and even though there were many people at The Sanctuary, you’re positive you would have remembered such a unique name. Whoever they are, they're definitely not a Savior or an escapee, so at least there’s that… Wait.

You furrow your brows. “Was? Wanted?”

He frowns deeply before closing his eye, pulling his hat off of his head with a sad expression. “We were on our way here when we ran into a group of walkers... He said he needed to free their souls to honor his mother, but… he was making a lot of noise. Too much noise.” He looks up at you, helplessly clenching the fabric of his pants at his sides. “I didn’t even have a chance to react… the Saviors were on him in seconds, a bullet went straight through his skull, and I couldn’t get to him before the walkers did…”

“Jesus,” You say with shock.

He nods, chest heavy with grief for the man he’d become friends with. Siddiq was a doctor with a kind heart, he could have done so much good, and even if he hadn't, he didn't deserve to die like that.

“Do you see why I was so upset about the weapons now? That could have been you, or me, or anyone here.” He reasons with you. “Gone in the blink of an eye.”

The thought of something bad happening to the people of Alexandria because of YOU sends a chill down your spine. If that gun had been loaded the other day… If you hadn't been as lucky when you two were caught in the woods… If you would have been caught with weapons before they trusted you…

You're starting to see why Rick was so worried about letting you be around Carl.

Wincing, you try to muster up an explanation without going into detail. “I do. After we fought, Daryl and Gabriel talked me out of trying to take Negan down by myself… It was optimistic to think I could ever get near him before I was stopped.” You rub the back of your neck. “I’m going to wait until we’re all ready, when Rick is back. Then I can fight alongside you all.”

“Good.” He says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back.

But something about his story reminds you, “Speaking of the Saviors, I heard Rosita and Tara talking…” You say, narrowing your eyes.

You’d snooped on their conversation only to hear news you hadn’t imagined in a million years. It seemed so far fetched, yet here Carl was, essentially confirming it. “They’re getting bolder, sloppier, and they’re making their way closer and closer to Alexandria every day.” The Saviors.

He nods, putting his hat back onto his head with a stone, cold grimace. “I noticed that. I was going to sneak out yesterday, but they were all over the woods, I couldn’t even get over the wall.” He seethes.

Goosebumps make their way up your oil soaked arms. “Rosita said stepping out of the gates around midday is basically a death sentence because they’re on the prowl… looking for something.” You look up at him, frowning with worry. “You don’t think they’re… still out there hunting for me, do you? -I know that guy said Negan wants me dead, but he wouldn’t spread resources this thin. I know him…”

Carl doesn’t like it when you bring up your mysterious relationship with Negan, but especially not when you make references that make it seem like the two of you were… “close”, in some way or another.

“You also thought he wouldn’t send people out to kill you, but look where you are now.” He snaps, then quickly lowers his head with shame. “I didn’t mean that...” He touches the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I don't want to mess things up between us already, we're supposed to be friends. -I’m just worried about you.”

You feel another instinct, but you act on it before you even know what you're doing, taking his hand in yours, and lightly stroking it. “I feel the same way… I know you're angry with me and stuff but I…” You lean against the car, pulling him by the arm.

He steps over some of the loose tools and leans up against the car next to you, eye locked on your face while you look at the ground, speaking.

“I want us to be on good terms, Carl. You're one of the only people who I feel like understands me, understands that tug we have to save people and do good even if it means we take the fall for it.” You tug at his fingers, provoking him to fan them out so you can rest your hands on his and compare them. Not for any reason, just to fidget with something. “I feel like you're the only one I could REALLY be honest with, like I could tell you anything and you'd understand.”

He hums, leaning closer to you. “And you can.” He confirms, lacing your fingers together. “It's us. It's always been us, and it always will be, no matter what.”

You know he's talking about the people of Alexandria banding together to protect one another, no matter their origin, but you flush with appreciation nonetheless. “Thank–” You stand at attention, eyes locked on something in the distance.

Carl quickly follows your eyes, just barely managing to catch the sight of a panicked Michonne sprinting down the street like her life depends on it, his father nowhere in sight. “Michonne!” He calls out to her, but she doesn’t hear him.

You step away from the car, a feeling of dread invading your senses. “They’re back?” Already? Everyone said it could take up to a week for them to get the guns and return, but here you are at sunset two days later and there’s Michonne.

“I don’t see my dad.” Carl says, his entire body going stiff. It seems like he's going to move to follow her, when suddenly the walkie talkie attached to the rear of his belt crackles to life.

“They’re comin’, get everyone out of there RIGHT NOW.” Rick’s voice instructs in a panic. “Daryl, get the guns and hand them out. Tara, supplies duty. Rosita, scout the gates. Gabriel, defense. Michonne knows what she’s doin’, just stay together and don’t forget the rendezvous point! I’ll get—” Suddenly the signal cuts out as Rick goes out of range.

Carl practically rips the walkie from his belt. “Dad!” He shouts into it, but the other end remains eerily silent.

You look up at the sky, watching the sun slowly making its way down the horizon. “It’ll be dark soon. If they’re coming…” You pause and close your eyes, the feeling of the forest floor cutting your back rising to the surface of your skin. “It’s going to be bad.” Negan wouldn’t attack in the dark unless he was going to add some flare.

Carl is hardly paying mind to you anymore, eye still locked onto the walkie as he hyperventilates worriedly. “Dad… What am I supposed to do?” He whimpers quietly, then his head slowly rises as he comes to a realization.

“It’s my show…” He mumbles to himself, eye wide. “Mine.” His eye flicks over to you, the look in his gaze sending adrenaline pumping through you. “We have to help them.” He says simply.

You barely let him finish speaking before you nod firmly, “I agree.”

It’s as if the two of you immediately know what you need to do, but your gaze lingers on each other before either of you make a move.

He seems hesitant to part ways with you in a situation like this, his shoulders rising and falling with unsaid words, but you give him an awkward smile and a shrug. You won’t be apart for long, and you try to project confidence in that, but your smile is cracked and your posture uneven. —You aren’t sure the both of you will make it out alive today, and neither is he.

You turn to run but you pause and turn back to him, only to once again lock eyes. He’s glancing over his shoulder at you like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, and you realize that he’s never going to end this moment. So you do.

“See you soon.” You say, sprinting in the direction of the supply room.

Out of all the people Rick named, it’s most likely that Tara (unfortunately) would need the most help gathering the rations.

There’s no way she could get all those boxes packed and loaded before hell is unleashed. So that’s where you’re going first. You crouch down and pry open the garage door, the orange sunlight shining on Tara and Aaron, who look, to put it lightly, disturbed by your presence.

Aaron drops the bag of rice he’s holding, jaw heavily set with frustration. “What do you think you’re doing in here? Go…” He trails off, realizing that there isn’t anything else you can do. “Just go.” He dismisses. “We don't need you here.”

You step further into the garage storage, picking up an empty cardboard box.

A week ago an interaction like this where they bluntly expressed their disdain for you, would have made you too afraid to enter the garage, but no longer. You've done more than enough to prove your dedication and set yourself apart from your origins.

“We all have to work together during a crisis. So even if you hate me, bear with me for a second.” You start carefully, but quickly, loading the supplies from the shelves into the box.

The two of them stare at you, exchanging a few looks to communicate something to one another that they don’t wish to alert you of, but you can see them out of the corner of your eye. “You know, it’s only faster with three people, if all three are working!” You shout.

Tara takes a more passive aggressive approach to get rid of you. “Aaron is already helping me, so it's not going to take as long… but with three people in here you'd just get in the way.” She says calmly. “I don’t think it would be good for you if you ended up getting in the way again and slowing us down.”

In the time they've spent arguing with you, you've already filled an entire box, kicking it over to Aaron's feet. “Load this up next,” You say calmly, ignoring their attempts to scare you off.

Their mean girl attitude doesn't frighten you in the slightest.

Tara looks like she wants to argue some more, but Aaron cuts her off by picking up the box and leaving through the garage door to load it into the pickup truck in the driveway. When he returns, you and Tara have begun loading up boxes as far away from each other as possible.

Tara finishes a box and pushes it aside to make room for another, which Aaron immediately picks up and takes to the truck. But there are two finished boxes at your feet that he just stares at from beside her.

It takes you a moment to realize it, but he’s refusing to pick up boxes near you. He’s waiting for you to slide them across the floor over to him.

“Okay, that’s enough!” You snap, and they both look up from what they’re doing. “I get that you both lost spouses to the Saviors, but you don’t get to take it out on me! You’re wasting valuable time just to try and make a teenager feel like shit, when one minute can be the difference between life and death!”

Aaron stubbornly averts his eyes, while Tara simply glares at you.

“No, look at me!” You slam a can against the table you’re working on to regain his attention, and it works. “I didn’t kill them! I don’t even know who they were, so stop trying to justify this to yourselves and start working half as hard as I’ve been!”

“We are,” Tara finally snaps, “You’re just a kid, you have no idea how much work goes into running this place that you haven’t seen. How many people we’ve lost just trying to survive even before Negan and his goons started picking us off. -This was a long time coming.”

You scoff at her. “Can the both of you just fucking listen to me? I’m working to fix mistakes I didn’t even make because I understand that just by being a part of something that hurt people I was just as guilty, so take some fucking accountability!” You shout, the memories of your life as Negan’s daughter rising to the surface. You still feel so protective of the people there, even knowing they don’t feel the same way about you. “You killed an entire broadcast station full of people because you thought they couldn’t fight back, and THAT’s why you’re in this mess… not me.”

They both go silent. Aaron’s eyes flick up to meet yours with a cold, thousand yard stare.

You swallow hard, “…I’m not saying the people you lost didn’t matter. I would never say that.” You explain, running a hand down your face, “—But you have to understand that to me, those people are complete strangers. It’s like hearing about someone that died in history, I didn’t have any part in it. It’s sad, sure, but my hands are clean.” You reach down for another box only to find that there aren’t any left. You’ve cleared the shelves on this half of the room of all except one can.

You pick up the last can and hold it out to Aaron.

His eyes flick over to Tara for a moment, another silent exchange of words almost like a disagreement. Then he takes the can from you and wraps his hands around yours, giving you a pat before he releases you.

“Thanks, I guess.” He mutters.

You smile softly, proud that your efforts have been accepted by the two. “You’re welcome… I guess.” You say playfully.

He places the can into Tara’s box and gives you a pointed look. “Eric thought things could be better… I’m sure Denise did too, but their lives were ripped from them before they could see it… Eric would have liked you, I can tell.” His voice is warm at the memory of his husband Eric.

You lower your head. “I’m sure I would have liked him too… I… I saw the wall of names and I wish I could have met all of them. I wish things had been different.”

He looks up at you, eyes searching your face for any hint of betrayal, some sign that you don’t mean what you’re saying, but there’s nothing. Only the truth.

The corner of his mouth turns up into something that can almost be considered a smile, “When I look at you I don’t see a monster, I see a child. It may not have been your finger on the trigger but with every step you take… I can feel the imprint the Saviors left on you. The imprint… Negan left on you. –And what are we if not all the people we've loved?”

You feel your eyes start to gloss over with tears, the loss of your familial dynamic with Negan eating away at you. “I know,” You laugh, swiping at your eyes, “I know. I can’t wait to finally have it all out in the open, for you all to finally understand me.”

A shot fires in the distance and you startle from the moment, jumping a little.

Aaron starts hurriedly shoving supplies into the boxes, audibly shattering some jars and quickly rushes to load them up, turning back towards you and Tara. “Hurry.”

It takes you a moment to realize why the shot bothered you so much, until it occurs to you that it wasn’t a shot at all, but the crack of a bat on something metal.

A chill runs down your spine and you rush out of the garage at Tara and Aaron’s side as they start entering the vehicle.

Tara pauses before she gets into the driver’s seat, turning to you, still avoiding looking you directly in the eyes. “You can sit in the back,” She offers.

But there’s something you need to do before you can escape Alexandria.

“I can’t,” You deny, and the two both look at you with slight surprise. “I have to find Carl.”

Aaron’s brow twitches slightly, his jaw setting. “Are you sure? I’m positive Carl will be just fine. You should come with us. If the Saviors catch you before we can find you again…”

“I’m sure.” You say firmly.

So with the sun fully set, you start sprinting down the main street of Alexandria screaming his name. It’s dark and hard to see, but the streets are strangely barren and quiet, any proof that people have lived here swiped away in the panic for hiding from Negan.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling sort of dizzy as you take in the sight. “Carl!” You shout once more, your voice becoming raspy from screaming for so long.

That’s when you see him, on the makeshift overlook at the gates, yelling down to the people on the other side.

“Bad stuff does happen but we can figure this out! We can stop this!” He claims.

It seems like somehow, against all odds, he’s stalled them.

You can’t hear the people on the other side, but they’re not attacking so something must be going right. “Carl, you fucking genius.” You whisper to yourself, letting out a shaky breath of relief.

Then he says it.

Something you both have discussed and thought a million times, but now the notion bothers you because it’s him. It’s Carl. Rick’s Carl. Michonne’s Carl. Judith’s Carl… Your Carl.

“Kill me,” He says sternly, pausing, “If you have to kill someone… If there has to be punishment, then kill me. -I’m serious.”

You shake your head, trying to get his attention. “Carl, no!” You shriek, but your voice is already raw from yelling so much already that it’s barely audible.

His eye flicks towards you over his shoulder, but he doesn’t acknowledge your presence. “If me dying could stop this, if it could make things different… for us. For you. —For all those other kids, it’d be worth it.” A lilt enters his voice, “I mean, was this the plan? Was it supposed to be this way? Is this who you wanted to be?” A small laugh of exhaustion slips past his lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t guess so… Why else would you be taking in kids like Eli and giving them a place at The Sanctuary? That's not something a monster does.”

He wasn’t. Not kids, just you.

Suddenly there’s shouting and crashes from the other side of the gate, a long metal tube being thrown over into Alexandria. —A pipe bomb.

It lands at your feet dancing, and starts smoking, so you quickly back off, covering your face with your elbow, but it’s not enough. The smoke invades your lungs and you cough, wafting your hands in front of your face as you rush away from it before it gets the chance to detonate.

Just as you can barely escape the smoke and start breathing properly, an onslaught of them that almost looks like the drizzle of rainfall downpours around Alexandria with varying degrees of destruction, and no clear detonation time. Some don’t detonate for minutes, while others explode within seconds.

One explodes to your left and you bring a hand up to cover your ear, ringing echoing through your head as your mouth stretches into a silent scream. You can barely tell which way is up and which is down, let alone escape the damn place— and Carl is nowhere in sight.

That’s when you hear the faraway distressed shrieking of Judith. It's this blood curdling, desperate plea that reminds you of an infant when it's born into this world– unaware of what’s to come, but terrified nonetheless, and it only gets louder the longer it goes on, not quieter. It is this scream that drives some mothers to madness.

“Judith?” You pant, not sure if you've even said her name out loud as you call for her. All you can hear is the ringing as the vibrations of the bombs rattle your bones inside of you. “Jude– Judith?” You try again, stumbling forwards.

You see another person ahead of you, only as you get closer you realize it's not a person. Not anymore. The wall has been compromised in some way, and the walkers are inside.

“Judy!” You try again, feeling tears slip down your face as you desperately cling to the chest of your shirt. You're not sure why but it feels like your chest is on fire. This entire situation makes you nauseous.

It's so familiar, yet so far away from you now. You keep bracing yourself for the shove of a woman looking for her son, a shot through your chest… But it never comes, leaving you in limbo, a permanent state of dread.

All of a sudden you hear another scream from her, except this one is closer to you. You spin around, looking for any sign of the little girl when you realize she's finally gone quiet.

There's a small group of walkers bent over something by the Grimes’ house, their teeth gnashing, their hands and nails covered in dirty, tacky blood as they feast, growling lowly.

You nearly fall to your knees when you feel your foot hit something soft on the ground– the little raggedy doll she'd been carrying earlier.

“Judith?” You call once more, and one of the walkers stirs, it's milky white eyes dragging up to meet your form before it goes back to eating with a sickening crunch.

***

He just narrowly escaped being shot when his dad's plan finally went into action, but he couldn't see. His already reduced vision was significantly worsened by the smoke, and every time he called out for someone they wouldn't answer.

He reached out a few times, clinging to what he thought was someone's shirt, but every time instead of a person whipping around to face him, it was a walker, and he'd have to pull out his straight back switchblade to execute them.

Even blinded by smoke and debris, he used flares to see in the dark and carefully made his way out of Alexandria after turning every place there should have been people up empty.

That was how he came to find you at the edge of the woods, with your back turned to him. You're shivering and trembling slightly, even though you're trying to hold still. It must have been traumatic for you to essentially have to relive the attack on The Sanctuary, when you were just starting to get better.

He's about to say something, about to call out to you, when he sees something wet dripping down your hands and pooling on the ground.

He stops in his tracks, boots crunching the gravel beneath him, eye wide with terror.

Are you… You can't be.

“See you soon,” –That's what you'd said.

At the crunch of his boots you turn your head slightly, giving him a better view of your arms and face, that thousand-yard stare. There's blood all over you, a ridiculous amount, and it's mixing with your sweat and– Oh… Oh… He can see the doll in your hands.

“Carl?” You call out, your eyes starting to fill with tears. Alexandria is still burning behind you, quietly, like the small crackle of a fire.

He feels all his motivation to listen to you dissipate as he stares at the doll dangling loosely in your hands. You were there. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you were there, and you couldn't protect her.

“It is you.” You say again, turning around to face him.

He nearly falls to his knees with relief as you unveil the little girl sitting in your other hand, her head tucked into your shoulder, crying. She must have been terrified, but you found her.

He's overjoyed, tears of happiness bubbling up and spilling over as he stumbles towards the two of you, arms outstretched. He's overcome with emotion.

You let the little girl down so she can meet him halfway, but he doesn’t stop at the sight of her, continuing on towards you.

“What are you–” You're cut off as he firmly presses his lips to yours, wrapping both of his arms tightly around your waist, desperately grasping at the fabric of your shirt.

You can feel him panting, the warm sweat all over his skin, but it strangely doesn't bother you at all. He seems desperate for this, like he’s starved and he needs you in this moment. His hands are hungry, touching and gripping whatever he can get of you, pressing himself against you. Close still isn’t close enough.

He moves a hand up to cradle the back of your head as he kisses you, never releasing you until he abruptly pulls back with the last of his self control, arms still around your waist, but looser now.

He'd just kissed you. –And with such intensity at that.

Your eyes widen and your lips part to say something, but at the sight of your shock he lets arms fall, mimicking your expression.

“I–” He starts to say something, but is cut off by the sounds of his father searching for him.

“Carl! Judith! Where are you?!”

He pulls away, free hands immediately moving to lift up his sister as he regains his senses. “Here! We're here!” He calls back.

Rick emerges from the woods and rushes over to the three of you, quickly followed by Daryl. “You're okay,” He coos, wrapping his arms around Carl and Judith, inspecting them for injuries. “Are you both alright? No injuries?”

Carl nods, “Yeah, dad, we're fine.”

You awkwardly brush yourself off to the side while he checks on them, only to realize that his eyes are on YOU now.

“Oh god,” Rick whispers, taking in the sight of you shaking with blood all over you. “C’mere.” He mutters, not giving you a choice as he pulls you into the family's hug. “You're okay. You're all goin’ to be okay.”

With his arms still slung over your shoulders he guides you and Carl, on opposite sides of him, towards the woods. You keep trying to make eye contact with Carl, but he clumsily avoids your eyes every time.

Rick brings you two down to four cars sitting a little ways away from Alexandria, telling you to sit inside of one, as Daryl takes Judith, giving you a worried look before he ruffles your hair, his hand lingering for a moment before he rejoins the adults.

Rick crouches down in front of where you're sitting with your legs hanging out of the car. “Are you sure you're okay? No bites, no scratches, nothin'? You don't feel… any kind of way?” He asks.

You do feel some kind of way, but it's not as a result of the attack anymore, now your mind keeps running back to when his son had kissed you.

“I'm fine,” You deny.

Carl enters the car on the other side of you, shutting the door behind him, and Rick takes the hint. “Alright, as long as you're both okay.” He dismisses himself, leaving the two of you alone.

The air is warm, but still, and your skin feels dry as a result of the blood coating you. Of all the times to not have access to water, this would probably be the worst.

You pull your legs up into the car and shut the door, leaving you alone in private.

He reaches up and takes off his hat, setting it down in his lap as he smooths his hair back, running a hand down his face. Which, now you can see as a result of his kiss with you there are little specks of blood all over his arms, and a smear on his cheek.

Neither of you say anything, leaving an agonizing silence hanging in the car until about twenty minutes later, when Rick opens the driver door and pops in.

“There’s blockage all down the roads. We can’t go to Hilltop yet, so we're goin’ to have to stay somewhere else.” He breaks the news to the two of you, but especially to Carl because he knows Enid is there. “We're still talkin’, but our best bet is the factory that Eugene used to make bullets. It's clean, there's already a stash of food there…”

"The factory, Rick!” Tara calls to him.

He pops back out of the car, going back and forth for a moment before he leans back inside. “I guess we're going to the factory.” He laughs softly, getting into the driver’s seat. Michonne, having taken Judith from Daryl, enters the front passenger seat, and you drive off, following in the middle of the other cars.

***

Negan could have sworn he saw your battered form, dancing in the smoke, teasing him with each carefully calculated step, heard your voice, your desperate shrieks, although it all could have just been trauma. –That much he knows. But what can't be explained away is that boy knowing your name.

–Letting it roll off of his tongue like it was the most familiar thing in the world to him, the way he'd practically dangled it above the man like a treat to a wild dog.

Was it a hint? Was Carl, is some roundabout way, telling him that you were alive and trapped in Alexandria? If so, that meant he owed the boy a whole lot. He should have considered what he was hearing in the moment instead of impulsively demanding his men attack. You could have been hurt in the fallout.

“Dwighty-boy?” He lightly calls, clicking his tongue as if the other man were a cat.

Dwight is unamused, staring at the dented left wall and the carnage of Alexandria. He stands up from where he’d been crouched, pulling his jacket closer to himself. “What now?” He sighs.

Negan wafts a hand. “Forget all the squads, call the men back, have some of them fix the wall and send the rest back to The Sanctuary.” He needs this place contained so that if you’re here, you’re at least safe from the living dead.

Dwight’s head snaps in his direction, “You’re giving up? You aren’t going to look for her anymore?”

Negan chuckles, “No, I didn’t say that… I’m sending YOU and I expect you to bring her back to me by the end of this week, because,” He laughs manically, “I have this funny feeling you know where she is, and if you’re not bringing her to me, you aren’t exactly loyal to me, are you?”

Dwight swallows hard, “Okay, I’ll—”

Negan interrupts him by putting his bat underneath his chin and tipping his head up, the barbs on Lucille cutting into his throat. “Nope. Tick-tock, Dwight, because if I find her before you, I’m gonna start taking pieces off of Sherry and you’re gonna watch. I won’t even kill her, it’ll be slow, taking her apart piece by piece, layer by layer like an onion, until she rips herself apart at the seams.” He pauses, laughing, “You know me, Dwight. You know all the things I’m gonna do to her if that girl’s not back here, untouched and smiling. Now, get a fucking move on.” He demands, releasing the other man.

He stares down at the wreckage, mumbling to himself. “I failed you once, trying to get back to you, I won’t do it again. Just hang on, baby girl, just hang on a little while longer. I got ya’, always have, always will.”

Chapter 16: Paranoia

Notes:

Reader has been away from Negan for 18 days…

Don't worry, I didn’t forget about Enid, she'll be back later. –Also, did anyone notice I’ve been constantly teasing Carl’s fate from the show?

You aren’t sure what to do.

On the one hand, you want nothing more than to snuggle up with the boy sitting on the floor beneath the window. I mean, why wouldn't you? It's the same boy who had given you a stuffed animal, cake, comics, and… and a KISS. –Something passionate and sweet because he missed you of all people, you who couldn't be loved.

On the other hand, it's against your very nature. No one else has ever done stuff like that for you before.

You didn't grow up in some lovey dovey environment where you were coddled to death by adoring family members like him. Hell, you didn't even think you were capable of “liking” someone this strongly at all, if that's even what it is… Maybe you're just confused?

You click your tongue with a whine, turning and kicking the nearest object, a metal pipe, across the factory floor. You only realize how loud it is in the cramped space as it rattles against the concrete for an uncomfortable amount of time.

All eyes turn to you, including his.

You don't like to be looked at, to have all the attention on you, but the way he looks at you nearly sends you into a panic. His piercing blue eye narrows at you, his brows slightly raised with confusion and concern... It's a stupidly sweet look that makes you want to punch him right in the center of his face.

He can tell you seem flustered and irritable, which is why he's left you alone for most of today, but now here you are making trouble.

He glances away, leaving you to your fit.

He thought it would give you a chance to calm down, but he was wrong. –In fact, him avoiding you with his eye only makes you more agitated.

You ball up your fists and whip around to storm out, going to the small balcony on the same floor. “I need some air!” You shout to excuse your absence.

You decide to go sit out on the roof, your eyes habitually searching for the view you used to get from The Sanctuary even though you already know it's not there, your hand coming up to fidget with the star around your neck.

You step up onto the ledge and swing your legs over to the other side, just observing as you wrestle with everything on your mind. –Your father, or should you keep calling him Negan now? You loved him so much you aren't sure if you can ever get over the years worth of time you spent together. As horrible as it makes you seem, you have to admit that you don't really WANT to get over it. You still love him.

Some mornings you wake up and half expect to be met with your bedroom at The Sanctuary, and you feel… relieved. You were such a different person back then, life was simple. Now you have so many worries you never could have imagined, like what your relationship is to Carl, your uncertain future, the Saviors hunting you, life in or out of Alexandria… You don't know what choice is the right one and you keep finding yourself at fate's mercy.

Carl follows you out soon after you excuse yourself, but he doesn’t say anything, instead coming to silently stand at your side overlooking the city below. There are walkers stumbling through the street, but only a few, and most seem to be at the end of their life span.

Eugene is a lot of things, some might say cowardly, but he really is a genius. Choosing this location to produce bullets, both because of the machinery and because of the ease of entry and exit, wasn't just luck. He thought it through.

And you've thought this through.

“Carl, I'm not ready,” You say quietly, gripping the ledge of the roof so tightly your knuckles pale.

He doesn't look at you, or yell, he just nods ever so slightly. “Okay.” He leans on the rail next to you, lowering a hand to help you up. “Come back on this side.”

You loosen your grip on the ledge, “Not yet.” and take a deep breath, readying yourself for what's to come. “I'm scared you'll end up hating me, so I'll give you the option of what to do with me before that.”

He can push you off, if that's what he decides… or he can ask you to come back. It doesn't matter, you're just so sick of hiding this from him.

You see his brow furrow in the corner of your eye. “What do you mean?”

“I'm going to tell you the truth. The whole truth.” You swallow hard, “What we are now… crossed all the boundaries of what it ever should have. I owe you this. You need to know who you… kissed.” The word comes out quieter than the rest.

He stiffens, “Don't.”

You brace yourself, feeling your legs shaking, your entire body vibrating with anxiety and a new type of fear you can't describe. “I gotta, Carl. You need to know what I am.”

He reaches out and tries to turn you towards him by the shoulder, “When you said you weren't ready, I didn’t know this was what you meant. I was the one who crossed the line, you don't need to–”

You cut him off, “I'm his–”

He slaps his hands over his ears to prevent himself from hearing you, but you yell louder.

“Carl, I'm his daughter! Do you hear me? I'm his daughter! He adopted me, he took me in and I sat by and watched while he killed all those–” He ends the back and forth by pressing his lips to yours, putting an arm around your waist and pulling you towards the railing. He wants you safely back on this side, next to him.

At first you fight him, desperately trying to get out of the kiss so that you can tell him the truth, but he only holds you tighter. He isn't going to let you go, —let you tell him—, when it was entirely his fault the situation got to this point. You don't owe him anything, even if you reject him.

You push him in the chest with the heel of your palm, opening your mouth to start shouting again, but he pulls you back in and presses his open mouth to yours, slipping his tongue inside.

The feeling sends an electric buzz through your body, the initial shock and previous frustration dissipating in an instant as your heart starts to pound wildly in your chest.

His tongue melts in your mouth, letting you have a moment with the feeling before he starts exploring the space, your saliva shared between you.

It doesn't even cross your mind to try and push him off at this point, your only worry being that you won't know what to do because of your inexperience. But to your relief, it seems like he doesn't know what he's doing either. His goal was just to shut you up in the moment.

With little self control, you moan desperately into the kiss. You aren’t even aware you've made the noise until his hand finds its way to your inner thigh, groping and trying to pull you closer.

Maybe this was what you wanted, for him to do something other than sit there in that corner avoiding you. After all, you've waited more than long enough.

He pulls back, licking at your lips once more before laughing slightly. “Do you…” He trails off, shaking his head as he grabs you by the hips and starts helping you back over the railing.

Words aren't enough anymore, and he figures if you'd had a problem with this you wouldn't be blushing so much, clinging to him like you'll die without him.

You eagerly climb back over and reunite your lips and tongues, hands on either side of his face as your breathing gets shallower, your stomach heating up. It feels like you're getting dangerously close to something, but you don't want to stop.

He swallows the concoction you've made, pulling back again to stare at your face, hands still on your hips as he takes a breath. The way his chest rises and falls, shaking slightly, you can't tell if from anxiety or excitement, reminds you that he's alive. Which reminds you of the very real possibility he could die as a result of your current predicament.

Images of him on the forest floor, that strange man's hands around his neck flood your system and override the excited tingling in your limbs. He could die, and die because of you.

He leans back in for more, but you put a hand between you.

As much as it pains you, now that you've had a second to breathe, you understand how wrong this is. He still doesn't know who you are. “We should stop… Your dad is literally right behind that door, what if he catches us?”

As much as you want this, you can't ignore all the risks... Not to mention, you're also a little afraid of what he's doing to you.

He groans deeply, shutting his eye for a moment before nodding. “He's not though, he went to clear the lower floor. There's enough rooms down there we could all have ones to ourselves to sleep. They all went down there.”

“Still…” You mumble, averting your eyes.

He realizes that you're uncomfortable and pulls back, leaving one of his hands resting comfortingly on your forearm. “Sorry, you're right. If you want to stop, we stop.”

You glance around making sure the two of you haven't been seen, before you reach down and lace your fingers together. You just want to do it one last time.

His skin almost burns you, everything within yourself pleading to let him go. He doesn't know you, not really, and the more he gets wrapped up in your shit, the more reasons you're going to have to stay in Alexandria, and that's not the plan. –You can't stay.

“What made you decide to do that anyway?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek as you push your feelings down inside yourself. “It was stupid of you to kiss me again. The first time during the attack was a mistake. –You know where I came from, what I stand for, what I've… done.”

He lifts your locked hands while cocking an eyebrow to show you just how contradicting your words and actions are.

“Was it really all that stupid? You can't call something you actually wanted a mistake.” He says, clearly amused in some way by the situation. You were the one who demanded he let you into his life in the first place… now here you are trying to cut your way out.

“Do you even want this?” You ask. “Maybe it’s just a passing urge. —One that so many men seem to have.”

He pauses for a moment, letting the question simmer in his mind. “Well, I think I do… I can't stop thinking about you, even when you're not around…” He reaches up with his free hand and brushes your hair out of your face, thumbing your cheek. “When you're hurt, or scared, I want to drop everything and comfort you…” He smiles, “Everytime I can get you to laugh I feel this… surge of adrenaline.” He glances down at the palm of his hand. “I'm… not sure I understand what it is yet. It's different from what I felt with Enid, but it's just as intense. I want– No, I need it.” He says in a hushed tone.

There he goes, saying something stupidly sweet, to the point you almost want to vomit. You can't keep going around in circles like this, you have to end it now.

“Well I don't want this. I don't feel the same way, and I don't want you to kiss me again.” You say sternly, breaking contact with him. –But your eyes linger on his hands.

“Yes you do.” He says, as if it was the most certain thing in the world.

He reaches out like he's about to touch your waist, knowing you'd give in and lean into the touch, but he stops himself. He doesn't want to push your boundaries, especially not while you're in this state.

He has to keep in mind what his dad told him– You're feeling cornered and lost, and adding to the pressure your feeling can't possibly be good for you.

“Sorry, but you do.” He says, dropping his hand, rubbing his fingers together as if to savor the touch of you. “If you don't have any other reason to be out here, what're you gonna do now?”

“I want to help them clear the lower floors… They're probably weirded out that you disappeared anyway, you “can only go missing for so long before people start to notice”, remember?” You say, making quotation marks with your hands.

He narrows his eye, glancing away. “Even if they put two and two together and realize I came out here to be with you, I don't think they’ll be upset.” He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, “They all seemed kinda worried about you. My dad said you seemed off, he didn't want to leave you out here alone.”

You feel guilty for making them worry, but it seems futile to do anything about it now, other than help them. “We still have to be careful…” You mutter, glancing away. “But did you hear what I said earlier?”

“Hm?”

“Before you kissed me, did you hear what I said?” You clarify, running a hand through your hair. The breeze up here is starting to feel unpleasantly cold. “I mean, I assume you didn't, you would have said something or reacted in some way…” You’re so paranoid.

He pauses for a moment, face unchanging, his eyes still on you. “...No.” He says in a complete monotone.

You cock your head to the side, confused by his reaction, but then he seems to perk up. “No, I didn’t… Sorry for acting so childish about it, but I wasn't sure what you were going to say.” He nudges you in the arm with his fist, “Come on, let’s go help them clear that lower level.”

You follow him back inside trying to ignore the feelings of doubt creeping up on you, but the longer you walk beside him the more unusual you find his response to your question. Are you overthinking it? You must be.

You enter the stairwell leading down to the second floor of the factory, only for the door at the bottom of the stairs to open at the noise, Michonne peeking out with her sword raised.

At the sight of him, her mouth turns up into a smile, her head tipping downwards to give him a lighthearted side-eye, one eyebrow raised.

“Carl,” She says in a falsely upset tone. “If you make noise like that while we’re looking for walkers, one day you might find yourself at the end of someone’s weapon.”

He laughs, rushing down the remaining stairs to stand at her side. “Oh, please, I’m the only person who can take me out.” He lifts an arm to flex his bicep. “None of you could finish me off.”

She laughs, shaking her head as she lazily kicks the door open with her foot to hold it for him. “You get that cockiness from your father, I swear.”

“Ugh,” He groans at the comparison, “I do not!”

“You do,” She says, a playful but confident edge entering her voice. “But I’ll tell you what, if you can kill more walkers on this floor than I do, you can eat the last candy bar I have on me.”

Carl lowers his eye, smiling. “Maybe I shouldn’t accept that challenge, since it’s not something dad would do and I’m so much like him. —He’d compete, but not for candy.”

She smirks, “Exactly.”

The two of them walk through the door bantering, leaving you by yourself in the stairwell. “Hey wait,” You call half-heartedly, thinking maybe it’s better he goes ahead without you. He needs to get used to the idea of you being separated anyway.

You make it down the stairs feeling slightly relieved, catching your reflection in the corner of your eye. You look… Wait, what? You startle at the realization that it’s not a mirror on the wall, but a window that’s been frosted over by dust… So who the hell are you looking at?

The figure looming in the window, their palms pressed against the glass above their face to peer inside, their breath fogging the window around their face.

Your blood runs cold, hands raised mid-air as you try to slow your breathing down and hold completely still. —It doesn’t look like they’ve seen you and you want to keep it that way. Each second that ticks by feels like an hour, until they suddenly start drumming their fingers on the glass, scaring you. You scream, jolting into the wall behind you.

The figure bolts, darting out of your sight. The whole interaction barely lasted a minute before the stairwell door slams open at the sound of your squeal, Rosita coming out with her gun drawn.

She clears the room with her eyes before giving you a stern look. “Jesus christ, what was that?”

You give her an equally stern look, expecting her to match your panicked energy. “There was someone outside!”

The woman lowers her gun, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, there is someone outside. —Daryl.” She says patronisingly, “Don’t scream like that again unless you’re dying.”

She lowers her voice, holding the door open for you as she mutters to herself. “I’m gonna kill him for trying to scare you. We don’t have time to mess around.”

You lower your head, cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame, quickly shuffling your way past her, making your way over to Rick, who silently tosses you a sharpened broom handle.

“Thanks,” You mutter quietly, looking around for some place to clear. The only place you can see that’s available is a dark hallway a little ways away from everyone else.

Maybe this will be good for you, give you some time to think.

You can hear Michonne and Carl laughing as they loudly smash their way through the dead. You seriously doubt that they’re actually counting with the amount of noise you’re hearing, in fact there’s no chance they are, but you smile anyway, feeling a warmth spread through your chest as you picture Carl laughing while playing around with her. —She’s a good mom to him, and she always knows just how to make him feel at ease.

Your smile fades as you remember your own father lifting you up into his arms, the both of you laughing happily, Lucille standing up and cheering you on from the stands even though other parents were quietly seated. He was so proud of you that day, back before everything started when you’d won against his high schoolers even though you were younger.

That whole day you’d worried you were going to disappoint him, worried you’d be caught before you could win, but against all odds, you HAD won.

It didn’t matter that your parents were there too, hell, you can hardly remember their faces, let alone what they were doing at that moment. There had been so many just like it. —Your mother’s, or maybe it was your father’s, face buried in their phone, only glancing up every now and then when people in the crowd got particularly loud. That slow, sarcastic clap. You just remember they weren’t cheering for you, not like Negan and Lucille were.

In Negan’s words, you were their tiny lil’ terminator on the field.

You sniffle, eyes glossed over as you tighten your grip on the broomstick. “Dad…” The word slips out of you involuntarily, but as the sound reaches your ears you realize just how much it means.

A walker jumps out of a doorway in front of you, trying to grasp at your face, snarling, but you quickly push the broom handle into its mouth, busting through the skull.

***

Daryl enters the factory again, coming down to join everyone on the second floor, crossbow and squirrels in hand. —The second Rosita spots him, she’s on the war path.

“What the hell is your problem?!” She shouts, poking him in the chest. “Why on earth would you try to scare her when you knew we were trying to clear this floor in a timely manner? You could have put us at risk! What if everyone had rushed over and—”

He brushes her hand off, shaking the deceased animals in front of her face. “The hell are you talkin’ about? I was out huntin’.”

She scoffs, “And what part of hunting entails knocking, or standing, or whatever by the window trying to scare us?”

He tips his head to the side, “Hah? None, why would it?”

She pauses for a moment, reading his expression before her brows raise. He’s not lying. He was never by the window.

“…Rick?” She calls out.

The man comes around the corner, covered in a reddish brown substance they can assume is walker blood. “Yeah? Need another weapon?”

She shakes her head. “No… Is everyone else inside right now?”

“Yeah,” He glances around, smearing some of the blood on his cheek in an attempt to wipe it off. “Aaron’s got Judith if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Mmm, no. That Savior kid… She said she saw someone outside and she completely freaked out.” She shakes her head, trying to picture the scene she stumbled upon when you screamed. “—It could be nothing, I didn’t see any signs, no finger prints on the window or anything.”

Rick puts his tongue in his cheek, thinking for a moment. You’re under a lot of stress and haven’t gotten much sleep, so like she said, it’s entirely possible you just hallucinated something in the corner of your eye. —It couldn’t hurt to check though.

“Eli!” He calls out, but you don’t answer. You aren’t in the same wing they are, you went down that dark hallway by yourself.

Carl perks up at your name, his smile vanishing in an instant as he starts to panic. —The way his father said your name makes him feel antsy, and not in a good way.

The walker he’s fighting is hovering over him, teeth gnashing and snapping at his exposed abdomen, but he quickly bails on the fight he’s in with the walker, ending its life in a less playful way.

He pulls his shirt back down and joins his dad in the room they’ve gathered in, Michonne following out behind him. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“Do you know where that girl is?” Rosita asks, irritation seeping in as this nonsensical conversation drags on.

Nothing’s adding up to her. She would have noticed something if someone was there, wouldn’t she have? She can’t start doubting her own skills, else what does she have to rely on? She has to believe there was nothing wrong.

Carl lowers his head, recalling his choice to give you some space. “No, I… left her in the stairwell.”

Rosita gives Rick a look of confusion, searching his face for answers, her mind trying to piece things together. “Did anything strange happen when you were together? Did she seem off?”

Carl parts his lips, unsure of how to answer that question. “Uh, no? No. —I mean, not really, but… maybe?”

You were sitting on the roof, giving him the option to kill you, then you kissed, then you’d rejected him and split off from one another… But how could he tell them that? Could it even be considered unusual?

Rick picks up on his son’s strange behavior, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Did you see anything that may have made you think there was someone else with you?”

Carl lowers his knife, “What? No…” He glances between Rosita and his father, backing up slightly. “Wait, someone else? What’s going on?” He repeats.

Rick holds out a hand to stop Carl. “It’s alright, don’t worry, okay? We just need to find her so we can ask her about something she said.” He explains gently.

Unfortunately, Rosita doesn’t have the same tact the former cop has.

“She said she saw someone and now she’s missing.” She announces, looking over her shoulder at Daryl. “And it wasn’t him, so that means someone might be going around picking us off. —If it’s not that, she’s just insane.”

Carl tenses, drawing his gun and reeling back like he might sprint off at any moment.

“Carl, don’t. Just wait a minute, alright? We’re all gonna—” Rick is cut off by his son finally snapping away like a stretched rubber band. “Goddamn it, Rosita.”

***

You pull the broomstick out of the last walker in this wing with a grunt, having checked all the rooms and eliminated them. There were more than you expected, and because of your weapon of choice you ended up even more messy than you’d been as a result of the attack on Alexandria.

With no showers or access to water you know you’re going to be like this, and smell like death, for quite a while.

“Ugh, disgusting.” You whine, shaking off your hands. “Why on earth did he kiss me while I’m like this? Seriously, it makes less sense the more I—” You cut yourself off hearing someone whispering on your left.

It’s too low to understand, but you know you can hear it, and it’s definitely human.

You step over the walker’s body, looking down either end of the hallway you’re in before peering through the protective glass in front of you, to the machinery.

You’re positive this is where the whispering originated, yet when you look inside there’s nobody… Maybe it was a tape or something? A CD left behind to train workers? …After a moment you back away from the glass. —If you can take walkers, you can take a person.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Come out with your hands up, if you have a weapon, lay it down on the floor!” You call out.

For a while it’s silent, almost leaving you feeling relieved, but then out from one of the rooms you’d already been inside of and checked, a tall slim figure emerges and stands at the other end of the hall.

You slap your hands over your mouth, whimpering slightly. Where had they been hiding, and why hadn’t they said or done anything to you while you were in there? You’d checked everywhere, the closet, the dresser, under the bed, behind the door. If they were hidden, they were hidden well, and they could’ve taken you by surprise, but they didn’t.

That’s the worst part, they’d just been watching.

The light behind them gets brighter, buzzing like a game timer, but they don’t react to it in any way until it shatters and sends sparks flying, bright hot embers dancing in the darkness.

They flinch, then they tip their head to the side and wave at you, moving each finger individually, slowly.

It’s almost like they’re playing with you.

You step back in retreat, raising the broomstick defensively, but they mimic your behavior and take a fast step forward, almost like a lunge, raising their arm as if to mock you. “Stop!” You say in a panic, your voice breaking as your breath catches.

The figure stills, their arm dropping as they start to whistle a very familiar tune.

—It’s off-key and completely botched, but the tune is clear and distinct. Negan’s whistle. —The whistle of the Saviors…

Could they be a Savior? Another derranged hunter?

You hear a metallic thud from beside you and whip your head around to see a figure crouched by a machine behind the glass, eyes wide to an almost unnatural degree.

They're peeled back into circular shapes like there’s no eyelid, locked on you, as the figure shifts to hide again, never blinking, never shifting their eyes...

Their head is still peeking out, and it’s clear from how slowly they moved that their intent wasn’t to fully conceal themselves from you. You are not the one they're hiding from.

Suddenly there’s another whistle from a much closer place behind the glass, then another down the hallway by the other figure, then another, and another, and another… and another…

How many of them are there??? How many of them are still there, lurking in the shadows? Is it your mind playing tricks on you that you’re surrounded, or are you really and truly cornered?

You start to shake, sweating with panic, which only increases as you look forward and realize the figure at the end of the hallway has gotten closer while you stared at the one behind the machinery, something metal glinting in their hands.

You raise the point of your stick at them again, “I said drop your weapon!” You repeat, knowing full well if it’s a gun, there’s nothing you can do.

They raise their arm, pointing the object back at you, before they glance behind you and drop the object on the floor, darting away.

You freeze.

Why had they run? What had been so scary they decided to stop their sick game of red light green light?

The answer comes in the form of hands reaching out and grabbing you from behind, covering your eyes. You scream loudly, dropping your spear in a panic as you try to get them off of you, hitting and pulling with all of your strength, only to see Carl.

His brows are furrowed with concern and confusion, his hands quickly pulling back at your distress. “Sorry, I—”

“Y-Y-You saw that, right? You saw it? You saw—” You point at the empty hallway, then turn and look at the empty machine room. There’s nothing and no one.

“I-I-It wa- Did- B-But-” You try to explain but your words are unintelligible as you break down sobbing and reach out for his shoulders, cowering into his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” He comforts, putting his arms around you. “What was it, what did you see? Tell me, darlin’” His southern accent slips out for the second time around you, but this time because of his intense worry. He’s never seen you so afraid... What on earth had gotten you to this point?

He looks around, but all he can see is the bloodied wrench on the floor, glass surrounding it, and the walkers lying limp all around you.

“Was it a close call? —Did you get hurt, honey?” He asks, trying to sweet talk you into a calm state, but it isn’t working, you’re clearly really shaken up. “I can go get—”

“No!” You shout, rapidly shaking your head. “No, don’t leave me… Please…” Your voice comes out in a tiny, high pitched plea that he can't ignore.

He nods rapidly, stroking the back of your head softly. “Okay, I promise I won’t, we’ll stay right here until they come.” He says, pulling you off to the side of the hallway.

“Please stay. Please stay. Please stay.” You repeat over and over, shutting your eyes. You aren’t sure why you’re so afraid, but it feels like your heart might just explode, the room feeling small and hot.

There’s not enough air in here— Not at all, has it always felt like that, or are you just being paranoid again? How come every time you feel like this, you subconsciously reach down to cling at the wound on your chest? Why won’t your mind stop racing? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?

Why isn't your dad here, and why does he want you dead now? Why can't you hear yourself think? Why does everyone want you dead all of a sudden?

“Hey,” He whispers quietly into your ear, peppering a few kisses on the side of your face. These ones feel different, less passionate and more gentle. “I swear on my life that I won’t leave you. —Just breathe.”

Rick rounds the corner, gun drawn, quickly followed by Daryl and Rosita. They all heard you scream and the shouting that preceded that, expecting to find you, Carl, and another person. They stop at a decent distance, seeing you sobbing whilst clinging to Carl, shaking and hyperventilating in an odd way. You look exhausted.

–But the important part is that there's no one else there with you.

Rosita narrows her eyes. “There’s no one here… I don’t understand, that scream… She sounded like she…” She almost seems like she believes you for a moment, then she shakes her head. “A complete fucking waste of time, and to top it off she’s out of her fucking mind. That’s just great!”

Rick approaches you with Daryl, resting a hand on your back. You flinch and then settle into the touch, startled but happy that the men are here. “I know I've said this a lot, but you're okay. We're goin’ to get to the bottom of this.” He comforts.

However Daryl keeps walking even after he’s seen you, going to the end of the hallway and crouching down by the wrench, then walking into the room the shadowy figure had come from, before returning to you.

“Ain’t nobody here, okay? ‘S fine, you’re fine, everything's fine.” He says, ruffling your hair. “I hunt, remember? I’d know if there was someone here, so calm yourself now.”

“He would, he’s the best tracker I’ve ever seen.” Rick adds, patting you on the back, then he looks at Carl. “Take her to the other wing, put her and Judith to bed. Everyone could use a good night's sleep, that’s all.”

“She’s crazy.” Rosita repeats.

“Ain’t nobody here crazy,” Daryl says sternly, watching Carl lead you down the hallway, an arm around your waist.

The intimacy of the interaction isn't lost on the adults. Despite not having seen the kissing, they can tell there's a connection between you, and that it's growing.

Rick shakes his head with a sigh, “Well, that’s one mystery solved. Sleep deprivation… who would have thought?” He says, starting to walk back towards the other wing, but Daryl grabs him by the arm, lowering his voice so that only the three of them can hear.

“There were others here.” He says gruffly, glancing over his shoulder.

Rosita’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Rick tips his head to the side, looking around suspiciously. “Others? –Plural?”

Daryl sniffs the air, the smell of cigarette smoke filling his nostrils for the second time. “Yeah, ‘smelled smoke. ‘Thought it was her, but when I got closer, ‘realized it wasn’t so I kept going, and thank god I did.”

“How do you know it wasn’t just a lingering smell from before? That smell sticks around for years! It could have been anything…” Rosita argues, afraid of what it might mean if someone else really was here.

He grumbles, “Okay, well even if the smell ain’t from whoever was just in here, they were absolutely covered in blood, just like the wrench, and they left tracks. –It ain’t walker blood, neither, it’s fresh like human blood.”

Rick furrows his brows. “There’s more, isn’t there? That’s why you didn’t say it in front of them.”

Daryl lowers his voice even further, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. “The windows are all open, not like when I walked down here earlier, and the exploded bulb is ‘cause someone was drainin’ the power, tryin’ to leave us in the dark.” He pauses, shaking his head.

“Oh fuck,” Rosita cuts in, putting a hand over her mouth.

Daryl continues, “With the window thing you said earlier, the power, and the fact she came face to face with them just now and didn’t end up dead, I’d have to guess they like to play with their prey. —They’re targetin’ her specifically and they’ve got a motive.”

Rick shakes his head too, eyes darting around the scene, the signs looking all too much like a break in now that he’s heard Daryl’s explanation. “We can’t leave her alone anymore.” He says sternly.

Rosita hugs herself. “None of us can be alone anymore… Shit, why does this always happen to us?”

"We'll take shifts, patrolling in pairs, while the rest of us stick together..." Rick directs, eyes scanning the room behind the safety glass, a bloody handprint on one of the machines catching his attention. "That's all we can really do anyway, we don't have much left from Alexandria."

***

Carl guides you to the bed, another one on the other side of the room containing his sleeping sister, a small dim lamp shining down on her. She's snoring softly, comfortably tucked into a little ball after her story time with Michonne.

The other bed, the one you're in, is the same size, a twin, but without a light above it it's consumed by shadows. –Shadows you almost think there might be someone lurking in, despite the space being too small to actually conceal anyone.

Carl tries to lift the covers to tuck you in, but you resist, standing beside the bed with a worried look on your face.

“There really was someone else there.” You say shakily, giving him a pleading look. Even you wouldn't believe you if it hadn't been for what you'd seen with your own two eyes.

“I believe you.” He lies without hesitation.

He would do anything to calm you down and make you feel safe. Anything.

You comply with sitting down on the bed, feeling your head start to hang with exhaustion. You're feeling tired, sure, but there’s something else you need to do before you can fall asleep.

You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull the blankets over you. “You promised you’d stay, so stay.” You say sternly, clinging to his shirt. “Please?” You lower your voice into a plea.

He hesitates, mouth agape. “Stay? Stay… here?” He rasps, looking at the bed, then back at you, before nodding slightly, –slowly– like he's still unsure about his choice to join you.

I mean, this would normally be a huge step in a relationship, but this is just to comfort you, right?

He slowly reaches behind him to pull out his gun and knife before slipping them underneath the bed, his eyes lingering on the weapons for a moment.

“Okay… Okay.” He says with more conviction, “I’m going to stay here all night long,” He lulls, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. “So close your eyes, I promise to keep watch.”

He awkwardly lifts the blankets and makes his way into the bed beside you, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he traps you between him and the wall. You're warm, almost feverishly so, which makes him wonder if you've started to get sick again.

Maybe it was the stress, or maybe your wounds have gotten infected since he last saw them…

He makes a mental note to check them in the morning, with your permission of course.

“Thank you,” You mumble, finding yourself drifting in and out of sleep, eyes fluttering, when you finally decide to snuggle into him and give in. He's warm, and you like the way it feels with his arm around you. “Goodnight...” You whisper.

“‘Night.” He says back.

Even though you’ve given into sleep, he stays awake for hours afterwards, whispering to you softly. “I won’t look at you any differently, I won’t make you try to forget…” He mutters softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m not mad, I never should have been… I’m here, honey, I’m still here... Just relax...”

“…There are no monsters here except you and I.”

Chapter 17: Relapse

Notes:

The title is a callback to chapter nine, Detox

Reader has been away from Negan for 19 days…

Your eyes open, fluttering for a moment before the harsh rays of sunshine stabbing at your pupils make your self-awareness return and remind you of what being awake actually means… Consequences.

A wave of annoyance and embarrassment passes over you. The way you acted yesterday was completely foolish. How could you have been so clingy when your entire goal was to get him as far away from you as possible? Yesterday had been a disaster that only made the two of you much, much closer.

“Ugh… God, my head is killing me.” You grumble, sitting up in bed, only to find yourself bound by Carl’s limp arm.

You turn to see him, his hair a mess, drool running down his face while he softly breathes, his sleeping face firmly pressed into your waist because of the way you've shifted. He looks peaceful. Peaceful, but exhausted, body still tense from trying to fight sleep.

It hurts to know that his exhaustion was caused by you. You drained him. “Oh, Carl, you idiot.” You mumble, eyes softening as you reach down to stroke his cheek, wiping the drool away while you're at it. “You should have just gone to bed… I would have forgiven you.”

He shifts as his hair pokes his good eye turning his face down into the pillow, his arm giving you a firm squeeze before retreating back to his own personal space. You wonder what's going through his mind while he sleeps, if he has the same nightmares that you do.

It doesn't seem that way, but you keep wondering.

Suddenly there's a knock at the half open door to the room, the door bouncing open a little further with each of the three knocks.

“Ahem,” Rick clears his throat as he enters, trying to warn you both before he fully comes inside.

You release Carl, face heating up as you try to put some distance between the two of you. “Ah, uhm, just a minute!” You call, but Rick catches you in your scramble and looks off to the side awkwardly.

At least you aren’t so close to him anymore, now it just looks like you had been sleeping beside one another instead of all cuddled up.

“He used to have sleepovers with his friends all the time, it's nothin’ new…” Rick mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's only awkward because you're teenagers, but it really shouldn't be… It's good for you to support one another.”

You nod along with him, agreeing to the innocent explanation he offers even though you know just yesterday his son's tongue was in your mouth, his hands creeping around your thighs and waist.

“Uh, yeah…” You say hesitantly.

You feel guilty for a number of reasons, the lies you continue telling weighing heavily on your mind, but you decide for now it would be best for everyone involved to only apologize for one for now.

“I'm really sorry about the whole screaming thing, I don't know what happened…” You say honestly, giving him a pleading look, “I'm not crazy, this isn't like, a reoccurring thing with me, –I swear. That's the first time I've ever hallucinated.”

You aren’t sure if what you saw was real or something exaggerated by your mind, but you know for a fact that someone else was there with you. It might make you look out of your mind to say so, so you won't, but you know the truth.

He abruptly locks eyes with you, his face shifting to something urgent and confused. “Don't even worry about that, it was…” He cuts himself off, placing a hand over his mouth. “I trust your eyes, deputy. –You're sharp. Ain’t nothin’ in this world that’ll stop kids like you from doin’ the right thing, even in situations like this.”

You're glad the one incident didn't change the way he sees you, even though he seems uncomfortable with the subject.

“‘You hungry?” He asks, giving a glance to his sleeping son as well. “We’ve got meat Daryl swears he can make into sausages, and Gabriel scored some protein bars this morning. —Chocolate chip, strawberry, and peanut butter. You gotta like at least one of those, right?”

Carl is clinging to the pillow between you, pushing his face into the plush surface as one of his legs bends at the knee to bump you, still asleep.

“No, I'm o–” You're cut off by the sound of your own stomach growling, clearly telling the man you were about to lie. “Yeah, I'm a little hungry...” You admit softly.

He lets out a laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Come on then. –And bring Carl, I don't want to leave anyone… out of breakfast. Everyone who isn't on patrol should eat together.” He adds.

You smile, watching as he lightly drags the door fully closed with a click, then turning your attention back to the window. The sun is low, but high enough that the grounds are covered in a blanket of light.

It's early, but not so early that you can't wake Carl up… Should you let him sleep for a little while longer?

You notice the little beetle drawn in the dust on the window.

“Hm?”

Judith must have done it when she woke up before you and left. The drawing is fairly good for a kid of her age, the swirling details on the wings making you smile.

“What a little artist.” You remark, nudging Carl slightly, not committed to fully waking him yet.

At the feeling of you trying to get his attention, even minorly, he shoots upright reaching down at his belt for the gun that isn't there. “W-What?! What's going on?” He asks, looking around the room in a panic.

“Shh! Nothing, nothing, your dad just came to get us for breakfast. –Everything is good.” You hush him, trying to get him to lower his voice.

You can't believe he launched up like that just to protect you, when you can tell he definitely didn't believe you saw anyone real last night. What was he going to do? Protect you from your hallucinations?

“Oh,” He groans, holding his face in his hands as he leans back to lie down again. “Sorry I fell asleep… I promise you I stayed awake for as long as I could before I did.”

You shake your head, leaning in closer. “I'm glad you fell asleep eventually. If you were still awake when I woke up just now, I would have felt even more terrible.” Your eyes flick across his face for a moment, noticing his eyepatch is slightly askew.

“Take better care of yourself, you're in enough trouble as it is.” You say, reaching out to try and put it back into place.

He flinches back at first when your hands reach the sensitive area, but as you shift it back over his eye instead of off, he relaxes, taken aback for a moment before the corners of his mouth turn up into a smirk. “Thanks, honey.” He teases, leaning in while closing his eye, clearly expecting a kiss.

“You’re still on about that?” You avoid, pressing the tip of your pointer finger to his lips in rejection.

He gives you a fake pout.

“No, come on, don't look at me like that.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Later.”

Almost instantly in response to your agreement, he smiles again. “Deal. –I'm gonna hold you to that too, so don't forget.” He says in a playful voice. “The only reason you're getting away with this now is because of how cute you're acting this morning.”

You feel your cheeks heating up, quickly moving your hands to cover them. “Shut up, that's not funny. I'm not cute.”

Cute is the rabbit that gets killed and made into stew. –That's what the Saviors taught you, cute is just another word for weak. It's demeaning in certain contexts.

He grabs you by the wrists, kissing one of them down to the elbow before releasing it and watching you try to hide your blush, the arm coming up to cover your face.

“No, really! Look at you, all docile and nice, letting me get away with bullying you for once…” His eye sharpens, trying to hone in on what exactly he's sensing from you. All he can tell is that you seem… off in some way. “What changed?”

“I just feel bad for what I did yesterday.” You mutter, fidgeting with your fingers. The blush on your face slowly dissipates, replaced by a worried frown that makes his heart ache. “I think I made Rosita really angry… I'm sick of being everyone's burden and making people sad, this world doesn't have a place for any more misery.” You say softly.

There you are, up and down, stressing about things far beyond your control.

“Forget it, okay? If she says something at breakfast, I'll take care of it.” He says, brows furrowed with frustration, “She shouldn't have been calling you crazy anyway. –She should have been worried.”

You were on the brink of a psychotic breakdown, and in the crucial first moments of your panic she'd decided to lecture and shame you. What kind of person does that?

“You can't handle all of my problems.” You disagree.

“I think I can.” He says, sitting up to be face to face with you. “I think if you stopped trying to put a wall between us, I could do anything.” He reaches out and caresses the side of your face, then lowers his hand to your shoulder, thumbing it, eye flicking up to meet yours.

It's the same look of admiration and curiosity he'd given you yesterday after the kiss…

You shift closer to him, pushing the blankets aside to get rid of the barrier. “But you shouldn't. –Not for me.” You pause, laughing slightly, “I don't doubt your capabilities for a second, I'm sure you'd do anything you could to help someone. You more than proved that when you tried to help Siddiq...”

The man's name seems to visibly pain him.

“Why not you? It's different with you, you're not just someone, you're important to me… That's all the more reason to.” He says softly, hand coming up to play with a lock of your hair. “Let someone else help you for once, let me help you. You can’t stay alone in this world, not with all that danger out there.”

In your experience, most of the danger lies within the living people around you. It doesn't matter how well you think you know them, or how much you do for them, or how good they might be… everyone has their breaking point.

“I’ve been alone this far, I can keep going.” You say, wincing at the memory of watching your father be separated from you. “Ever since I left The Sanctuary I’ve felt freer and freer. It’s going to be like that for a long time, so I need to get used to it.”

“A long time?” He pauses for a moment, “Do… Do you plan on leaving?” He asks, eye widening slightly.

You lower your head with guilt. “I… I don’t know, I think so.” You don't want to abandon him, you like him so much, but… “I just want to be done with the Saviors, and the fight between Rick and Negan.”

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye...” He says in a low warning, “Don't just run off and leave all your problems unresolved. –There's something here for you, something good. Don't vanish on me.”

The image of Enid fleeing from him and crossing over the wall flashes through your mind for a second, but only a second.

He moves closer to you, his breathing getting heavier as he brings the both of you so close together you're nearly touching. You can't help the way your eyes trail down to his lips as he speaks, making you swallow hard as you try to ignore the memory of yesterday. “...I won't. I'll say something before I go, and you can count on that because I-I…” You trail off, the words that had just gone through your mind, terrifying you.

Your breath catches, hearing just how heavily the two of you are really breathing, his eye trailing over you in the same way yours are on him.

His brow furrows as he seems to realize what you were going to say.

“Finish that sentence…” He says breathlessly, but you refuse with a small shake of your head. He tucks two fingers underneath the strap of your bra in a threat, “Say it,” He demands again.

You shake your head, “T-That was an accident. I misspoke.”

He lets the strap snap back, his fingers slowly rolling down the length of it until it disappears into your shirt, the same sullied black tank you've been sporting since the attack.

“Fine.” He sighs. “We'll pretend that didn't just happen.”

His eye trails down from the strap, landing on your chest, the exposed skin making him blush, then wince. “You'll have to let me see you and patch you up again.” He mutters, biting the inside of his mouth with restraint.

“Yeah?” You ask, biting your lip in return as you both scoot closer to one another again, your chests barely touching, but getting closer by the minute. “You want to?”

“Yeah.” He confirms. “But don't think letting me see you like that lets you off the hook for this whole “leaving” thing.”

“Is that… a hint? Do you want to see me… like that?” You joke, but he nods slightly, face completely serious. “O-Oh… I'm not sure I…”

His eye flicks up to yours, then back down again, to your waist this time. “Well, like you said, later…” He licks his bottom lip, involuntarily eyeing you up and down until he seems to snap out of it, suppressing the hungry look in his eye. “–F-For the kiss, I mean.” He self-corrects.

He starts to pull away from you, but you reach out and stop him before you even know what you're doing.

“Wait!” You call, “Just… wait a minute.”

He flushes, trying to hide himself from you. He can't believe he acted so shameless just now, eyeing you up like that, like he was some desperate old pervert who couldn't wait to get his hands on you… It even made him uncomfortable when he thought about how he must have looked to you.

He sits back down on the edge of the bed. “What is it? Shouldn't we get going to breakf– f-fuck–” He lets out a groan as you shift yourself into his lap, straddling him.

“Stay here for a minute.” You repeat, slinging your arms over his shoulders.

His hands shoot to your hips, holding you still, his eye glued shut as he shudders. “This… This isn't a good idea.” He denies, trying to move you off of his lap to stand.

You place one of your hands on his core to stop him from moving and roll your hips as you try to readjust yourself.

“No, don't–” You stare at him as he lets out a louder moan following the action, pulling you closer to him as his head tips back. You watch the reaction go ring through his body, too shocked to say anything until he relaxes.

“A-Are you okay? Did that… hurt?” You wouldn't describe the look on his face as pain, but you're still worried with the way he's shaking.

He rapidly shakes his head. “No, it doesn't hurt, but you need to stop. We shouldn't do this, there's a lot we still need to talk about and you're really emotional from everything that's going on. –I am too.” He sighs, giving you a longing look. “It'd be wrong for me to do this to you right now. We're both confused and we've lost a lot more than a kid our age should have to.”

You're not confused, you know exactly what kind of pleasure he's getting from this interaction.

…Well, at least you think you do. You've never really had boys around for stuff like this, and you haven't really seen anybody have sex, but you've seen desperate men in The Sanctuary rut themselves on women before, and that's close enough, right?

“Well, you're not doing anything…” You say flirtatiously, pushing his back down on the bed and dragging your hips along the crotch of his jeans again. “–I am.” This time you fully intend to make him feel it.

He moans louder than he had before, loud enough he felt the need to try and cover it up with his hand so that the others wouldn't hear, his hips bucking slightly.

“See?” You say with a smirk, stopping your movements. “All you did was react. You're not “doing” anything to me, this is something I'm choosing.”

He leans his head back to try and steady his breathing before looking back up at you. “I am doing something, I'm participating when I should be stopping you,” He pauses, lips curling up at the sight of your smirk. “God, you're so pretty when you're smug. That doesn't change that this is wrong, but it does make it much harder for me to leave.” He says, his voice gruff and breathy.

You flush at his words, your heart starting to pound even faster in your chest, if that's possible. “You want to leave? Then leave.” You say simply, dragging your hips along his again.

“So, so pretty…” He repeats. “Everything about you is perfect, even the mistakes you make, even the anger.” He says dotingly. One of his hands comes up and strokes your cheek, the other one still lying on your hips as he starts to gently grind himself on you on his own.

“I never make mistakes.” You say, feeling the tent in his pants pressed up against you. He seems to be having trouble without your help so you take that as a sign to start working with him again, but he stops you by lifting your hips off of his. “Carl? I thought that this was what you–”

He reaches down to undo his belt, the buckle jingling as he pulls it from his jeans and tosses it aside. “Take off your shorts.”

For a moment the words don't seem to reach your ears, too shocking to take at face value. “Huh?” You ask, trying to make sure you heard what you thought you did.

“Off, please take your shorts off.” He repeats in a plea.

“Woah, woah, Carl, I don't know if I want to do that… It's a little early, isn't it?” You try to reason, “I-It's risky.”

He shakes his head, tugging his jeans down to his knees. “I want you to feel this too. You have to, it's not fair if it's just me.”

You stay straddling him for a moment, still unsure of what to do. You don't want to have sex right now, but he's looking at you so expectantly. How could you say no?

“Uhm… Okay.” You reluctantly agree, reaching down and slipping out of your shorts, setting them aside gently with a longing look. You feel exposed.

All that leaves you in on your lower half is your panties, and you hear the groan he lets out taking in the sight. —He must be growing more impatient with your slow antics, otherwise why would he be giving you that desperate look?

You tuck your fingers into the waist of your panties to pull them off, but his hand shoots out to stop you.

“No, no, no. Not your underwear, sorry, I should have been more clear…” He apologizes, gently guiding your hips back down to his. “Just the shorts.”

Your shoulders visibly relax as you let out a nervous breath.

He watches as your arms come up and cross, looking less like irritation and more like a self-soothing hug, the motion making him frown with worry. He taps you with his left hand to get your attention. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” You say, eyes returning to him.

“Don't let anyone make you do something you don't want to do.” He says sternly, then pauses, the memory of the conversation where you demanded to be his friend coming to mind. “You once said you'd never do something you didn't want to, so stick to that. I'm not an exception, nothing bad is going to happen if you say no.”

You force a sarcastic smile on your face, despite the feeling of comfort spreading through you. “Pfft, I know that…” You say dismissively, deciding to focus on the position you're in now.

Before you couldn't really feel anything aside from the movements you were making, but now you can feel every slight twitch, every adjustment he makes, every texture, through the material of your underwear. —It's weird.

“The face you're making is adorable.” He says, snapping you from your focus on the newfound feeling. “You don't have to be embarrassed, we're both in our underwear.”

You scoff, “I'm not embarrassed.”

He hums with a slight laugh, “Hm, okay, sure… That's why you're trying so hard to act unbothered.” He teases, squeezing your hips while giving you a look as if to ask for permission. “This is going to feel a little… different.”

“There's nothing I can't handle.” You say, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

Instead of immediately resuming, he moves his hands to your thighs and pulls them apart, pulls you apart, then guides you down again. “‘S that okay?”

You take a moment to consider it, the feeling neither pleasant nor unpleasant. “I mean, yeah, I guess?”

You think you like it, being this close to him and feeling his body heat against yours is soothing, but it's not driving you crazy like it was with him. You aren’t shaking, you're not desperately trying to feel more of him on you, it's just… where you are right now.

“Alright,” He gradually starts moving his hips against yours, the pace slow and gentle. —It feels different, your core starting to feel hotter the more he moves. “How's that?”

You look over at the window to the outside world, not realizing that your focus has shifted from the interaction until you realize what he's asked you. “I don't know. –It's fine still.”

His lips twitch with frustration as he pulls your hips down harder, spreading your legs further apart as he moves. “Come on, honey, tell me what you want.” He hums, “You were being so cute earlier, what happened? Did I scare you off?”

“You didn't scare me, I don't scare… Uhm, I-I don't… I…” Something about the rougher repetitive movement in combination with the nickname is suddenly making you feel jittery, but pleasant. “I- It's… Uhm…”

At first you barely noticed a change in feeling when he pulled your legs apart further, other than the fact it made it harder for you to rest on your knees… but then there was a sharp pain between them that made you want to instinctively sink lower, immediately chased by blooming pleasure.

You stop trying to articulate something coherent and instead focus on the growing ache between your legs, your breathing quickening desperately with each gradual movement, almost dazed by the action.

He raises his eyebrows watching you react, his rhythmic movements only quickening in response. “Does that feel good now?” He calls softly. “Do you want me to keep going?”

You rest your hands on his torso, letting your head slump forward so you can close your eyes, nodding, practically salivating with excitement.

He laughs, “Yeah, me too. We should–” He pauses as his breath catches, hips arching, never ceasing his movements, then resumes speaking, “–Do this more often, huh darlin’?”

You feel more pleasure shoot through you like stars at the nickname and the feeling of him against you, unable to hold back the high moan you let slip free of your lips before slapping your hands over your mouth. What on earth is he doing to you?

The first time he doesn’t make the connection, but after a moment he decides to test it out again. “You're doing such a good job, honey. You're doing so good.” He praises, pushing your hair out of your face, and once again you seem to react more than you do without his sweet words, your back arching ever so slightly.

He gives you a big, goofy grin. “Oh, I get it… you “like” that, don't you?” He teases, knowing full well you're in no state to answer him. –You're like putty in his hands, just melting into an absolute mess the longer he goes on. “You want me to tell you how good you're doing, baby?”

You can barely manage to muster up the ability to sarcastically reject him like usual, snapping your head back up at him with a grimace. “No… That's- That's weird… and kind of fucked up in a way.” You snicker.

Rick Grimes’ son telling Negan Smith's daughter she's doing a good job getting him off? –That sounds completely unhinged within the context of your lives, despite how enjoyable it may or may not be.

He bites back his smile, “Mhm, so I guess I should stop then, right?”

“No. –Well, I mean, maybe but that's not what I…” You say sternly, then flush as you realize what he's just gotten you to admit to. You've just about had enough of his bullying, and it's hurting your ego to sit there taking it. “You know what? Fuck later.”

Now it's your turn to tease him.

You lean down and press your lips to his jaw and cheek, peppering small kisses along his face until you reach the square of his jaw, sticking your tongue out and slowly licking up the side of his face.

“Woah,” He says with a small moan, one hand slipping up the back of your shirt to grasp your skin. “You want to talk about fucked up and here you are licking me when I haven't showered since I was drenched in walker blood.”

You roll your eyes, “Worse yet, you kissed me during the attack when it was still fresh.” You rapid fire back, sticking out your tongue with mock disgust. “We are some fucked up people, Carl. Get used to it.”

He scrunches his nose up, demeanor still playful, your bodies still rutting against one another in the background of your conversation, movements getting sloppier as you go on. “Hey, quit mocking me!” He says in a false plea.

“Not in a million years.” You deny. The reactions he gives you are way too funny to give up without a reason, not to mention it feels good to be in control of something while everything else goes to shit.

He stops moving for a moment, his face contemplative as he traces gentle shapes on your back and hip with his hands. “I don't think I like how the tables have turned.” He says, making intense eye contact with you.

You cease your movements as well, watching his chest rapidly rise and fall with each breath. “You don't?” You ask, searching his face, “What're you going to do about it?”

The little devilish smile on his lips tells you that he already has plans to change the situation in some way.

“You’re so good, honey. So, so, so…” His hands latch onto you just below the ribs. “Good.” He suddenly slams you beside him on the edge of the bed, standing upright between your legs with his arms pinning you down, your hands laced together tightly.

He glances down at your hips, noticing that the cores of your underwear have darkened with arousal where you’re connected, the deep wet splotches making him wish he could fully go through with this now… but there’s nowhere near enough time, and the two of you haven’t done anything like this together before. He doesn’t know your body like he needs to, much to his chagrin.

You glare up at him, feeling the excitement radiating through you. “Do you honestly think I couldn’t get out of this if I wanted to?” You taunt, using minimal force to push back against him.

He responds by going straight for your neck, gently kissing at the skin as you relax and pull your arms out of his hold, wrapping them around his shoulders.

At first it's just that, small, gentle kisses around your neck like you'd done to his jaw, but then they start to get rougher, his kisses turning to small nips at your skin, then fully devolving into hungry biting and sucking on the side of your neck.

All he wants to do is lean down and smother you in a hug, let your limbs get tangled in one another as you get lost in the moment, but he can’t, —not yet. There’s too much left unsaid between you two.

You close your eyes, enjoying the attention you're receiving from him, the feeling sweeter than anything he's ever given you, your entire body aching for him.

“You know I like you a lot, right? –Like so much that it scares me sometimes…” You huff between kisses, “I know it might sound strange, but I'm worried the more you know about me the less you'll like me... So I keep trying to push you away, but I can't resist. —You’re like a magnet.” You pause, moving your hand up to play with his deep brown hair, “You're every good part of a person, and I don't know if I'm used to being around people like that yet… but I like it. –I like you.” It's a softer version of the confession you almost accidentally gave earlier, but you think he'll understand what you mean.

He stops his attack on your neck, looking at you as if you've said the worst thing in the world.

“What?” You ask nervously, watching him pull his jeans back up, backing off from you. “Hey, wait. What is it, what did I say wrong?” As soon as he pulls away you sit up on your knees on the edge of the bed, worried he's going to leave the room, but he takes a seat beside you, gently placing your shorts in your lap.

“You didn't say anything wrong, it's me.” He says, running a hand across his face. “I just realized I haven't been treating you the way I should be.”

You tip your head to the side. “In what way have you not been treating me right? You're the only person on this entire fucking planet who's this nice to me.”

“Yeah, okay, but…” He lowers his voice, eye darting off to the side. “It was different with Enid.”

It feels like he's just stepped on your heart, a large pain stabbing through your chest, but you try to hold a stoic face. “Enid.” You say, devoid of any emotional indicators.

He turns towards you, her name coming out of your mouth in your voice feeling completely wrong to him. Even if you aren’t showing it, he can sense your jealousy.

“It's not that you and I are wrong, Eli. It's just…” He runs a hand through his hair as he tries to think, “You came from one of the worst places I can think of. I can’t picture what your life has been like up until now, all the kinds of things you've been through…”

“I handle it…” You say, just above a whisper.

He gives you a side eye, shaking his head softly. “Your bar for what's “nice” is too low, and I think I've been taking advantage of that without realizing it. You don’t expect anything from me like Enid did, so I haven't done anything except be “nice”. –And that's not enough.”

“You have, and even if you haven’t, I don't care. I like being around you. There's nothing I need from you… and if she did, maybe that's something wrong with her not me.” You say with frustration, pointing at the empty other side of the room.

He looks where you've pointed, then his eye returns to you. “Have you ever been on a date before?” He asks softly, trying to ignore the way your subtle digs at the other girl get under his skin.

“What? You mean like flowers and candles and stuff? –No, that's weak.” You say with a laugh, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Negan had made it abundantly clear to you that things like that were a waste of time, and you actually agreed. It looked boring, and dramatic… but for some reason when you picture doing something like that with Carl it doesn't seem like it would be so bad.

He seems disappointed with your answer. “This is part of the problem. I should be doting on you, bringing you on dates, and getting you all your favorite things when I see them, but I haven't. I haven't treated you the same way I treated Enid.” He groans, a fond, but stupid memory coming to mind. “You know I once snuck out in the middle of the night without telling anyone, just so I could get her favorite chips while she was sick? …We already had chips, but they weren't her favorite kind.”

You tip your head to the side, confused by where this is going. “Why did she ask you to do that?”

“She didn't.” He says simply, giving you a pointed look like you're supposed to come to an important conclusion. “And when I brought them to her, she was asleep because I hadn’t told her I was coming. So I went downstairs, made her some soup, and sat by her side until she woke up, nine hours later. –That's love.”

You lower your eyes, jealousy and discomfort mixing within you. “That sounds… uncomfortable. Taking care of someone who's fully capable of doing it themselves is a waste of time and it's not fair that you risked your life like that, all for what? A bag of chips?”

His eye widens, then he stands abruptly, turning his back to you. “It’s not about the chips… You haven't ever gotten the right kind of love. The kind of love where someone does things they don't have to because they care. So…” He winces, motioning towards the bed, “So we aren't going to do this again until you do.”

“Oh my god, you're being so dramatic. Haven't you considered that maybe the reason you haven't treated me the same way you did her, is because I'm not anything to you?” You say bitterly. “Enid was your girlfriend, and I'm… I’m not.”

He turns around briefly, watching you redress your lower half with a sad look on your face.

“You're not my…? I… I didn't realize that we hadn't…” He shakes his head. “We did all of this backwards, yet somehow also way too fast. I should have been treating you better, and you should have had some standards for what you will and won't take instead of just letting me do what I want. That's not…” He trails off, turning away to give you privacy. “I'm going to be better for you from now on. I'm going to make you want me as your boyfriend.”

You set a hand on his shoulder, fully dressed. “I already do. You're the one that's making this a big deal.” You say with a pleading tone. All you want is for him to drop this. “Are you sure you’re even actually over Enid, because the way you left things with her was kind of… messy? —And maybe that’s why you keep freaking out about little things between us, because you don’t know what exactly went wrong between you two.”

He shakes his head with a sigh, giving you a light kiss on the cheek. “Come on, we need to get to breakfast before someone notices.”

You roll your eyes, his habit of avoiding conflict starting to annoy you. “Fine.” You groan, following him out of the room. You close the door lightly behind the two of you, watching his back slowly disappear down the hallway.

Sure, he’s frustrating in a lot of ways, but you know it all comes from a place of care. And the way he made you feel just now? God, you want to do that again. You want to feel his skin on yours and feel that messy rhythm against your—

You snap out of it, turning to look down the other hallway to make sure the two of you haven't been caught. Luckily there's no one, but there is another bug drawn on the window next to the room. A small ladybug with an arrow drawn beside it, a smile on its face.

You kneel down in front of it. “Carl!” You call out, “Wait a minute, c'mere.”

“Not again,” He sighs playfully, coming back around the corner and slowly making his way to stand at your side. He squints at the little picture. “What is that? It looks like shit.”

“Very funny,” You give him a glare. “It's a ladybug, and Judith drew it. Not me.”

He looks immediately ashamed, embarrassed to have made fun of his sister's drawing even though she's nowhere in sight. “O-Oh, it's really good.” He mumbles, then points at the arrow to distract you from what he'd said before. “Look, it's an arrow.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” You grumble, standing up. “If you're going to say obvious stuff, just go away. Forget I called you back.”

His first reaction would be hurt if he didn't know you so well, but he can tell you're upset about him ending things in the room the way he did.

“Don't be upset…” He says softly, reaching out to gently caress your shoulder. “Come on, don't be mad at me. I'm going to be even better for you next time, okay? We'll go on cute little picnics and go for walks in the woods… It'll be nice.”

You shrug him off, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Whatever… Can we just do this?”

He cocks his head. “Do what?”

“Follow the trail.” You say simply, with a shrug.

For some reason you find yourself particularly drawn to the little sketches. You wonder what Judith was thinking when she did them… Does she like bugs? Should you catch a butterfly for her when you all leave this place?

It won’t make up for all the terrible things she’s gone through lately, but the fact she’s left this playful trail is a good sign. She’s still acting her age.

You start walking in the direction the arrow is pointing, the opposite direction than everyone else is in, but you aren't afraid. The little girl is never left alone, so someone must be with her down this way.

“Are you sure you want to go poking around this factory alone after what happened yesterday?” Carl asks, following from a small distance behind you. You turn around and give him a glare, warning him not to bring up the incident again. “Okay, so not afraid. —Noted, sorry.”

You pause at the end of the hall where it splits into two separate paths, no bugs or windows in sight, just two hallways leading to god knows where.

You glance back at him. “There's no way to know which path is the right one.”

“I'll take right, you keep left?” Carl suggests, already starting to go that way with a sly smile before you can answer. He knows exactly what you would have said, telling him to take the other path and send you solo… Although he is a little bit worried, he knows he's just a few steps away from you.

He can let you walk down a hallway by yourself, nothing bad is going to happen.

You laugh tenderly, shaking your head as you reorient towards the left path, bending over and picking up a screwdriver laying on the floor as a weapon.

“See you on the other side.” You call back.

You can hear the echo of his laughter from the other hall, “See you soon, honey!”

You roll your eyes, keeping along the left path.

The hallway is completely untouched, the faded factory safety posters curling in on themselves from years of being wet and dried, then crusted over with mold. A few of the windows leading to other small office-like rooms are busted in, the glass on the ground already starting to yellow, and climbing up the walls beside those is an elaborate system of vines and other plants you can't quite recognize.

“Ew,” You remark at the various growths in this hallway, then suddenly you feel yourself step into something soft. –So soft, in fact, that it makes an audible squishing noise.

You expect to look down and see that you've stepped in animal waste, but when you lift your foot you see the still wet skin of a walker’s face and quickly step back, smearing dark blood across the floor with your shoes.

“What the hell?” You say under your breath.

You look around for signs of other life, the daylight leaving no room for mistaken shadow figures, but there are none. You are completely alone in this hallway with this… mask.

You slowly approach it, kicking it over with your shoe. Maybe a walker had simply rotted and their face had fallen off. –You've never seen that, but it must be possible, right?

Your hopes are almost immediately dashed, as that's not the case here. You can see that the eyes and mouth have been hollowed out almost like a halloween mask, the base of the neck singed to make it tighter around someone's face.

You step away, disgusted and uneasy at the sight of the skin mask, seeing something written a few windows down when you raise your head from the sight. –Right, your mission was to follow the trail of bug drawings Judith had done. Not to get caught up in anything else.

You clench your fists as you approach the picture, narrowing your eyes at the praying mantis, another arrow beside it pointing in the direction you're already walking, but at the end of the hall, just a few steps away, is a door to the outside.

Why would she draw the arrows to a dead end? Did she go outside, or does she want to? Maybe she misses the free range she had in Alexandria…? Or maybe she and Daryl are waiting for you just beyond this door…

After a moment of deliberation, you remember Carl knows where you went, and decide it couldn't hurt to take a small look.

You push open the emergency exit door with a small pop and the crunch of the old door seal, being sure to hold it open with your foot to prevent being locked out.

A gentle breeze hits you in the face, airing out your clothes, the empty green fields at the rear end of the factory a soothing sight. You wouldn't have imagined it being so calm back here, but it is, you can even hear the birds chirping.

You look down at the dirt, seeing the hastily scribbled series of arrows scrawled across the ground, leading you somewhere.

“Again?” You say with surprise, realizing that it couldn't have been Judith making the drawings. She wouldn't have been able to come outside by herself, which now that you think about it, the reason the drawings were all on windows, and drawn so poorly, would make sense if the person who did them was outside. “Fuck.”

You glance between the door and the arrows before deciding to release the door and follow them outside. –You aren’t going to hide anymore, from whatever this is. You're going to handle it and get your perfect, fairytale ending.

The arrows lead you across the field, almost fully around the building, before abruptly turning to the left and leading you up a small hill, to a tree stump, and ending.

“Hello?” You call out, but there’s no answer.

The wind blows a little harsher and knocks over something you hadn't noticed sitting on the tree stump. –A wooden carving of a moth, no bigger than your fist, but immensely detailed.

There's only one person you know who carves like this. Who calls you by that nickname.

“Bug,” You hear from behind you.

Dwight.

You whip around, tightening your grip on the screwdriver. “You,” You seethe, eye catching the glint of the gun in his hand, resting at his side. “All of this was you? Why, Dwight? Do you want the reward for killing me?” You accuse.

He seems taken aback. “What? No. I don't want any kind of reward, kid. I'm here to take you back home.”

Home? Home??? That's laughable. You aren’t stupid, you know your father wants you dead, that's why he sent those squads out to hunt you and retrieve your body.

If Dwight really did go back like Daryl said, he would know that. He knows he's taking you to your death, yet he's trying to keep you in the dark about it instead of boldly executing you like Simon attempted to.

“And what if I don't want to go back? You said it yourself, if I'm smart I'll find a way out.” You hide the hand holding the screwdriver behind your back, concealing the weapon in your pants before letting your hands hang loosely at your side. “You told me this was war, that I had to leave him. –Now I have, and you go back on your word and try to send me back there?”

He gives you a pleading look, a single tear slipping down his face. “He has Sherry. –He has my wife.”

You want to feel sad for him, really you do. He had always been one of the kindest people to you, but now you can't take him seriously. He's trying to kill you, and he's trying to justify luring you away by name dropping his hostage wife.

“So what?! He's always had Sherry! Negan does what he wants and you should know that better than anyone! You made me feel like a fool for not seeing it before, but I can now. He was out of his mind. The man I called my father was already gone…” You shout, picking up the wooden moth and throwing it to his feet. “That doesn't give you an excuse to try and terrify me last night, or hurt me because of what he's doing. I'm out. I'm done. It's over. –I don't want any part in this stupid fight anymore.”

He stares down at the wooden moth, the wing broken from when you'd thrown it.

He thought it, and the drawings would be nice, a gentle way to safely guide you away from the rest of the people from Alexandria before bringing you back to your father. You had always liked his carvings before, and you'd always been so desperate to stay with Negan.

“We weren't here last night. We got here this morning.” He narrows his eyes at you, scanning your appearance and letting your words sink in. “You've changed.” He says, his voice lowering, the warmth leaving it. He slowly closes his eyes, trying to forget the image of the little girl you used to be. “But that doesn't change what I have to do. He'll kill her if I don't.” He threatens.

You chuckle, bracing yourself for him to come at you like he had many times before in training. “Sounds like you've made your choice, Dwight.”

But much to your surprise he doesn't come at you, instead raising his hand and pointing a finger at you, stepping back.

“You're sicking them on me?” You say with betrayal.

He looks away, down at the ground. “You've changed? Well I've changed too, and if this is how it's gotta be between us for Sherry, so be it.”

You see the men emerging from the woods and take a few frightened steps back. –You don't know them, you don't know how they like to fight or if they'll play dirty.

They aren't like Dwight, they don't care about you, so they have no reason to hold back.

So you won't either.

The first man approaches you, smiling softly as he firmly grabs you by the shoulders, trying to drag you towards Dwight. He's being so nice with you that you almost don't want to hurt him… Almost.

Your arm flies out from behind you and you brutally sink the screwdriver into his neck, twisting it back and forth like you would using it as a tool. The blood starts gushing from the wound the moment you can finally yank it out, then you sink it into his eye to destroy his brain, hands and arms soaked with blood.

You look up and see that Dwight’s face has fallen completely, shocked by your sudden ruthlessness. –The worst part of it to him is that he can't tell if you were always this way because of Negan, or if when you ended up at Rick's side you had become this way in order to survive. Would you have been better off hidden away in The Sanctuary, oblivious to the rest of the world? Had he made it worse when he told you to choose?

“I know, Dwight, and I know you know.” You say, pointing the tool at him in a threat. “I'm not going to let you take me back there dead, so get ready to watch more people lose their lives for this if you don't give up. All I'm asking of you is to leave me be.”

“You know I know… what? What exactly is it you think I’ve been doing since we last saw each other?” He's shaken, but he has a job to do. –For Sherry. “Stop going one at a time and trying to be gentle, this isn't surgery, it's a kidnapping. All you have to do is get her.” He says, backing away further from the conflict.

He doesn't like this. He doesn't want to see you like this. Where has that stupidly naïve child who sat and drew pictures of Negan's crew as a family gone? It seems like just yesterday you were sitting criss-cross next to him, doodling, while he sharpened his blades.

Two more men approach you, while a third walks down the hill, all looking more than a little excited to fight you, Negan's supposedly brutally talented daughter.

Many stories of your various murderous exploits spread like disease in The Sanctuary. The tales mostly fabricated, but a few of them, more than a little believable. After all, you had bashed and shot a man to death, leaving him in the woods for the rest of them to find.

One of the men grabs you by the arms and forces you to face the other who tries to pistol whip you, but you tighten your arms and use his hold to carry you as you kick the other man in the stomach with your back legs.

He groans and steps back, pulling his knife, the other man dropping you to the ground. You shift on your hands and knees, “Dwight, call them off!” You say desperately, “This is your last chance! –Their last chance too!”

He doesn't budge, so you kick the man in the shin and plunge the screwdriver as deep into his chest as you can get, which isn't very deep. The flesh is much harder than you imagined it being when you felt Daryl’s arrow shoot through you that day. It feels like the world goes silent as you plunge it in and out of him over and over again, until he finally stops fighting and you plunge it through his eye.

You're getting the hang of this, you're good at this. –Maybe because he and Negan trained you to be. They made you this monster.

You look up at the other man, the one who'd been holding you, and he draws his gun. “Shoot me. I dare you.” You say in a low growl, but before the man can even cock his gun, someone's reached upward and slit his throat, blood gushing down his shirt as he falls limply beside you.

Carl looks disgusted by what he's done, but he still gives you a reassuring smile. “I've got your back.” He says, holding a hand out to help you up.

You stab the man through the eye, then take his hand and throw your arms around him in an embrace, as Dwight watches from a distance. “Come on, stop making friends and make this easy on me, bug. I don't want to hurt you, and Negan certainly doesn't want you dead.” He says tiredly, pinching his brow with his index and thumb. However, he looks anything but exhausted. He seems frustrated. —Things aren’t going to plan for him, are they?

You shake your head softly, “You're lying.”

He blinks slowly, pointing at you again to send another man your way. “I'm really not, but I don't have the energy to argue with you any longer. This has gone on for long enough already.”

Carl splits off from you and goes after the man ahead with his knife, thinking that your screwdriver might not make for the best protection against him.

You’re about to chase after him when the man who walked down the hill takes you by surprise from behind, grabbing you in a chokehold just like the Savior from the woods had— although with this one it’s clear his intention is to choke you into unconsciousness instead of death.

You don’t even bother trying to pry his arms from around your neck, instead focusing on taking smaller breaths to keep yourself awake while elbowing him in the stomach repeatedly until he releases you. Once you get out of his grasp you take a few steps back and glance over to Carl’s conflict.

There’s a crack as the man he’s fighting —no reason not to play dirty with the boy— cracks a brick over his head on the right side.

“NO!” You scream, trying to get over to him, but because you’ve turned your back the man you’re fighting grabs you by the arms and throws you to the ground. “No, stop it! Don’t hurt him! Dwight stop him, please?!” You shriek with terror as the other man slams the brick down on him again, but this time Carl tries to shield himself with his arms.

Dwight doesn’t like hearing your voice twisted with distress, so he reluctantly calls the man off. “Hey, that’s enough, knock him out and throw him already. —He can’t stop us by himself.”

Despite Dwight’s order, the man doesn’t stop, continuing to try and crack the brick over his head.

“I said, that’s enough.” Dwight repeats, taking a step forward.

You see that the man fighting you is distracted by the conflict, so you swiftly stab him through the eye, but you can’t get it out. The weapon is stuck in his brain, you think, so you ditch the screwdriver and sprint your way over to Carl’s fight.

Dwight tries to prevent you from getting involved with the man holding the brick, “No, don’t go over there. Just stay back until I can get him under—”

You slam your shoulder against the man holding the brick, trying to get him away from Carl, but it hardly works. “I’m not leaving him, I’ll never leave him!”

“Just run!” Carl shouts, drops of blood trickling down his forehead. “Get my dad! Get Michonne! Stay inside where it’s safe!”

The man holding the brick slowly turns to you, frowning. “You said just grab her, right?” He says, under his breath. “He said don’t do any permanent damage…”

You squint, backing up slightly at the sight of the man muttering to himself dangerously.

His shadow eats you as he comes to hover above you, raising the hand holding the brick well above his own head before cracking it down on you. It feels like your skull has just been split, the hit much harder than what he’d been doing to Carl, the blow knocking you to the ground.

Carl screams, then starts quickly patting the grass around him looking for his lost knife. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Please, please, please.”

Dwight is shouting, trying to get the man to stop, but the man brings the brick down a second time. Your vision going black in a nauseating spatter of red.

Carl cries out again, abandoning the search for his knife to shield you from the man with the brick, sobbing as he cradles your head, holding you tightly. “What are you doing, why didn’t you stop him?”

“I…” Dwight stares down at your limp form, weighing his options. He could kill this man right now. Leave his body with the rest, but it wouldn’t be wise. Negan would be more likely to punish him for hurting another Savior than he would you, and the man would make it much easier to load you up. He nods at his decision, “Get them both in the truck. He’s not going to let her go.”

Carl spits at the man. “Don’t you dare! Don’t come near us!”

Dwight turns his back to the gory scene as he makes his way into the woods where their truck is hidden, opening the back.

“STOP IT! —DAD! DAD, PLEASE!” Carl screams, trying to get the attention of the people left indoors.

He can still hear the boy shouting from a distance, but he tries to ignore it. This is going to be a long ride.

“MICH— MOM! MOM! ANYONE!”

***

The truck hits a bump before coming to a complete stop, the bump igniting a familiar feeling from the last time Carl had been in the back of a truck on the way to The Sanctuary.

It’s dark. He can barely see your face, but he can feel the warm blood coming from somewhere near your head. It’s more than possible that you’re dead, but he refuses to release you even with the risk of you turning and ending his life.

“Hey…” He calls, shaking you. “Hey, wake up. I need you right now.”

You can’t respond.

He shakes you again, this time harder. “I need you to wake up so we can get out of this together and go home. I know it’s scary. I know you still have some… unresolved feelings about your time as a Savior, but if that door opens and you aren’t awake, Negan is going to kill you.”

You can’t even hear him.

There’s shuffling around the truck and the muffled speaking of men, clearly getting closer and closer as they prepare to open the truck.

“Come on!” He whisper shouts, lightly biting down on your arm to shock you awake. You still don’t respond, so he thinks he’s imagining it at first, but your eyes have opened. “Oh, thank god.” He sighs with relief.

“I feel… like I’m gonna… vomit.” You slur quietly.

“What?” He questions, confused by your whispering. “You know what, actually it doesn’t matter. You’re awake. —Come on, let’s get you upright.”

“No,” You whine, shoving him away weakly. “I need… to sleep. It’s the middle of the night… so go back to sleep.”

You start to drift again, so he shakes you. “No, no, no, shh, it’s not the middle of the night, it’s about noon-ish.” He coos, “Do you remember how we got here?”

You start to laugh loudly, so he slaps a hand over your mouth, but you move away from his hand. “Did… Did we stop… moving? I don’t feel good, I feel dizzy.”

Carl frustratedly rubs at his eye. “Okay, I know that, but can you answer me? I need you to answer me so that I know you’re okay.” He pauses, “Do you know who you are?”

“Who I am…?” You slur, your glazed over eyes staring blankly for a moment before you nod slightly. “I know who I am, yes.”

He bites his lip, unsure if he can believe you in your clearly concussed state. “And how did we get here?” He asks, leaving the question more open-ended.

“How we got here?” You repeat, blinking rapidly. “There was a lot of noise and then…” You wince. “I fell really hard. It was bad, Carl...”

His shoulders fall with minor relief at the sound of his own name slipping past your lips. “So you know who I am?” He asks with a half laugh.

You smile, poking him in the cheek. “Of course I do… I love you silly.”

His heart starts racing in his chest at the confession, something that you hadn’t meant for him to hear so soon.

He knows you’re in no state to be saying anything serious, but he also knows you were about to say it earlier before you had realized. —It feels like he’s found a secret way around that wall you tried to put between you. He’s so struck he doesn’t even think to say it back, instead leaning down to kiss you, the truck door opening before your lips can touch.

He pulls away, gaze locking onto the man who stands centered at the door of the truck, the sunlight just about blacking out his figure.

Carl squints, briefly raising his hands from you to identify them, but in that moment you are snatched from him and dragged out of the truck to be handed to the figure.

“Carl?” You whine, you head getting slammed against the truck floor as you’re dragged, causing your eyes to shut once again, your body going slack.

“Hey, you motherfucker!” He cries out, immediately jumping to his feet to go after you, worried what they’ll do now that they have you. “Don’t you touch her!”

But the figure very gently lifts you up into his arms like you would do putting a child to bed. What makes it even more confusing for him is that the figure is Negan.

The man lightly brushes your hair out of your face, stroking your cheek, the tacky blood on his fingers making him click his tongue in his mouth with a deep rage.

“Kill him.” He orders simply, and almost immediately Dwight raises his gun and shoots someone off to the side— as he falls, Carl can tell that the man was the same one who’d attacked you with the brick.

Carl freezes in place, too confused and afraid to move with the sheer amount of guns around you both. All that’s on his mind is that if he makes the wrong move they’ll shoot you.

Negan looks up to Carl, his brows furrowing. “Why him?”

Dwight answers, “Because she wanted him. They didn’t want to be separated, and it was making her upset, so I made the executive decision in the moment to—”

“That’s fine,” Negan says coldly. “Get a doctor for her, and get the boy cleaned up and contained. I can’t have him causing a fuckin’ ruckus right now, there’s too much shit going on already.”

The man starts taking you out of sight, so Carl jumps up again and tries to follow, but Dwight and a few of the other Saviors stop him, holding him back as Negan returns you to The Sanctuary.

“If you hurt her, I swear Negan! She can't fight back right now, this isn't fair, and you know that!” He cries out. "Come back here!"

Chapter 18: Welcome Home

Notes:

Carl has been away from Rick for 1 day...

Happy father's day y'all.

You hate feeling this way, and this morning you hated waking up not knowing what went on while you were unconscious. —The memories of yesterday are mostly fuzzy, but the few things that you remember clearly, you keep running through over and over again in your head trying to figure out the answer to the biggest question on your mind…

Where the fuck is Carl?

Waking up in your old room was one of the most disorienting experiences you’ve ever been through in your life, the blank walls and empty bed almost instantly bringing you to tears— but you didn’t cry. You got off of your ass and started searching the room for something to use to help you escape.

There isn’t anything useful in here, other than a glass bottle that used to contain soda… How on earth are you going to use that? You suppose you could shatter it, but it doesn’t seem like a realistic solution when considering the amount of guns in The Sanctuary, and how would that help you free Carl?

You run a hand through your hair with frustration when the door suddenly slams open and you jolt, dropping the bottle. It shatters on impact, destroying any value it might have had.

“Hey, baby girl.” Negan calls lightly, giving you a small smile as he hangs in the doorway. “Welcome back.”

You haven’t seen him since he brought you to the doctor until now, but that doesn’t change a goddamn thing. You still need to get Carl and get the hell out of here.

You nearly bite clean through your lip trying to hold your tongue. “Don’t “hey” me, this isn’t funny… You ordered them to kill me.” You say, your voice breaking down into something more raw and emotional than you intended it to. “I had to kill other people, just so I could live another day when I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to.” You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your face. “You made me hurt people. —You made me to hurt people, that’s all you ever needed me for…”

“No, baby, that’s not true.” You see how hard he swallows, the gulp almost making you want to clear your own throat. “You’re right, a lot happened that I never should have let, but look, you’ll never have to do it again. You’re home.” He says, motioning to your room. “I thought I’d lost you, but look at you… you’re growing up so fast, so tough. —My little girl, twenty fucking days later.” A joyous lilt enters his voice, “I gotta admit, you scared the hell outta me.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as tightly as you can so that you don’t fall for his charade. “Where is he?” You ask, voice raw.

He hesitates for a moment.

***

“What the fuck kind of look is that?” Negan snaps, seeing the doctor's face as he exits the medical room.

The doctor adjusts his glasses, preparing himself for the other man’s reaction. “Was she ever sexually active to your knowledge, prior to her little… erm, vanishing act?” It’s an invasive question, but one he feels compelled to ask.

Negan raises his brows, “Excuse me? I would hope the fuck not, considering there ain’t much in the way of kids around here…” He pauses, peeking into the room where you’re sitting on the table concussed and disoriented, staring off into space. It’s hard to picture you holding hands with someone, let alone anything more. “Why are you asking me that?”

The doctor clears his throat, avoiding eye contact.

Negan’s eyes widen, thinking about all the kinds of things he’s going to do if it’s true. “She’s not…”

“No! No, she’s just…” The doctor sighs, shaking his head. “She’s got some very deep, distinct markings on her neck. Some, uhm...” He trails off, seemingly too afraid to continue his sentence.

Negan growls, slamming the examination room door shut to prevent you from seeing his outburst. “She’s got bruises around her neck?” He says, fists clenched at his sides. “They put their fucking hands on her?”

The doctor shrinks away from him, raising his hands in submission. “Uhm, no, sir. They’re… They’re what some might call love brands or hickeys, it’s just some minor bruising caused by oral suction. The other injuries are what’s really important, I just thought I would ask in case there was a risk she may be, well… you already answered, so I suppose there isn't.”

Negan almost can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Hickeys? Where the hell would she have gotten—” Negan pauses, recalling when Carl had practically teased him with your name when he attacked Alexandria. “Oh, that little bastard. I’m gonna kill him.”

***

He scratches the back of his neck, “Do you really need to see him right now? You just got back. You should lay low for a bit, give yourself some time to heal.” He motions towards his own chest while looking at yours, which makes you realize you’ve been changed into a different set of clothes, your skin clean from bathing. “The doc’ says a wound like that will take at least four months.”

You scrunch your nose up with frustration. “I don’t care. I need to see him right fucking now, or so help me, I'll–” A bird slams itself up against the window, causing you to jump and spin around in its direction, clutching the chest of your shirt, your other hand pulled back ready to strike.

The man nearly draws his knife at your reaction, ready to defend you, but when he realizes you’ve only jumped at the noise of the bird he settles.

“…You okay?” He questions, watching you continue to cling to your shirt, even as you lower your other hand. You seem oddly frightened despite the innocent explanation for the noise and it's worrying him. “Hey,” He calls, taking a step towards you, his shoe carelessly thudding against the floor loudly.

You jolt backwards into your desk at him moving beyond your line of sight, the action all too familiar from the other night in the factory.

“Stop!” You blurt, holding your hand out.

You're petrified at the thought you might be taken by surprise again like you had in the woods, your cautious gaze darting across his face until you realize that he had already stopped the moment he saw it frightened you. “Don’t do that.”

Negan is a little taken aback at you essentially hissing at him, the moment not at all matching up with the severity of your reaction.

He playfully holds up his hands in mock surrender, trying to ease your anxiety. “Alright, alright, I won't… but seriously, why are you so snippy?”

He isn’t worried that you’re snapping at him, that’s quite common at your age, the issue is how genuinely terrified you seem of every little thing, the most peaceful he’s seen you since your return being when the doctor had sedated you.

The way you’re acting is not like you at all.

“Is seeing that boy alive really going to make you calm down?” He asks, uncrossing his arms as he moves back toward the doorway, slowly, and sure to remain within your line of sight. “Will you at least speak to me then?”

“Yes.” You say simply, giving him a frustrated look.

He sighs, then reaches out beyond the doorway and grabs Carl by the shirt collar, throwing him forward into the room. The boy stumbles for a few steps before regaining his balance.

He looks outwardly clean, but you can see the bruises peeking out from beyond the fresh clothing he’s in, a clear sign of the Savior’s bullying (something you had gone through yourself for a few years), and stitches at the top right of his forehead where the wound left by the brick was. Other than that, he seems agitated, but not brutally mistreated.

The second he spots you and you realize he’s okay, you’re stuck to one another like glue, desperately hugging and clinging to one another like you’ll vanish if you don’t hang on tight enough.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek with his other arm snaked tightly around your waist.

You lift the corner of his short sleeves, exposing a dark bruise on his upper shoulder. “No, but did they hurt you?”

He doesn’t answer, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay.”

Negan clears his throat, outwardly annoyed by the interaction even though he can’t help but be internally amused by it. “That’s enough now, come on.”

Look at you, all over Rick’s son, and the way you’re smiling at him? —Oh, it nearly melts his ice cold heart. He knew it would be interesting if you two managed to meet somehow from the first time you asked about him, but he tried to avoid it, knowing it would be a catastrophically stupid move.

“I said come on,” He repeats, “Break it up.”

You slowly pull away from Carl looking like you’re going to break down sobbing despite the fact that he’s still standing at your side less than arm’s length away.

“It's not fair,” You whisper under your breath, fists clenched at your sides. “You barely let us speak to each other.”

What is his plan? He's not killing either of you, yet he's clearly letting the Saviors beat Carl… Does he want to torment you? –Provoke you into doing something worse, something more violent than he already has, if that's even possible?

Carl notices your distress and looks to Negan with an icy glare, sure to not let any physical signs of his frustration show.

“Can I hold her hand?” He asks, voice steady and calm.

Negan takes a deep breath, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he considers this, tapping his chin cartoonishly.

“No,” He smiles as he comes to a decision, “Absolutely-the-fuck-not. I’ve already heard way too much about what you’ve been doing to her. Even just the sight of you is making her upset now because of whatever weird attachment you've grown, which is making me upset, and if you keep doing it, you and I are going to have a MASSIVE fucking problem, understand? It’s a mistake to cross me. I think you’d know that by now, given your dad’s situation.”

Carl stares at the man blankly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Negan says, turning his attention back to you. “There, you’ve seen him. Now I need you to get dressed and come out of your room. We have an event to get you to.”

You cock your head suspiciously, “An event?”

He nods, a man entering the room and setting folded up clothing down on the edge of your bed. “I assume you’ll enjoy where we’re headed. —It’s not some boring fuckin’ drinking party where rich people stand around stroking each other either, I can promise you that.” He chuckles.

“You mean stroking each other's egos?” You correct, rolling your eyes back so far they nearly roll back into your head.

Negan cracks a genuine smile at your attitude, reminiscing about your younger years as the man who entered the room grabs Carl roughly by the arm and starts to manhandle him toward the door.

“Wait, what is he doing?” You gasp, trying to grab his hand, but the man forces him away from you. “Where is he taking him?” You say, slightly louder in a panic.

Carl grimaces, trying to shake him off. “Let me go, I can walk on my own.” He snarls, only to be forced to give up when the man squeezes his shoulder by the bruise, causing him to yelp in pain.

“Hey!” You shout, immediately jumping between the two, kicking the man in the leg as you try to pull him free. “Don’t hurt him! Why can’t he stay?”

The man surprisingly releases Carl as per your request, giving him a shove, but letting him walk out on his own two feet.

“He’ll be right back.” Negan sighs, noting the aversion you seem to have to being separated from Carl. —Dwight was definitely right to have kept the two of you together, at least until he can figure out just how far the two of you went. After that, if there’s no problem he can send the boy home.

“Just get dressed and come out.” He says, shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone in the room with the clothing.

It’s an outfit you’ve never seen before, all bright and new, all out of place, except for the necklace sitting on top— the glass star Rick had gifted you.

“Oh,” You gasp, picking it up to cradle it in your hands.

What is Rick going to think when he finds out the two of you have been dragged here?

You pull the necklace taught around your neck and clasp it, catching your own eyes in the reflection of the window.

If Rick were here, what would he want you to do? Comply to keep Carl and yourself safe?

Or should you even be thinking about what Rick would do, all things considered? –Technically, he was your captor for a while. It was only by chance that he took a liking to you and set you free…

What are you even thinking? Rick was kind to you. He practically took you in when you were sure the rest of the world had abandoned you, even though you did nothing but cause problems for him.

Unable to stand the sight of yourself any longer, you rip the curtains shut, lifting the oversized oat colored shirt on top of the stack and letting the lower half uncurl to see it dead on.

You hate that it's something you could see yourself wearing, something he'd picked out that was perfectly aligned to your tastes from before your kidnapping. It feels childish compared to what you’ve been wearing and doing since you were last here, but it’s also confusingly comfortable.

You slip out of your pajamas, tossing them aside on the bed as you redress in the shirt and the dark wash overalls cut off a little above the knee.

You almost miss this place still, even as you’re back here trying to escape.

Quickly slipping on your old shoes, you bound your way out of the door to search for Carl. Much to your relief, he’s right there waiting for you next to Negan.

You try to approach him, but Negan puts a hand between you and uses it to start guiding you away, pointing for Carl to trail behind you both on the catwalk.

“You know, while you were gone I spent a lot of time thinking about what I’d do when you got back,” He snorts, recalling all of the things he’d pictured for you. “I thought about filling your room with a mountain of presents, but that sounded like some party clown crap… too soft for us.”

You glance at the arm he has placed on your back, grimacing at hypocrisy in his words. "There's nothing wrong with being soft… It can be nice sometimes.” Carl showed you that, and you've never been happier to be soft.

He narrows his eyes, “Maybe. –But it's dangerous all the time.” He looks to you for agreement, but you don't move a single muscle to validate him.

After a moment passes of awkward silence, he continues on his desperate rant. “So then I thought about getting you a puppy, because kids love puppies, right? —Only problem was that they were all too feral, and I knew you’d be devastated if I put it down, so that was out, but maybe I should’ve… If I’d picked up a feral stray without an eye, maybe you wouldn’t have.” He glances back at Carl, who can’t hear the conversation but can assume Negan is talking about him.

You give Negan the dirtiest look you can muster, which only makes him laugh.

“After the dogs I tried to make you a little clubhouse on the roof because I noticed you’d been sneaking up there, and I’m still going to, but it’s not finished yet…” He glances over at you, seeing your face pale at the mention of the roof. “Yeah, I knew you stole the key, but you were just stargazing. —It was good for you. I’m not going to bitch about it.”

Dwight had stolen the key and given it to you, but Negan had known it was missing that whole time and not said a word? –Not punished you for your betrayal of the Sa… You quickly stop your thoughts, realizing you’d slipped into old habits, identifying yourself with these rotten men.

“Oh! And then I did end up getting you a gift, but you can’t see it until later. I want you to be surprised, baby girl.” He stops walking, leaning over the railing of the catwalk with you at his side, and Carl behind the two of you.

“So after all that, I settled on something else…” He gives you an ominous smile, rubbing your back. “Something to show you how much you matter to me, because I know I fucked up, okay? It’s not lost on me that I treated you like shit because I thought we’d have forever. –All I want to do is give you everything I should have.”

You stare down at the pitch black work floor, unable to make anything out in the dark, just so you don’t have to look him in the eye. Because you know. —You just know you’d break.

“Was that your apology? For telling people to kill me, supposedly by accident? –I was hunted and choked, shot at and beaten. Instead of standing here beside you, I could already be six feet under!” You seethe with very thinly veiled rage.

He shakes his head, “No, that was just the beginning.” His smile widens, his eyes flicking down to the work floor. “This is all just the beginning…”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly it hits you that the work floor is never silent, and nearly at the same moment, a bright series of lights flash with a crackle, lighting up the work floor with bright colors, loud music starting to play from the lower floor.

“I’ll say it once more, and then I’ll let you mingle, alright?” Negan says, gripping you by the shoulders lightly and turning you to look at him, his eyes glossy with tears. “Welcome home, Eli.”

Your eyes widen, letting out a small whimper as you try to hold yourself back from jumping into his arms.

You missed him so fucking much.

Barely holding yourself back, you wait until the moment passes and the man goes down to the work floor, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Carl, who’d been silently observing, throws his arms around you, rocking you back and forth soothingly. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You don’t have to be scared.” He comforts.

“I’m not scared, Carl,” You cry, clinging to his shoulders, letting his rocking sway you, then you lower your voice to a whisper, hoping he won’t be able to hear you over the music. “I’m his daughter.”

He gives you a light kiss on the ear. “I know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pulling away from him so that you can look him in the eye. “How? …Did they tell you, i-is that why they beat you?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, thumbing away your tears. “I heard you the first time. –When you told me.” He seems ashamed of himself, probably dealing with the inner turmoil of knowing you were an enemy and failing to tell his father before it got to this point. “I thought he was done with you. I thought he wanted to hurt you, but it all turned out to be some kind of sick misunderstanding…”

You choke back a sob, “I'm sorry… I never meant to drag you into this…”

“No, don't cry,” He mumbles, planting another kiss on your cheek. “That was good, if he had actually wanted to hurt you, we both would have been dead the moment we set foot in here…” He swallows hard, “But I need to know if you're still with me on escaping and going back home.”

“Of course I am–!” He cuts you off, lightly pressing his palm over your mouth.

“Don't answer me now. I want you to really think and be completely certain about what you want to do.” He lowers his gaze, biting the inside of his cheek. “I saw how hard it was for you to hold yourself back just now and I don't want you doin’ it for my sake.”

“Carl…” You bring both of your hands to either side of his face, forcing his chin up to look at you. “Why are you giving me a choice in this? You know I obviously want to be with you, so what would happen if I were to say no? Would we just… go our separate ways?” You almost say it as a kind of joke, but he gives you a knowing look, eye darting over to the work floor.

“Just… enjoy tonight.” He says softly, bringing his gaze back to you. “Stop worrying about the future and give yourself a break… lord knows, everybody could use one.”

He pulls away, taking your hand in his and leading you down the stairs.

The music is so loud you can hardly hear yourself think, the lights running over the two of you in waves as you weave your way through crowds and tables. It feels like all you senses have suddenly gone cold, and before you know it, Carl’s hand is gone, replaced by a beer bottle a stranger handed you.

You spin around to look for him, taking another swig, the world spinning with you. He's nowhere in sight, but that makes you realize… neither is anyone else you know from before. The people who spent most of their time resenting and tormenting you haven't bothered showing their faces at your welcome party.

There isn't a single unfriendly face.

You squeal with delight, twirling around in the midst of a dancing, drunken crowd until your father grabs you by the arm and helps you stand beside him on top of a table.

“Cut the damn music!” He shouts, grinning from ear to ear.

While someone rushes over to the speaker to pull the plug, Negan turns to you. “Having fun, baby girl?” He laughs, watching you sway from side to side drunkenly. “–Just remember not to drink more than two, you've got a weak stomach.”

Daryl wouldn't have let you drink in this emotional state, and he probably would have noticed the five you've already drowned your emotional pain in.

You lightly punch him in the shoulder, giggling and slurring. “Where's all the people who hate me?”

He chuckles, avoiding your question as he brushes the hair that's fallen into your face aside, the music finally stopping, and he turns to address the crowd.

“I want to remind your sorry asses why you're here tonight! This little girl right here,” He raises your arm, “–Is my daughter! My little badass daughter who spent twenty fucking days out there, held hostage by Rick the prick and all those other assholes who tried to destroy this place…”

“Because we attacked them.” You say under your breath in a sing-song voice where he can't hear it, your limp head tipping backward.

The lights on the ceiling look like little stars… You wonder if Carl had the same thought, if he can see them wherever he went.

“They tried to destroy the peace I've made, the food we have, the very clothes on our backs! –And they took her! You know why? Because they thought that we couldn't recover… but they were wrong. SO fucking wrong. Seeing her alive again, is proof of that. Proof that everything we're doing has some kind of meaning in this lawless shithole of a world where every single day is just another loss.” He pauses, taking a deep breath to regain composure, and raising a beer with the arm not holding you upright. “So, this night is to her, make sure you don't forget it!”

The crowd begins to cheer and clap, all still smiling towards you.

It takes your drunken brain a moment to put it together, but eventually you realize that, no, it isn't that the people in the crowd are friendly… they look… afraid.

You stiffen, pulling away from Negan to stand upright on your own. “No, seriously, where are they?” You ask once more, giving him a terrified glance.

The smile on his face leaves his eyes, but the grin doesn't relent. “...They weren't worth the ground they walked on, kid. Forget about ‘em.” He dismisses.

Looking around you see more than two dozen people are missing from the crowd you don't remember seeing during the attack. You feel like you want to vomit at the revelation, but instead you push him as hard as you can, which doesn't move him at all.

“How could you?” You say angrily, tossing the bottle aside. “How could you do that to all those people? You're a–”

A monster.

You turn away from him, looking down at the crowd full of people who have started dispersing back into the room, drinking, dancing, partying, while god knows how many people are missing.

“This night shouldn't fucking be about me!” You scream, regaining their attention.

They seem confused at first, frustrated maybe, but then intrigued, freezing where they are to listen to what you have to say. –You have their attention, just like a leader should.

“It should be about the people who didn’t make it back here…” You say, and it's like a veil of grief has been thrown over the crowd, the smiles vanishing, the whispers diminishing to silence. “It should be about the mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, who never got a chance to see the next sunrise!” You continue shakily, pointing into the distance.

You aren’t even sure what you'll say next, but it's coming straight from your heart, unfiltered.

“You could say they weren't important people, but if someone, anyone, can say, ‘they were important to me’... then they do matter. It wasn’t fair that their lives were cut short. –And I-I don't care that they weren't high up, or important, or they didn't play some integral role here… they were alive.” You shout, closing your eyes so that you don't cry. “They had feelings, and thoughts, and opinions– and sure, sometimes those opinions were just fucking stupid, but that doesn’t mean they deserved to die for it…”

Negan stares at you, eyes wide from the moment you stole the crowd's attention.

“I mean, why should anything like that be a death sentence? There's enough sadness and heartache in the world already, why contribute?” You mutter, tipping your head to the side, eyes half lidded. “We should be honoring them tonight! Not me, not anyone else who's here, because we might think we're the victims but we're not. We weren't robbed of a future, of possibility, like they were…”

You slowly blink, tipping your head to the side with a hint of shy blush on your cheeks. “Or maybe I'm just drunk…”

Negan quickly takes the attention back from you once you've finished your rant, seeing the people in the crowd murmuring in agreement. “Everyone go the fuck back to what they were doing, she's just had a little too much shit to drink tonight!” He excuses, trying to lighten the mood. “Turn the music back on!”

You roll your eyes again, stepping off of the table and kicking off your shoes, walking back up to your room and face planting onto your bed. It's been a long night, all you want to do is sleep it off.

***

“So what? You think they took them?” Rosita says in a panic, watching Rick pace the floors of the factory.

“Who else?” Rick snaps, his face curled into a snarl. “These mystery people who she saw roaming around that night are the only lead we have, and the Saviors haven't been spotted anywhere near here. –It had to have been them.”

Daryl sharpens an arrow, hand clutched tightly around your knife as he drags it along the thin wood. “Ain't no tracks to follow, so what're you expectin’ us to do? Follow ghosts? Take a goddamn guess?”

Rick points a hand at him, exhaling through his nose. “I don't give a shit. Pick a direction and start fuckin’ walking. I want my son back, and I don't care what we have to do. We can't have mystery men coming in and out of here stealing our kids, I won't let it happen.”

Gabriel clasps his hands together. “I would be willing to do exactly that, as long as we all calm down first and think rationally about it.” He reasons, giving Rick a calming smile.

Rick glares at him. “Get a move on everyone. We leave at dawn and we don't stop ‘till Carl is right back here where he belongs.”

Chapter 19: Routine Damage

Notes:

Carl has been away from Rick for 2 days…

Also why does Dwight have the vocabulary of a stoner in this chapter? –You will never know.

4:58am

The banging on your door slowly forces its way into your sleep, poisoning your dreams as it wakes you. –At first you think you imagined it. You listen, but in the darkness of your room there's nothing but silence for a moment, your eyes drifting closed once again, but then the knocking resumes, louder this time.

You sit up in your bed, disoriented.

Who the hell is knocking on your door this early, and with such vigor, at that?

You slowly drag yourself across the floor with your blanket wrapped around your shoulders, head pounding as you open the door, ready to tear whoever's standing there's throat out– but you stop yourself.

It's Negan, because of course it is, who else would it be?

“Mornin’, baby girl,” He reaches out and ruffles your hair. “Did ya’ sleep heavy? It looked like you had a lot of fun last night.”

You give him a glare. “I'm hungover.”

With every pulse of your head all you can think about, is Daryl preventing you from drowning your sorrows in a bottle back in Alexandria. –Because that's exactly what a responsible adult should do, even if they don't notice how much pain you're actually in.

He throws his head back, chuckling, then wipes away an imaginary tear. “Oh, don't sound so bitter kiddo. I'm gonna get you fixed up, don't you worry.” He holds out a set of clothes, “I'll start with getting you back into the routine of things, it'll help you acclimate better.”

You roll your eyes, taking the clothes into your hands, only to immediately realize what they are and wince.

“Gym clothes? No way you're actually making me train on my second day back?” You question, tossing the clothes as far onto your bed away from you as you can.

“Well, you've lost quite a bit of muscle,” He criticizes, lifting your arm and pinching the loose flesh below it. You feel your face flush with shame, but he seems to quickly realize his mistake. “A-And there's nothing wrong with that, but it's not like you. It's not safe.”

You pull your arm back to your personal space, rubbing the part he pinched as you stare at the floor.

“Sorry,” He apologizes half-heartedly, giving you a small nudge on the cheek. “It'll have to be basic exercises anyway so you don't strain your injuries anyway. It won't be that bad.” He sighs, taking a step back from you.

You feel deeply ashamed at your lack of muscle even though you hadn't noticed it before. “Okay, I'll… I'll do it.”

He can tell that what he said really affected you, but decides it's for the better not to address it again. It worked out in his favor.

“Good… Now, let's talk gifts. –Last night I told you that I had a present for you, and I still do, but I wanted to ask…” He pauses, leaning up against the wall on one arm. “If you could have anything in the world right now, what would you want?”

You cock your head, laughing sarcastically to yourself. “What happens when I tell you? Do I get what I ask for?”

There's no way he would make such a stupidly open ended offer knowing you've been poisoned with the ideology of people from Alexandria. There has to be a catch, or some kind of limit to what you can ask for. You're not even going to bother asking to be returned to Rick, because you know you'd be met with immediate refusal, and it's probably best you stay on Negan’s good side for now.

He looks up at the ceiling with his eyes, thinking for a moment, before nodding to himself. “If it's within reason, I'll do what I have to to get it for you.” He agrees.

You don't even take a second to think about it.

“I want Carl. I want to know where he is, and I want him here with me at all times. –No more beatings or dragging him off.” You list, trying to cover all the loopholes he might find with your wish. “Not even as punishment. I'll take the consequences for anything he does here.”

He bites back a wide, proud smile. “Hm, sneaky… I suppose I should have expected that from my own daughter, though.” He says, clearly amused by the request. “I guess you are around that age where if you wanted to, you could start your own collection, but does it have to be him? He's… dirty.”

Collection? What could he possibly mean by that? You rack your brain trying to come up with possibilities until you finally find one that makes your skin crawl.

“You mean like your wives? …That's not what this is.” You deny, trying to stop the images and accompanying gagging that comes to mind at the thought of having your own harem. “And yes, it has to be him, I love him.”

You quickly pop a hand over your mouth, not meaning to have said such a strong word to describe your relationship to one another.

“You…” His eyes widen, his cocky facade dropping as his hand slips from the wall and he's left awkwardly standing straight upright in the doorway.

You slowly lower your hand. “That's… not what I meant to say.”

He tries to ignore your slip up, clearing his throat to buffer the conversation. “Alright, well… just, uhm…” He shakes his head, unable to clear his mind, turning away. “Come downstairs when you're ready and we'll get you something to eat.”

 

5:32am

“Faster! Do better you pieces of shit!” Negan shouts, walking along the tables on the work floor. “You expect me to believe you can fight Rick the prick in this pathetic goddamn state? I wouldn't even believe you could fight his fucking brats!”

There's a few Saviors on the work floor doing push ups while others are lifting weights, and the workers continue toiling away at their stations. You try to fly under the radar as you descend the stairs, but he spots you the moment you make it down.

“There you are.” He says happily, grabbing your hand and forcing you to take what's in his. “Here, it's your favorite.”

You stare down at the protein bar in your hands, your least favorite flavor.

It used to be your favorite, before the people in Alexandria had shown you what flavor actually is, and it turns out, it's not just whatever has the most protein. It's what you like.

“Thanks…” You say half-heartedly, your eyes drifting away from him, catching bottles in crates stacked up high, practically glowing in the corner of the room. All full, looking like a ticket straight to relief.

You practically start salivating at the thought of getting a taste. –Maybe alcohol is just what you need to make it through the day and get rid of your headache. The liquid itself is always smooth and icey with a bitter taste, but after a while that warmth settles in your stomach and you feel better than ever. You need that right now. You need to feel good. –Even if it's momentary.

Negan doesn't even realize you've been enticed, continuing on as if nothing is different.

“Why don't you take it easy for a bit, watch these sad fucks and then jump in and lift some weights whenever you feel comfortable?” He suggests, giving you a pat on the head with the tip of Lucille. “And again, I wanted to say I'm sorry about earlier… you can usually take a joke, so you caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting you to take it so hard when I pointed out the… change.”

You lick your lips, setting the protein bar down on a table as you keep staring at the bottles. “People change.”

Negan feels something is off about you, something important that he can't put his finger on, but he's hesitant to ask if you're okay. He doesn't know what he'd do if the answer was no.

“Well, uh, they're bringing the kid down here at about noon-ish, if you're interested.” He tries to get your attention with the promise, but you only silently nod, walking off to sit on a table on the other side of the room.

You look listless and exhausted, but not from your injuries. He can remember you sitting in that very spot, swinging your legs as you excitedly recounted your triumphs from the previous day, just a few months ago. Yet now you seem… broken, in a way.

He turns his attention back to the Saviors, unable to look at you like this any longer. “Go faster! Show me what the hell you're worth!” He barks, pointing Lucille up above them in a threat.

His shouting is making you want to bash your head against the wall, but last night while the beer had you under its spell, you found him more than tolerable. It was like before, when you were a family…

At least until he said something stupid, but a moment of peace is still a moment.

You slip off of the table pocketing the protein bar when he isn't looking, and shift yourself behind the stack of crates, pulling a bottle from it carefully. It makes a small clink, but it blends in with the noise of weights hitting the ground every now and again.

“Eat some of the peaches first, and then pour half a glass's worth in. You shouldn’t be drinkin’ on an empty stomach at your age.”

You tear open the protein bar and take a bite before tossing it aside and downing half a bottle of beer. Despite your hopeful delusions, the beer is warm, almost sickeningly so, but that doesn’t stop you.

“Baby girl?” You hear him calling, his steps growing nearer.

You put the bottle back in the stack, bringing the protein bar back up to your lips as if you had simply been eating it in hiding.

“Yeah, dad?” You call, your mind too fuzzy with panic and alcohol to keep up with your grudge.

He stops in his tracks at you calling him dad for the first time since your return, noticing the way your voice seems to drag out in a slur. “Are you… What's going on back here?” He isn't sure, but again, he can tell that something is wrong with you.

You hold your hand up as if to block the light from your eyes. “It was too bright, it was hurting my head so I came back here.” You excuse. “Sorry I didn't say anything, I-I didn't want to interrupt.”

His eyes widen, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek gently as he subtly takes your temperature. “It's alright, you always interrupt, it's never been a problem… Are you sick?” He asks softly.

You can tell that he'd prefer to believe that explanation, and you want nothing more than to pretend everything's okay between you right now.

“Yeah, hungover. –From the fun.” You agree, closing your eyes with a soft smile.

 

7:23am

The beer is just wearing off as you drag yourself behind your father, not quite sure where he's taking you, but vaguely aware of the direction you're going in.

It's like you're floating, slowly drifting along like a ghost, completely relaxed where you are, yet somehow also too tired to keep going.

Your dad abruptly stops in front of two doors and approaches one. “Here we go! Fucking, finally.” He cheers, kicking open the door and motioning for you to go in before him. “After you.”

You enter, noting how empty it is– before you suddenly feel a blow to your stomach and are forced into the center of the room, your feet skidding across the linoleum as you regain your footing, snapping your head up to lock eyes with your attacker.

Dwight. Again.

You wrap your arms around yourself defensively, eyes wide. Is he seriously about to attack you in front of Negan? “What the fuck? What are you–” He hits you again, this time harder in your ribcage, causing you to cough and gag.

He winces at your reaction. “Shouldn't I go easy on her until she heals up? Plus, you said she lost muscle mass, isn't this all a little dangerous?” He asks, glancing over at your dad who stands behind him in the corner of the room, arms crossed.

Your father eyes you for a moment, considering his options… Perhaps this is just what you need to get back to normal, to make that fire he used to see in your eyes reignite. “Don't hold back.” He sentences.

Just how cruel is he? He's asking Dwight to do this, to spar with you even in your weakened state and not hold back against you. You could pop your stitches, or worse, die as a result of some kind of overlooked injury. Not to mention you're still impaired by the beer, your reaction time is not going to be what it should be by any means.

You are going to lose this fight.

“No, please don't.” You plea, rapidly shaking your head at Dwight. He hits you again, across the face, and then again in the stomach, bringing you to your knees.

“Come on, bug, block with something that's not your face.” He says gravely, backing off to circle you and let you regain your footing.

He looks apologetic, but you really pissed him off the other day when you callously pushed off his concerns about Sherry. He'd be lying if he said he weren't getting some satisfaction out of hitting you.

Saliva pools around your lips and drips out of your mouth to where your palms are resting on the ground. “T-This isn't fair, I-I didn’t do anything wrong.” You complain, coughing again.

Your dad speaks up from the corner, getting impatient with your stalling. “Think of it like earning what you asked for earlier.” A smug smirk appears on his face, “You know, that thing takes a lot of work, and I'm not even sure it's worth anything. –It's already broken.”

He's blatantly trying to taunt you, but it still manages to get under your skin. You give him a sharp glare, fists balling up on the floor, your arm shooting out and pulling Dwight down by the ankles so you can take your anger out on him.

Negan grins. –He's done it. He's found the thing that'll motivate you back to normal and make you the impulsive, smiley girl he lost that day.

“You want him that badly? You want to fight for him?” He taunts. “Or should I let them do what they want with him again? –Let them shove him down the stairs, cut him, beat him and rip out his throat?”

When you pull him down and straddle him Dwight tries to punch you across the face again, but you block it. So he kicks you in the center of the chest– right where you'd been shot.

You scream, punching him in the nose as hard as you can, not pulling your punch at all.

You can see the drops of blood from his nose and your knuckles, but you don't stop trying to get him to give in and end the fight early. –All he has to do is stop and leave you alone and everything will be okay.

It's at this point that Dwight gets a whiff of you, and realizes there's something more wrong with you than he thought.

“Is that–” He tries to ask, but you punch him again, forcing him to take countermeasures.

He slams you on the floor beside him, your already concussed head hitting the floor with a sharp crack, but this time you aren’t knocked unconscious.

“There's something wrong with her. We need to stop.” He says firmly.

Your dad stares down at your panting form, arms sprawled out on either side of you, all the energy you'd suddenly gained in desperation for Carl having vanished.

He decides to fuel the fire again with a scoff, “Oh yeah? So I should let them feed him to the walkers on the fence? –You're okay with that?” He taunts.

“No.” You snarl, arching your back as you try to sit up again. “Anything but him.”

He takes it a step further, “I'll get some popcorn so you can watch the show, –watch them slowly pull him apart and tear pieces off'a him like strips of jerky.” He makes a slow tearing motion with his hands.

“No!” You shriek, pulling free of Dwight and rolling over onto your hands and knees.

Negan relaxes slightly, tipping his head back to look down at you, proud of your perseverance. “Then fight. –Not for him, but for me. To stop me. Be exactly who you've been this entire time, my daughter, my right hand man.”

Never again. Before you had an excuse, being young and not understanding who he was, but now you understand, now you know what a monster he is.

“Your lap dog?” You seethe with a crazed chuckle. “Your little mutt you can send out whenever you need to fetch something and do dirty work? Is that all I am?”

He doesn't answer, tipping his head to the side curiously.

You're almost afraid to ask your next question, your heart bleeding at the thought. “When you took me in, all those years ago, was this the plan? Did you only need me for… for that?”

When he doesn't answer you scream again, trying to punch Dwight, but he catches your hand.

He's not messing around anymore as he tries to pull you to your feet. –There's something very, VERY wrong with you and the way you're acting, and he's not having it.

He grips your forearms and continues to try and pull you up, but you thrash against him, kicking him in the leg and pulling him back down again, trying to get him pinned.

He sits on the floor behind you once you've knocked him down, furrowing his brows. “Okay, that's enough. I'm not going to do this right now, you need to cool off, bug.” He says, suddenly snaking an arm around your neck.

All your senses start screaming danger, your eyes widening before he even applies any pressure, your hands shooting up to push at his face in a panic to get him off of you.

“Oh, you poor thing. Come here.” The man in the woods had cooed, wrapping an arm around your neck, squeezing.

Dwight hushes you, his grip on your neck still gentle but firm. “Cool off, bug. Stop fighting, everything’s okay.”

You look to your dad for help, tears starting to fill your eyes as you catch his blurry smile, his arms still calmly crossed like he hasn't a care in the world.

“I could do whatever I want to you, and he'd fucking THANK me with a smile on his face.”

The way the man's hand had played with the hem of your shirt before making its way upward, violating you, invades your mind and you rapidly shake your head, shutting your eyes to try and cease the memory.

“Your luck finally ran out. Negan declared open season on your dumbass.”

Your breathing picks up as you try to fight him again but he starts to squeeze tighter, causing you to cry, tears streaming down your face as you remember the feeling of the forest floor on your back, the sun in your eyes, your finger on the trigger.

“S-Stop,” You beg, barely audible because of the pressure on your windpipe. “Please stop, please stop, please stop.”

“End the fight, baby girl.” Your dad demands, “I know you can do it, if you want it to stop, that's the way.”

“You think this is over? You think you can just get away with everything after everything I've lost?”

You didn't want to pull the trigger.

“Come on, baby, you've got this. –Get back up for Carl.” He insists gently, watching as Dwight abruptly releases you and backs up with his hands raised, eyes wide.

“Jesus, fuck man, I said we should stop!” The man states, too shocked to say anything else.

“I said, don't fucking hold back, Dwighty-boy. What the fuck about that did you not unders–” He's cut off as Dwight points to you in a ball on the floor, sobbing. “...Baby girl?”

You're rocking back and forth softly, your hands tangled in your hair, tugging roughly as you cry, your breathing closer to dry heaving.

He tries to approach you, but you only scream louder, pulling limbs into yourself further, so he has no choice except to back off.

“What is this? What– What do I do?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what he's seeing. He just doesn't want to believe it's happening to you. “Get her some water.”

Dwight narrows his eyes, stepping beyond the doorway. “A-Are you sure, just that? –She's drunk.”

“Drunk?” He whispers under his breath, eyes darting across your face. “Yes, water, now, and get her some crackers or cookies or something.” He orders, standing useless cast to the side of the room as Dwight leaves.

How had it gotten to this point? Sure, you'd been a little more irritated and jumpy, but wasn't that only normal considering how long you'd been away from home?

He lets you sit in silence for a moment before he clears his throat.

“To answer your question from earlier, no. You've always been so much more than that.” He says, slowly bringing himself down to your level on the floor, opposite to you in the room. –Something he wouldn't stoop to do for anyone… except you. “I was just trying to motivate you. You're getting to that age where people aren't going to hesitate anymore when they see you're a kid, ‘cause you won't be… I want to make sure you can protect yourself when that time comes.”

Your grip on your hair loosens, your eyes slowly finding their way to his as if to say, I'm listening. It feels like there's something important he wants to say.

He moves closer, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for being more vulnerable. “I'm still working on finding a good balance between giving you freedom and being the one to push you harder, even though I should have figured that shit out a long time ago. This is…” He gulps, but refuses to avert his eyes from yours. “This is the first time I've been a dad, and I don't want to fuck you up. I've been a shitty person all my life and I know it. There's no going back for me. –But I want to put you on the right path.”

You bring your arms down from your hair to hug your knees, resting your chin on them as you partially hide behind your legs, listening.

His eyes start to water, “You can hate me if you need to. –If it helps you live another day. I've done more than enough crap to you and other people to deserve it.” He admits, once again moving closer to you on the floor. “But I never want you to hate yourself. –Not for what I, or anybody else, did.”

You rapidly shake your head in denial. “I could've–”

“No.” He points at you like he's lecturing you, yet he's said nothing but sweet things. “You're innocent in all this, you couldn't have stopped me even if you tried and now it's spiraled out of control, and honestly…” He trails off with a new realization, eyes widening at the thought. “I'm just waiting for someone else to come along and take me down for it.” –But he decides not to say that part out loud, especially not while talking you down from a panic attack.

This time you're the one to move closer to him, almost meeting his criss-crossed legs on the floor.

He reaches out and sets a hand on top of your sneakers comfortingly, a smile appearing on his face before it shifts to a deep frown of concern. “Is this something new from something one of Rick's people did? –Did somebody choke you?” He asks softly.

You sniffle, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “It was a Savior.”

He winces, shutting his eyes tightly and pinching his brows. “Right, of course a Savior did it… Tell me what happened and take a deep breath.” He instructs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You glance around nervously before relenting. “Simon tried to shoot me, in the woods, a-and then this other guy tried to strangle me... He told me you asked him to do it. –That he could do whatever he wanted to me and you'd r-reward him for it…” You shake your head rapidly at the thought, “If Carl hadn't been there…” You choke back a sob, trying to take a deep breath. “I killed him. I had to. It was so messy, I didn't mean to do it but I… I…”

“Simon, that slippery fuck, I told him not to go out and fuck things up…” He hisses, then nods with a deep breath. “Okay, baby, here's what's going to happen… I want to keep you in the loop, ‘cause you asked me to do that before and I never did.” He reaches out and wipes the tears off of your cheeks.

“Really?” You ask softly, “A-and it'll be the truth?”

“Yes, really.” He confirms, “I'm going to change things up around here. You won't have to commit to a routine like this, and I'll take a step back from the Saviors for a bit, leave most work to Dwight.”

“But won't that–” You start to interrupt, but he hushes you.

“You and I are going to spend a lot more time together, okay? I'm gonna take care of you.” He insists, “I haven't been there when I needed to be, and it left you vulnerable and alone.”

You feel a small smile start to spread across your face, something so genuine you find yourself giggling softly at the insanity of it, nearly crying from joy.

He raises an eyebrow, “Don't celebrate just yet, I didn’t forget that Dwight said you were drunk.” He reminds, booping you on the nose. “When the hell did that happen? –You become an alcoholic while you were away or somethin’?” He asks in a joking tone.

“No, I just had like… half a beer to take the edge off this morning, that's all.” You downplay, your eyes flicking away from his in a suspicious manner.

“Uh-huh,” He says knowingly, “And last night at the party, how much did you drink?”

“Too much.” You say, lowering your head with a coy smile.

He lets out a bark of laughter, slapping his knee. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets, but don't let it become a problem. –If it starts hurting you, promise you'll let me know?”

“I promise,” You agree.

Dwight, who you had already noticed lurking outside the doorway to give you privacy during your conversation, rounds the corner with a soft smile on his face, setting a cold water bottle and a sleeve of cookies down in front of you, before moving to leave.

You reach out and tug at his sleeve, preventing his exit.

“I'm sorry to you too, I didn’t mean what I said. I was just… It's no excuse but I thought you were going to kill me, so I wanted to say whatever I thought would hurt you the most at the time.” You admit, looking deep into his eyes for any sign of forgiveness, or even just acknowledgement. “You're my family too, and I don't want to lose you. –You're like a brother to me.”

“I'm not your brother,” He denies, “But you and I are family… having to watch you change is like torture, but I can't stop thinking about you. –Worrying what kind of person you'll be on the other side, what kinds of scars you'll have and how they'll shape you, because some part of me does care…” He rambles, then jolts as he comes back to himself, trying to play it off. “... Anyway, I'd like to think of myself as more of a cool uncle.”

You cock your head, starting to grin widely. “Was that… a joke? From you?” You question eagerly, nearly jumping up out of pure excitement.

Your dad also tips his head to the side, mimicking your behavior. “Yeah, Dwighty-boy, was that a joke?”

Dwight flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, I don't know… I just said what came to mind, man.”

 

11:47am

“Eli!” Carl perks up at the sight of you, breaking free of the men restraining him to run over and hug you.

“Carl!” You shout in return, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls back realizing that you have several huge bruises all over you, including on your eye, that all look severe… but you're confusingly holding a half sleeve of sandwich cookies and wearing a large grin.

He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him, “What did they do to you, honey? You look… happy, but you're all beat up.”

You give him a kiss on the cheek under his (lack of) right eye, seeing as there's a brand new bruise on his left. “I'll say after you do,” You mutter into his ear, then glance back at your dad, clasping hands with Carl. “What matters is that we get to stick together from now on, right?”

Your dad rolls his eyes with a sigh, and then reluctantly nods. “Yeah, yeah, you can keep it, but you have to pick up after it and take it for walks yourself.”

Carl's eye lights up, looking at you like you're the most amazing thing in the world. “For real? Like really, real?” He presses.

You bite back a smile, “Yeah.”

His hands shoot out and pull you in for a celebratory kiss before he can even consider what a bad idea it might be to shove his tongue in your mouth in front of Negan, his breathing getting shallower as he angles his head to go for it.

You pull back a little as his lips press against yours, worried about the consequences of such an action, but then you feel his tongue dart beyond your lips and relax at the familiar feeling, resting your hands on his upper arms.

“Jesus,” Your dad says, and you realize that you have to pull away from him.

You wipe the saliva off your chin, watching Carl’s eye dart around your face excitedly, perhaps entirely too eager to be in your presence once again.

“I wasn't even done talking and he just… Fuck, kid, are you sure it's not a harem you want?” He asks with an awkward laugh, “Anyway, I was going to say that there was one more thing I needed before you could have him.”

You nod resolutely, despite knowing there's a myriad of terrible things he could ask you to do. “Whatever it is, consider it done.”

“Not from you baby,” He grabs Carl by the shoulder, roughly, but not so hard that it hurts him or puts pressure on any existing bruises. “From you.”

Carl's eye widens. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Your dad confirms, then gives you a reassuring look. “I won't take him far, just up the catwalk a few steps. –For privacy.” He uses Carl's shoulder to guide him away and up the catwalk before roughly shoving his back into the railing, forcing the boy to look at him.

Carl seems a little startled at first, but then he narrows his eye at the man in a glare, letting his arms rest on the rail behind him.

“Do you expect me to believe you brought me up here to threaten me away like a real father would for his daughter? ‘Cause I'm not buying that.” He laughs emptily.

Negan ignores his taunts, cutting to the meat of the matter. “I saw the hickeys, I know you two did something, I just need to know whether or not to congratulate Rick on his new grandchild.”

The words are outwardly joking, but Carl can hear the underlying insecurity, the fear and helplessness the man would have in the face of a situation like that.

Carl blinks, a smirk slowly crawling up his face. “Maybe. –I hope it kills you not knowing whether or not something happened.”

Negan gives him a shove to the chest, the railing rattling from the sheer force of it.

“Look, kid, do you want to go home? Because that's what I'm offering you.” He says quietly, a small smile appearing on his face, “All you have to do is pull away from her, make it soft and sweet so she doesn't feel too bad about it and in time, she'll get over you and move on thinking she was the one to end things… Doesn't that sound nice, going home to your family?”

“Oh, yeah,” Carl says sarcastically, rolling his eye, “And then you can live happily ever after, fucking her up in the head for the rest of her life.”

Negan’s eyes widen, his smile fading in an instant.

“What? Did you think that because she forgave you or whatever, you were in the clear? That everything would start going back to normal?” Carl stands up from the railing, coming to stand chest to chest with the man, puffing out his. “Well, I didn’t forget. –And you can't gaslight me into thinking all the screwed up shit you did was in good conscience.”

Negan clenches his jaw. “I don't care what you think, cyclops. She's home, and I think it's about time you go home too.”

“No, I'm not leaving her here with you,” Carl says sternly, "When I go, she's coming with me. –I won't be slowly pulling away from shit.” He spits angrily, his hand slipping into his back pocket. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have to give your daughter the treatment she deserves. Humane.”

Carl slips away from Negan and makes his way down to the work floor, walking up behind you as you talk to Dwight and snaking an arm around your waist. “Hey.”

You feel the arm on you and immediately recognize it as his. “Carl! What took you so long?” You ask, turning around to hug him.

Dwight turns and walks away with a smile on his face, leaving you alone together. “See you around,” He says in farewell.

Carl puts an arm around your shoulder, looking around suspiciously before pulling you into a huddle. “I literally don't know how I managed to swing that… but are you still with me on getting out of here?” He asks, giving you a sheepish smile as he reaches towards his back pocket. “It's okay if you don't want to leave, but… I… I think you need to.”

“Well…” You start, but you trail off, feeling extremely conflicted. “I know we haven't really gotten a chance to talk about everything yet and most of your experiences with Negan haven't exactly been positive…” You take his hands in yours, giving him a hopeful smile. “But I think Negan is changing… He's being nicer and acknowledging the damage he's done to other people… I think he deserves another chance.”

Your conversation with your dad has left you with the cruelest shard of hope wedged in your soles, preventing you from moving in any direction without giving him a chance first.

Carl's hand freezes above his back pocket, hidden beneath his flannel before coming out empty. “Are you sure?” He asks, his smile fading.

“I mean, I'm not saying he actually has changed. I'm not sure I trust it yet, but I want to. I still love him, and I… missed him… if that makes any sense?” You rub the side of your arm awkwardly. “Look, he's trying, and I think after everything we went through together he deserves another chance. If you hadn't given me a chance, I wouldn't be here with you right now.” You point out.

He nods softly, giving you a half smile. “Yeah, that's true… I guess it couldn't hurt to wait a few more days. –I'm just anxious for us to go home.”

Home? The word doesn't even register on your brain anymore.

“Come on, let's hang out in my room for a while. I've got a deck of cards we could play!” You say, leading him by the hand, blissfully ignorant to what's going on in Carl's mind.

He follows you up to your room for the first time, and you start to understand why he'd been so embarrassed when you'd entered his room after you started getting closer, your face flushing before you can even get the door open.

“It's kind of a mess in here right now,” You apologize, bending over the bed to fix the bed sheets.

Carl stands in the doorway looking confused. “Is it?” He takes a few steps inside and looks around the empty room, all signs of life removed except for a child's drawing taped to the wall, a single set of clothes on the floor, and the messy bed that you're already fixing. “Where is all your stuff?”

“Hm?” You cock your head, “What do you mean?”

“This room is empty but you've been living here for years, haven't you?” He peeks around the corner, searching for a nonexistent closet. “You don't have clothes, or… anything?”

Where are all the toys? –The little keepsakes and trinkets a girl your age would have strewn around her room? Enid had loads of that stuff, just from her time in Alexandria.

“Oh, yeah I do,” You say, bending down and sliding your upper body underneath the bed to search for the plastic tub containing your clothes and a singular deck of cards, but you can't immediately feel it in the dark space. It must have gotten pushed further back.

Your gym shorts ride up the back of your thighs as you move underneath the bed, slipping up even further as you go farther underneath the bed, exposing your tight panties to him, your curves showing through the thin material. You pull out from the space underneath the bed while dragging the tub out behind you, fixing your shorts on your hips. “Right here,” You say, patting it proudly.

As you pop the lid on the tub you hear something almost like a metallic crackle in his direction, followed by something that almost sounds like him muttering, “Shit,” under his breath.

You look up at him curiously. “What was that?”

He turns to look at the window, brows furrowing as he swallows hard before answering you. “I'm not sure, it sounded like something electric…” He turns back, pointing at the cards. “Oh look, we can play cards now…!” He says, his tone of voice anything but excited.

“Uhm, yeah…” You say suspiciously, “We can play cards now…” You pull the deck from the box and start shuffling, keeping an eye on him.

 

4:55pm

Carl sees your eyes have drifted closed where you are on the bed and takes the opportunity to pull the walkie out of his back pocket, staring down at it for a few seconds, finger on the power button.

He could end this all right now.

–But if he were to take that chance would you come with him, or resent him for the rest of your life for depriving you of the chance to make up with your father?

Negan isn't even worth it. He's a monster who keeps trying to indoctrinate you back into the Saviors. If he was actually trying to be better like you said, why would you have come back covered in new bruises with multiple additional head injuries aside from your concussion? He put you into a weaker, emotionally vulnerable state, and then took full advantage of it.

Why can't you see that?

He puts pressure on the power button until he feels it crackle to life, his fingers buzzing with nervousness and relief as he hears his own father's voice on the other end, speaking to Michonne and Daryl.

“–the water filter too. None of it makes any sense… If she was murdered here there would be more blood, you said their goal was theatrics, but I'm not seein’ it. She must have died the moment she left the property, there's no use lookin’.” Rick groans, clicking his tongue.

Carl turns the volume down, pressing the walkie to his ear.

“That sounds wrong for the mystery men, sure, but who else do we know with a habit for picking up children?” Michonne says pointedly, followed by the whooshing of her katana striking through something soft. “I still think the Saviors might have done it.”

Daryl pipes up, an arrow firing from wherever he is, seperate from the others, “No fuckin’ way, she ain't never goin’ back there and neither is he. They both already got outta there once, they should be so lucky to get out alive a second time.”

“And where would the skin mask have come from? Her bloody footprints?” Rick questions, “You know I love you, but that just doesn't make any sense.”

“It doesn't have to make sense. When you work as a lawyer for as long as I did, you learn that sometimes the truth doesn't.” Michonne sighs, “And Daryl, you're just saying that because she reminds you of Beth.”

Daryl’s walkie quickly clicks off.

“Michonne… why would you do that? He's been drinkin’ heavy ever since they both went missin’, now you're just provoking him.” Rick sighs, a gunshot echoing through his location, clearly indoors somewhere. “We don't say that name anymore. –Not unless we have a reason to.”

“Well, he should stop calling me an idiot. He offers no solutions and then shoots down all my ideas like I don't know what I'm talking about.” She bickers, her sword hitting something harder with frustration. “I'm usually right, you know. –I even called that she would drag Carl down with her. Said it right to her face.”

“He's not callin’ you an idiot, Michonne, he's just tryin’ his best to come to terms with what happened…” Rick pauses, letting out a sigh. “He lost ANOTHER one, and he thinks it's his fault.”

“You blame him,” She claims, “Both times you had just started getting attached to them and seeing their potential, and then he failed to keep his eyes on ‘em. Now they're gone.”

“Don't take it there, you know that's not true. None of this is his fault.” Rick snaps, starting to get frustrated.

Carl can sense the impending argument and decides to step in while you're still asleep and he has a chance. He doesn't know how long it'll take for Negan to notice he swiped his walkie, and he doesn't know if he'll get another chance to tell them you're both alive. He clicks the walkie on, a motion that pumps him full of memories from his first conversation with you.

He takes a deep breath, preparing himself to say what he wants to, then begins. “We're alive, dad. –And Michonne is right, we're at The Sanctuary.” He whispers.

“Carl?” They both say in unison, then Michonne laughs.

“See, I knew it,” She gloats with relief, “Are you okay? How are you talking to us? Where is he keeping you? Are you injured?”

“Yeah, and when you say “we”, do you mean she's… she's there too?” Rick asks, his voice breaking slightly.

Carl feels the tension he hadn’t noticed in his chest dissipating at the sound of them acknowledging his voice, his hands unclenching.

“She's here too, yeah.” He shakes his head softly. “But she doesn’t want to leave yet. –He sunk his claws into her again.”

“You have to get out of there even if she doesn't want to come with, Carl. We need you.” Michonne pleads, taking on a softer tone with him. “Please.”

“I…” He sighs, “Just give us a few days. I'm going to convince her to come home with me.”

He can't leave you here, not after getting to know you the way he has and coming to like you this way.

“Is she wearing a necklace?” Rick asks abruptly.

Carl cocks his head even though they can't see it. “What?”

“Is there a glass star around her neck, Carl?” He repeats, “I'm asking because I don't think she would switch her allegiance that fast. She always seemed conflicted, but by now she has to know that the best place for her is here, even if she won't admit it to herself.”

Carl looks up at your sleeping form and sees you shift, your closed eyes scrunching up as you start to wake up, the glass star dangling in your face because of the angle you're laying in.

“Yes, yes, she's wearing it. –She's waking up, I have to go.” He whispers in a panic, muting himself. “Love you guys, tell Judith I love her.”

“I love you too, be careful.” His father says, just as he turns the walkie off and shoves it into his back pocket.

You sit up on the bed, causing cards to spill over the edge and onto the floor, rubbing your eyes. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah.” He says, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Chapter 20: Doubt

Notes:

Carl has been away from Rick for 3 days…

This is still in the second POV, but it's Carl centric. You finally get to know what he's been thinking since you got back here.

Also reader crying and saying, “your mom” cracks me up.

When Carl first feels the arm pressed against his chest, the small, still asleep giggles of someone next to him… His first sleep-drunken thought is not you, but Enid. He assumes that when he opens his eye and reaches out, he'll feel the girl's straight light brown hair as he strokes her face, lock with her green-blue eyes, hear her sweetly sarcastic voice say something like, “Good morning, prince charming. Welcome back to the land of the living.” –With that permanently sly, foxy smile on her face.

Then he takes a breath, a deep one, trying to savor the scent of pine trees and freedom that always seemed to radiate off of her. –Nearly choking on the smell of musk, damp oil, and paint fumes that seem to congregate The Sanctuary's air, his eye snapping open in an instant.

That's when he turns and sees you, standing above him with a goofy, childish grin on your face.

He nearly breaks down with guilt at the sight of you, his own mind betraying him in his sleep because… because he never really had stopped thinking of her. He tried to tell you, tried to articulate his lingering feelings into something coherent and warned you that neither of you were ready for something like this– but you didn't listen. You couldn't.

Ever since you've been back here, it's like you've regressed into some kind of fucked up childish version of yourself. –Only seeking daddy's approval and forgetting everything he's done to you, because why ask for redemption when you can simply call family, and have all your problems dissapear?

“Morning sleepyhead!” You say, jumping up onto the bed to straddle him, but the motion gets absolutely no response. –No arousal, no pleading, no playful fighting… just awkward silence for a while, until you politely remind him that you're even there. “Carl, what's wrong?” You ask in this gratingly innocent voice.

He lightly pushes you off of him before reminding himself that he can't pull away from you. –He can't let Negan turn you against him and make you think he doesn't care about you anymore, when he really does. He cares so much that it hurts.

“I just… had a nightmare,” He says, turning his back to you by sitting on the edge of the bed. “I'm not in the mood for… that, right now.”

The real nightmare is getting stuck here. –That, and having to watch you destroy yourself for someone he's not even sure gives a shit about you.

“Oh… Well, if there's anything–”

Before you can finish your sentence, Negan lets himself into the room without knocking, sticking to the doorway with a smile on his face, his fingers tapping the door frame impatiently.

“I thought I said be up at sunrise, baby.” He says sharply, his gaze locked not on you, but on Carl. “...Is something holding you up?” He gives Carl a spiteful wink, “I can't imagine him doing much winning in here with sight like that. How can he hit the mark if he can't even read it?”

The continuous subtle digs at Carl that Negan peppers over his sentences in your presence don't even seem to bother you. Or if they do you don't bother defending him, or letting it show in solidarity.

“Sorry,” You apologize, giving him a fawning smile, your shoulders falling further every single interaction you have with him. “I'm already dressed, just let me get my knife.”

Negan leans up against the doorframe, giving the boy a smug look. “Fine, just hurry it up. I don't want to get pirate cooties from that ridiculous fucking eye patch. –He'd have been such a badass if he'd taken my advice and ditched it.” He laments. “You should really take a peek under there, kid. It's gnarly.”

You finally turn back, looking like you're about to snap, but instead you just give him a pleading look. “That's not funny. He feels more comfortable with it on, so just leave him alone, dad. –We'll be gone soon anyway.”

The word burns Carl's ears in a way he hadn't been expecting, his heart clenching with frustration and pain.

“Where are you even going?” He asks softly, reaching out to tug at the hem of your shirt, both to piss Negan off, and to see if he can get your attention off of the man.

You clench your jaw in a funny way as you look at him, giving him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “Walker hunting. –He says it'll be good for me after everything that's happened to let me take my anger out on something that can't seriously fight back.”

–Like prey, like you were just a few days ago.

“That sounds counterproductive,” He pauses, giving you a concerned look secretly hoping you'll notice and call off the plans, “–And that's not even true, walkers are dangerous. They could kill you.”

It's like you refuse to believe anything that doesn't come straight from Negan.

It's no wonder you have trust issues after everything, but he's the one you should trust the least. –He ordered a hit on you, whether knowing, or unknowingly, and permanently altered the course of your life in doing so.

“We used to do this all the time when I was little, everything's going to be fine. He's not gonna let me get hurt again. –He promised.” You insist, bending down to whisper to him, “Please don't be mad at me? I need this with him right now. He's my dad, and I really missed him.”

Promised? He promised you wouldn't get hurt? –Like a fucking preschooler?

And why the hell are you just eating it up, when Carl knows for a fact you're way too fucking smart not to know that's bullshit?

“Fine,” He says bitterly, “Go.”

Your entire face falls within seconds, looking like a kicked puppy as you hesitantly reach your hands out to him, eyes just beginning to water. “Are you… mad at me?”

He knew he said he wouldn’t be angry, that the least he could do was give you a few days to figure your shit out, but you haven't. You just seem more and more attached to the aggressive man.

“I–” He starts to apologize or explain himself, only for Negan to interrupt.

“Come on, baby, let him sulk if he wants.” He coos, motioning for you to jump to his side and cling to him. “Let's go have some fun.”

Don't do it, Carl pleads in his head, don't fall for it.

A tear slips down your cheek as you stare at Carl with betrayal, slowly shifting your feet towards Negan before joining him at his side, letting the man wrap an arm around you protectively, his other hand coming up to pinch your nose just shy of pain.

“That's my girl.” He says, leading you out of the room before giving Carl the thumbs up and mouthing, “Atta boy.”

Oh.

Carl clasps a hand over his mouth, nearly gagging at the realization that your look had been justified. He inadvertently followed Negan’s orders and broke his own promise not to resent you for wanting to stay here, like a complete douchebag.

When had it happened? –When had his trust in you faded to this angry mess of emotions brewing in his chest?

It hadn't been when he'd thrown himself in harm's way to protect you, not even when he was dragged all the way here and said that he would stay until you figured out what you needed to do…

It was when you became complicit in his abuse. –When you started eating cookies in his face, grinning ear to ear as you saw the bruises all over him, all over you, and giggled, never bringing it up again as if it were the normalist thing in the world.

He stopped trusting your logic when you made him question himself. –When he started to double back and ask himself if Negan really was that bad, ask himself, even remembering the way his bat had crashed down on Glenn and Abraham’s heads, if maybe there was some kind of rhyme or reason to it all.

He rests his face in his hands, chest heaving with grief and unsaid apologies to the dead for even thinking it for more than a split second.

He thinks Enid had been completely right to dump him, especially given how clingy he'd been without understanding the severity of trying to stay together while at war… Now he has to suffer through that very situation with you, except being on opposite sides.

Yet all he can think is, poor Enid.

The girl had always been such a rock, but Carl saw how it was tearing her apart to be with him, how every day she'd worry as his risky behavior escalated that outside the walls she'd find him wandering, dead, the warmth they used to share long cold.

He misses her. He misses her hands on him, and how even when he was smiling or comforting her she always knew when there was something wrong with him too. He misses her lips and her hands across his chest, and the way she would drag her touch across him whenever she passed by, as if to say, “I'm still right here.”

He feels a tight coil in his stomach at the thought of her being close to him, the feeling mixing with his brewing hatred, his body reacting with the arousal you'd tried desperately to pry out of him earlier, a bulge forming in his underwear.

As messed up as it feels to think about, he slips his hands into his underwear trying to erase the memories of Enid close to him in an attempt to regain his connection with you, but everytime he tries to picture you, the heat in his stomach disappears and he feels himself go soft in his hand.

“Shit, no, come on.” He groans quietly, his heart stuttering as he runs long strokes on his shaft, tipping his head back.

But it doesn’t work. –His heart beats for you, but he can't find this regressed version of who you are attractive in any capacity. It just makes him sad.

He pulls his hand from himself after a few more pumps and then collapses into your pillow, inhaling your scent as much as he can.

You don't smell like The Sanctuary, or like Enid.

You smell like wet earth after it rains and a home cooked meal your mother makes for you after you walk home from school in the snow… You smell like every shitty home baked good someone made with their whole heart for a loved one, like fresh cut grass in the heat of summer, play-doh, and an old book covered in dust. –Like everything he's ever loved and hated about himself, wrapped up with a neat, bright red ribbon.

He squeezes the pillow harder, wishing you would reappear and console him, tell him that you want to go home. –To Alexandria. –To your shared dysfunctional family that would never hurt you in the ways that Negan has.

He waits, but you never do come through that door to rescue him like he'd done for you so many times, and it stings. It makes him wonder, and he hates the places his mind goes when there's no one else around.

***

When he hears you've returned later that day, he exits your room and steps out onto the catwalk, eye red from unshed tears and fully ready to berate you in some capacity for letting another day slip through your fingers… but then he sees someone else doing it for him.

“I told you to stay back, but no, you wanted to throw yourself into danger again,” Negan chastises, lightly hitting you on the head with the tip of Lucille. “If you weren't up to this, you should have just told me. I would have gone alone and let you rest.”

Carl knows you well enough to know that the only word you really heard in that sentence was alone. –The threat to be abandoned again.

You hang your head with shame, chest heaving with anguish. “No! No, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to fuck things up, it won't happen again.” You say in a tiny plea, gripping at the large cut in your arm, your bruised and bloodied legs shaking.

Negan looks at you like you've said something foreign to him. “It's not about fucking things up, baby girl, I tried to explain that on the way back,” He pauses, “It's about doing stupid shit tryin’ to be heroic. You deserve better than some quick, pitiful death to save someone weaker than you who isn't gonna last long. Don't waste your time. –And don't agree to come with me anywhere else until you actually feel better, just come see me in my room or wherever I am and we can hang out around here.”

The man hands Lucille off to Dwight and motions for the man to follow him, Dwight giving you a quick pat to the shoulder before leaving you standing battered, alone, on the work floor.

Carl wants to run down and wrap his arms around you, but he freezes at the sight of you taking a bottle off of one of the work stations and desperately chugging it– tears streaming down your face in pure desperation as you try to feel anything except overwhelming depression and constant anxiety.

The bottle is gone in less than five minutes, so you take another and slip it into your backpack before moving towards the catwalk stairs, your head hung with shame.

Carl darts back into your room, sitting down on your bed and trying to prepare something to say when you enter the room to cheer you up, but you enter before he can, a huge smile on your face, your sleeves pulled down to cover the gash on your arm.

“Ta-da!” You laugh, spinning around for him. “I told you everything would be okay, and look, I'm home safe and sound.”

He's too stunned by your complete 180 to say anything at first, trying to figure out what the hell happened and if maybe the alcohol was so potent it managed to kick in that fast when he notices the cracks in your facade– the way your smile twitches like you're waiting for him to say something so that you can stop, your eyes strained with pain.

Then he realizes it. –That you're trying to make him feel better, because you think he's mad at you.

This is exactly the kind of preformative behavior you put on when you went hunting for clothes together back in Alexandria, except now it's detrimental to your well being.

“Honey.” He calls sternly, motioning for you to come closer.

Your smile falls, giving him your full attention as you come close enough to touch and he pulls you into his lap. “Y-Yeah?”

He brushes your hair aside, tracing a few stray cuts on your cheek before pressing his forehead to yours. “I ain't mad at you. –I was worried, but I know you can handle yourself. You're one of the kindest, most amazing people I've met, even counting before all of this. –You top ‘em all.”

He watches your face flush, tears finally welling up in your eyes as you wrap your arms around him and let yourself cry into his shoulder, his arms coming to wrap around your upper waist.

“Shh, honey, I've got you. –Tell me what you need from me right now.” He says softly, kissing your shoulders and neck instead of your face because it's hidden.

You mutter something into his shoulder, still shaking as you wail.

“I can't hear you,” He runs a hand up and down your back, “Can you say it one more time?”

You pull away, still sitting in his lap and shake your head, swallowing heavily as you reach into your backpack and pull out what he thinks will be the second bottle, but turns out to be a walkie-talkie.

“To talk to your dad and–” You drag your sleeve across your eyes, “Your mom. –You have to tell Rick and Michonne you're okay. They love you so much, you…” You trail off, starting to cry harder until you pull yourself together to finish your sentence. “They would never leave you. Judith needs you too.”

He pulls your arm from your face, cocking his head. “Are you ready to go home?”

You rapidly shake your head, starting to cry harder again.

Trying to conceal the frustration he feels in favor of comforting you is difficult, but easier now that you've gone out of your way to get something that you think he needs to talk to his family. –It's a sign you actually do understand how difficult this has been for him too. “Then what is it? What's the matter?”

You reach down your shirt, pulling out the glass star necklace first and fidgeting with it for a moment, your eyes watering. You look guilty. “The gift…”

“From my dad?” He asks with confusion.

“No… from mine.” You deny, pulling out a second necklace, a soft looking metal peony. Lucille's favorite flower. –It wasn't home made like Rick’s, but it held meaning for you. “I… I can't… It's… My head feels like it's gonna explode, I don't know how much more I can take.” You cry, clutching at your chest.

It's clear what Negan’s intent was by giving you such a gift, most likely to confuse you, or urge you to pick his over Rick’s as a symbol, but you hadn't. –You wore them both proudly, and that's probably why he was so upset with you earlier.

“Oh, honey,” He sighs, pushing your hair back again, noticing the way your face has paled. “Ignore him, don't let him convince you of anything about us that doesn’t match up with what you experienced. –They need you alive and home just as much as they need me.”

“That's not true. You're a fam… a fam…” You suddenly keel over the side of the bed, laying across his lap as the contents of your stomach spill out onto the floor. –Pure Whiskey. That's it.

“Jesus…” He gasps, reaching out to pull your hair back to prevent you from puking on it. “Why haven't you eaten?”

After you've finished puking on the floor you cough and spit, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as if it were routine by now, yet it's only been three days. “It… It makes the buzz go away faster if I eat, and without the numbness I don't think I can make it another day.”

Carl shakes his head, once again urging you, “Then why drag this on any longer? Let's go home.”

You lower your eyes, the shame of your secrets weighing down on you. “That's not going to make anything better… I've been replaying everything that happened on loop and I can't forgive myself for what I did.” You confess, “I'm worse than my dad is because I knew the ripple what I was doing would have, and I genuinely cared, but I did it anyway. I killed those people.”

“So… So you want to be punished? –And you're going to punish yourself until someone else does it and it fills the hole?” Carl asks under his breath.

You nod. “I deserve to be. –For them, and for bringing you down with me.”

He resists the strong urge he has to slap you across the face at that statement, his chest burning with pity and anger. “You didn't do that, I chose to jump in. –What you're doing now is the real problem. Filling the void and trying to lose yourself in the moment while leaving me here, in this reality. –Making me watch you decline and regress.” He trails off, unzipping your backpack all the way to take the second bottle out. “It fuckin’ sucks.”

Your eyes widen as he reveals the bottle. “How did you–”

“I'd honestly rather see you sad, than see you grovel at Negan’s feet like a bitch.” He admits, popping the lid and having a sip. –It burns like pure fire, but he needs the liquid courage to have this much needed conversation with you.

“I- What?” You stutter with shock, unable to process the words he just put together.

“You worship him like he's a god and the ground he walks on is holy. –You heard me.” He repeats, changing his phrasing. “That guy has done nothing but hurt and torment you with his actions indirectly, and even when he fully intends to be a good father to your face, he doesn't seem to know you well enough to say the right thing.”

Your brows furrow with anger, “How would you know? It's not like–!” You trail off, the rage quickly fizzling out to sadness. “He's trying.”

Carl pushes you down on your back into your pillow somewhat aggressively, but not rough enough to hurt you. “That's another thing, you keep making excuses for him. –Even knowing about all the people he's took from me, you still defend his actions and let him keep taking from you.”

“No,” You shake your head, reaching out to touch his cheek, “I would never defend what he did to your people. –That's disgusting.”

“But you can't think about them either, can you? It ruins the daddy daughter thing you have going on.” He points out, “If he were a real fucking dad to you, he would realize that selfishly taking you away from Alexandria was a mistake. –I admit it, he's smart, sometimes I think too smart, but taking you from my dad to have you live with pedos and rapists that have tried to kill you, in a declining building, was a mistake.”

Once again, you look ashamed by something, and once again you confess to a crime that was not your own, “He killed the ones who hated me.”

“See, that! That is exactly his problem!” Carl shouts, unable to hold back anymore, “He tried to remove the people without getting to the core of the issue, without changing his shitty leadership, and without making sure knowing that dozens of people were dead for you wouldn't mess with your fucking head before he…”

Your eyes are filled with tears again, your lip quivering like you're about to snap.

“Before he…” Carl trails off, releasing the grasp that he used to pin you to the bed. “I'm going to go talk to him… I'm sorry I yelled at you.” He apologizes, taking the walkie out of his back pocket as he strolls out of your room.

People in the hallways shove into his at the shoulder, trying to irk the fire they saw in him when he first came here and shot the place up, but Carl does his best to not show his frustration.

When he gets to Negan’s room, the same one he'd been brought in and questioned that day, he cracks the door to walk inside but pauses upon hearing the man quietly crying. –A sound that makes Carl freeze in his tracks.

“I don't know what to do anymore…” The man says uncharacteristically soft, his hands over his face with his elbows resting on his knees. “She's broken. So fucking broken. –You saw that too, didn't you?”

For a moment Carl almost thinks he's been caught, until Dwight comes into view and sits across from him.

“I mean, yeah, I saw it but… I can't be sure.” The other man admits, looking stressed, “–Maybe she was just drunk again and she hesitated because her reaction time was off. It doesn't have to be that she meant to… do… that.”

“She saw him get bitten, saw his arm get torn off. I know she did, she was standing next to me, she looked right at me before she slid down into the ditch trying to help that asshole and when she couldn't…” He trails off, trying to stop the tears running down his face. “I don't know what to do about the panic attacks. –She likes drinking, but I think it's making them worse… but I don't want to cut her off from the only source of fun she has.”

“I don't think it's fun. I think it's alcoholism, and I think you might have taught it to her.” Dwight says bluntly.

“Why the hell do you say that? I cut her off when she was little.” The man asks, then pauses, reminding himself of the bottle and half drunk glass in front of him. “...So maybe she learned that it makes problems easier to deal with from me, so what? What are you trying to say?”

Dwight pauses with a sigh, muttering under his breath, “I think this place is a bad influence on her.”

Negan looks about ready to snap on the other man, so Carl uses that moment to diffuse the situation by knocking on the door.

The man quickly swipes away his tears and pushes the bottle behind some things, probably hoping it was you coming to see him, only to be met with the sore sight of Carl. “Oh, great, the wannabe pirate decided to join us.” He grumbles, pinching his brow.

Carl doesn't bother to correct him, throwing the man's walkie-talkie onto the coffee table in front of him. “You dropped this earlier and she wanted me to give it back to you.” He lies for an explanation as to why he has possession of it.

The man furrows his brow, almost looking offended, although it's probably more about him being suspicious of the explanation. “Why couldn't she have just come herself and given it to me?”

The man might not know about your sickness, but he was certainly aware of the injuries you received on your run, yet he doesn't think that's reason enough not to come visit him?

“Because she's drunk and vomiting, and she can barely stay upright.” He seethes, giving the man the most intense glare he can muster. “She's an emotionally unstable
wreck and she's losing her mind in here. –Do you have any clue why that might be? Any sliver of self awareness left?”

There's another long pause from Negan, any sign of emotions other than worry leaving his face. “Dwight, get out.” He spits, his voice strained and tight.

Shit. Carl knows he shouldn't have taken it that far, he's provoked the man he's going to be trapped with for who knows how long, and intimidated in this same room again.

“Sit.” Negan demands, and so Carl sits, fists clenched in his lap, jaw tightly wired shut.

The man takes his glass out of hiding and fills it up again, taking a slow sip, swishing the golden liquid around in the glass, then sipping again, repeating the action several times until Carl just can't take the build-up anymore.

“What are you gonna do to me?” He squints, his nostrils flaring with anger as slams his hands down on the table, “Why ask me to stay? –Why do ANY of this?”

Negan calmly sets the glass down, letting out a single chuckle. –It's not a joyful laugh, something dark full of self resent and disgust. “You know, you asked me that same question the first time you were in here… I guess I left an imprint on you too.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch. “The real question is, what kind of effects has my influence had on you?”

Carl feels his heart stop at the question. “Effects? There are no effects, you can't break me.”

The man shakes his head, “It's not about breaking you or trying to get you to join the Saviors anymore. It's about… trauma, or whatever you'd call it.” He tips his head to the side, observing the boy like he's an experiment gone wrong. “Do you have them too? –The panic attacks?”

Carl’s throat feels dry, his cheeks burning hot. “No.” He answers hoarsely.

Negan nods softly, somewhat knowing that this conversation is scaring the boy, but he just has to know.

“Right, maybe you don't get those, but you make the same kind of decisions she does. –Like offering yourself up to me when Rick wasn't home, or sneaking into The Sanctuary by yourself… Self-sacrificial risky stuff.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Watching me bash the heads of Rick's men left you shaking in your boots, to the point even I could tell you changed after that. It was similar with her when she got home, there was something wrong, but I couldn't quite place it… So…” He takes a shaky breath without letting it show, “So tell me, do you dream of them? Hear their voices in your head?”

Carl’s eye goes wide, his fingers clutching the fabric of the couch as tightly as he can until his knuckles go white, trying to ground himself. “No. Never.”

All the time.

“Never? …Then what about numbing or avoiding your problems? –I know you have trauma, kid, don't bullshit me. If you answer honestly, this will be over so much faster.” He claims, leaning forward and setting his hand on Lucille as he starts getting fed up with Carl’s short answers. “Why can't you have a genuine conversation with me? –We had that singular heart-to-heart moment when I attacked Alexandria. You even smiled at me for the first time, and now you act like being near me burns you.”

Carl finally snaps, tangling his hands into his dark brown hair with distress. “Fine! You want to know why? –You want to know why you and I will never have a genuine conversation no matter how many semi-good deeds you do? It's because no matter what, I'll always remember everytime I look at you what you took from me. The agency. The ability to be with the people I love like Maggie, and Enid, and Glenn, Sasha, Abraham, everyone, in a normal way. –But most of all,” The boy snarls, standing up, “It's because I know that at any moment if I say the wrong thing, or even just move the wrong way, you'll kill someone to prove a point. –That's the power you have and it crushes everyone around you because you abuse it. You could be…” A tear slips down his cheek, the memories of the murders catching up with him. “You could be so good. –I've seen you do it with Eli and Judith… But you can't convince me that you've never thought about hurting them too.”

The man is stunned to silence, the words exposing the shameful cracks in his own carefully cultivated facade.

“Oh…” He starts, his brain trying to decide the best way to respond.

Carl stares at him, panting, feeling relieved by finally getting to express some of the feelings he's been repressing worried that Rick wouldn't understand or would simply chalk it up to being that Carl was damaged and brush it off… but this made him realize just how much he needs to talk to him. –Rick will understand, and he'll listen.

The relief vanishes in an instant when Negan starts to laugh.

At first it's a small chuckle, before it becomes a loud boisterous cackle, the man wiping away fake tears. “Oh my god, I can never fix this, can I?” The man pauses, staring at Carl’s shocked face. “Don't you get it yet? –I did break you.”

Carl feels an embarrassed cold sweat come on, backing away until he hits the couch and has to maneuver his way around it. “N-No you didn't…” He says, clutching the door handle. “You couldn't have.”

“Sure I didn't.” He snickers, watching Carl try to make his way back to you, to some easy comfort. –Knowing you, you'll take him in and coddle him until he can suppress his feelings again like usual. “Go ahead, Carl, kill the void. Go on. Do it. Prove you're just as weak as everyone else.”

The man's laughter floods the room, his last words haunting Carl as he nervously makes his way back to your room, jumping at nearly everyone who gets too close to him, stumbling over his own feet a few times in his rush.

He flings the door open and finds you still sitting on the bed, both necklaces in either of your hands, a contemplative look on your face.

When you hear him enter, you look up, setting the necklaces aside. “Carl? Are you okay? –I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about earlier too, you weren't the only one in the wrong.” You give him a soft half-smile, “You were yelling because you cared about what you were saying, and I wasn't listening.”

He shuts and locks the door, leaning his head against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart down.

You say his name a few more times, trying to get him to talk to you, but after a while you decide to come up behind him and wrap your arms around him. “Carl, don't be upset.”

“I'm not,” He lies, turning around to face you. “I'm just…” His eye flicks down to your puffy red eyes, then to your lips, deciding he can't hold himself back anymore.

He needs you. He needs this.

Wrapping his arms around you he starts to kiss you, shutting his eye as tightly as he can, refusing to acknowledge your face. –He doesn't want to see you even if you're happy because that would mean you think he forgives you, when really, he doesn't.

Eventually your jaw goes slack, allowing him to explore your mouth if he desires, but he's not interested in that right now. –He bites down on your lip, hard. Hard enough that it draws blood and you pull away from him.

“Ow, why did you–”

He cuts you off by pressing himself against you, setting your ear to his chest so you can hear his heart race, feel the bulge pressed up against your lower body.

“I need you,” He cries hoarsely, “It's not going to be good, but you said you needed to feel something, anything else, so,” He's about to warn you, tell you that's the only reason why he's asking because he feels the same way, when you give him this smitten, love-struck look and start tugging off your shirt.

How is he supposed to tell you he's not doing this out of love for you when you look at him like that?

His breath hitches as you expose yourself to him, tossing the shirt aside. “Come here,” You call to him, and so he does.

He follows your orders like a completely separate person from his usual self, blocking out the pain of the past, forgetting who he is as you guide his hands to stroke the soft skin of your waist until he sees the still healing wound on your chest and winces.

“Are you sure we can…? I mean, you're still hurt and you got hurt again today…” He mumbles. “It might not be the best idea.”

You unhook your bra and toss it aside, running hands up your stomach before squeezing your own breasts to entice him.

“Do I look hurt around here?” You joke, then your voice softens with seriousness, “Plus this was kind of my idea. You're the one having to put up with it.”

You don't know just how wrong you are.

He reaches out and takes a fist full of flesh into his hands, squeezing softly, watching your eyes go half lidded with content, before squeezing much harder and pinching a bright pink bud, your mouth gaping with pain and pleasure.

You cry out, tortured, yet somehow never happier as you pull him in for a second kiss, not having learned your lesson from the last one.

He dodges your lips and goes straight to work marking up your skin, rougher than he had the last time, pushing you towards the bed, which you take as a sign to kick off your shorts. You throw them as far away as you can and then pull back from him, letting him take off his clothes next, watching him patiently, caringly. –It almost makes him want to stop you.

Then he sees you desperately tugging off your underwear, your hands trembling with excitement as you expose the most intimate part of yourself to him, your legs together at the knees, waiting, practically begging for him to pry them apart and see the wet mess you've become.

“Not yet,” He says lowly, mostly to himself, as he pulls his own underwear off, exposing his throbbing cock, already leaking at the tip.

He reaches out and guides your hand to his shaft, showing you the motion with his own wrapped around yours before letting you stroke him, tipping his head back with electric pleasure. “You're so good, honey.”

He tries to focus on you but his mind keeps slipping back to his earlier attempt, to Enid, and eventually he decides to close his eye to not have to focus on anything at all. It's fine that he can't look at you, just as long as he can perform for you like you had for him, right?

Your hands slow down and then pull away completely. “Carl… can we please?” You ask needily.

His eye opens.

“Yeah,” He agrees, toneless as you wake him from his happy state of nonexistence. He pushes you back onto the pillows, prying your legs apart and sitting between them for a moment as he considers the situation. “Have you done this before?”

“No,” You admit, staring up at him with a small smile, your cheeks and neck flushed pink, “Why, have you?”

Guilt starts bubbling its way to the surface as her name zips to the tip of his tongue, trying to claw its way out. “Yes, but never… all the way with…” He tries to end the sentence but his mouth is working against his mind. “E-A-Anyone.”

“Oh, okay.” You respond, perhaps a little too fast.

The moment feels soured to him, but he tries to push through, guiding himself to the entrance of your sloppy cunt.

“It's gonna hurt.” He warns, starting to push himself inside of you.

You tip your head back with a quiet cry, first trying to grasp the pillows before deciding to reach out towards him as you feel the sharp pain of his entrance into you. “Carl– Carl, fuck!” You choke, a tear slipping down your face.

He stays where he is for another moment, looking completely bored from your perspective.

“Carl?” You whisper, running a hand over his chest to get his attention. “I'm sorry, is this not something you wanted? We can stop…”

His eye widens, body tensing as you finally break him out of whatever spell he'd been under.

“No, this…” He puts a fake smile on his face. “This is perfect, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I really am trying to be here.” He says truthfully.

He doesn't know why this moment is making his skin crawl. –Why he keeps thinking of everyone except you, even about his conversation with Negan, to avoid being present.

You kiss his cheek. “It's okay.”

“Honey, I'm gonna keep moving, alright?” He says, finally giving you some much desired attention, kissing your neck as he slowly draws back out of you, hands moving to hold your hips. “Does it hurt? Should we–”

You shake your head, very obviously lying to him to make him happy. “No,” You say sweetly.

He starts to feel that same resent building in his chest at you lying to him again, even in a situation like this… So he pretends to believe you, very roughly shoving himself back inside of you, painfully gripping your waist as he continues the motion, your hips jutting up into his every now and again as he hits your g-spot, your moans growing louder and more desperate.

It was a reaction he hadn’t expected, a position he hadn’t seen you in before, and it startles him, but you seem pleased.

“Carl, please! Oh, please, fuck!” You cry out from below him.

And eventually, as the sex drags on and your moans heighten, he starts to enjoy it. Starts to enjoy being ruthless and getting to relieve all his built up frustration in this way because unlike yelling at you, or lecturing you, you seem very receptive to this.

He laughs a sweet, unburdened laugh, a genuine smile appearing on his face. “How is it, honey?” He asks, his pace hastening as he feels that same coil in his stomach, but tighter.

You choke on your spit, body quivering with pleasure as you rapidly nod.

But that's not what he asked you for. “Use your words, or I swear to god I'll stop.” He threatens, his voice more playful than it had ever been since you came to The Sanctuary.

“Feels good, really, really good,” You say, starting to feel the same joy he is as you crack a large, genuine smile yourself. “Please don't stop.”

You lean up again to kiss him, and this time he accepts, tangling his arms around you tightly as you massage your tongue over his, his movements getting sloppier as he feels his cock twitch inside you.

He pulls back from the kiss, your saliva dripping down his tongue. “I needa stop, or I'm gonna cum inside you.” He whines, annoyed by the idea of having to cease such pleasure.

“So do it.” You say hungrily.

He bites back a smile, leaning back into the kiss and sucking your tongue into his mouth, biting down softly as he feels himself release inside of you with a guttural grunt, the warm liquid spilling from your little cunt as he finishes and tries to push himself deeper inside of you.

“God, that felt good. You're so good,” He praises, stroking the side of your face as he realizes something. “–Also super fucking cocky now, aren't you? What happened to the shy girl who didn't want to take off her shorts because it was risky?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “She died.”

“That's too bad, I liked her a lot,” He says, continuing to run his hands along your face and neck. “But I'm gonna like watching you finish even more than that. –I bet you'll be so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you,” You pull him back into another kiss, his chest heaving, his movements continuing as he tries to find your g-spot again, using the warm liquid as a lubricant.

The room is filled with the noises of his hips against yours, the wet slapping of his cock into your overflowing pussy, the noises you both are trying so hard to keep down despite wanting to scream from the rooftops how good it feels.

Your back arches suddenly as you bite back a moan, “There! There! Right there!” You cry, clenching around him again, your hands coming to grasp at his hips.

“Shh, I know honey, I know.” He hits the spot again and then resumes at a steady pace, not too fast, as he tries to push you over the edge. –Then he starts to smile sinisterly. “How about this?” He asks, as one of his hands slips into your folds while he's still fucking you and starts toying with your clit.

You nearly die of pleasure. A chill rolling down your body until it reaches your stomach and dissolves into a wave of heat, your body constricting around his with one last strangled noise of pure ecstasy.

He finally pulls out and collapses beside you, still laughing like a mad man as he pulls you into his arms.

You inhale the scent of sweat on him, trying to burn it into your memory. “I'm so glad I wasn't drunk for that. –I was going to finish the second bottle but I wanted to apologize to you first.” You confess.

He turns to you, a look of genuine concern and worry on his face. “Stay sober and I'll fuck you as much as you want.”

You laugh, pinching his cheek with one hand. “You make an enticing offer… I suppose I'll have to try and stay sober then, at least for as long as I can.”

He feels his heart twist in his chest at the phrasing. Try, for as long as you can, like it's an intense struggle and you can't stop yourself anymore. –Dwight had been right, even at your age, you are undeniably an alcoholic.

He presses his forehead to yours, sighing softly.

“I love you.” He admits for the first time.

Love? Had you heard him right? Had he really just said that he loves you?

Your eyes soften, your cheeks flushing as the words tickle your brain and make your heart race with joy, your breathing fastening as you work up the courage to say it back to him, to his face.

“I love you too, silly.”

Chapter 21: Tug of War

Notes:

Carl has been away from Rick for 4 days...

CRY. (This and next chapter is basically part 1&2)

Your father hadn't let you be alone with Lucille for nearly a month after the incident where he caught her shaking you by the shoulders.

It was painful for you, and he knew it, but he also knew you were too young to truly understand the implications of her words. All you would see was an adult who you trusted suddenly snapping and physically laying their hands on you, and he knew that was much worse for you in the long run than being temporarily separated from her.

That doesn't sound like something the present Negan would do, in fact, you can't even picture him doing a thing like that, but back then, he was still just a mere husband and surrogate father trying to do his best. –Later even relaxing his rule about letting you see her as he saw her rapidly declining.

She was dying. You knew it, you heard them having conversations about it and started to understand that it was really happening. Negan had told her about the doctors he saw frequently roaming with trucks worth of supplies, and she chose to live out the rest of her days without trying to get to them.

Lucille, your surrogate mother, was leaving you by choice.

Negan held your hand loosely at his side, a dazed look on his face as if on the brink of a nervous breakdown. “Come on, you have to talk to her even if it's just once or you'll end up regretting it.” He said, taking you down the hallway towards her, “I'll be right there the whole time, I won't let her grab you again.”

You looked up at him, still confused and angry at the woman despite your deep love for the couple. “I don't want to… She said all those mean things, told me you don't love me, and now she's leaving us. She doesn't care.”

“Oh, kid,” He knelt down beside you, brushing your hair out of your face to make eye contact with you. “She cares. She's not leaving you, not on purpose, she would never do that. It's… she's…” A few tears slip down his face despite his attempts to stop them, “If she's really trying to leave anyone it's me. I wasn't a very good man before all of this, I didn’t take care of her like I should have… If only I had been better then maybe she wouldn't be… We could have caught it sooner…” Another fat tear rolls down his face, his breathing shaky and afraid.

“Not a good man”, he said, yet he was a saint compared to what he'd become.

You reached out and pat your soft, young hands at his cheeks where the tears were. “Don't cry daddy…” You said softly, still confused by the whole situation. “If you want me to talk to her, then… I will. –For you.”

He nodded, trying to conceal the crying from you with his hands, saying, “You aren’t meant to see things like this at your age.” Before taking your hand and continuing to lead you to the room Lucille was in.

It's all fuzzy in your memory, but you can recall Lucille sitting on an old floral print couch, reading a thick book with her hair pinned back, the way Negan releases your hand when you enter the room, moving to make a pot of coffee for the two of them, still subtly watching the interaction. –It's all too mundane for what your lives have become.

She shut the book, eyeing you for a moment, her skin pale and greying. It was a slow, painful fate, like a withering flower. “Aren't you going to come here? Come sit down.”

You had clenched your fists at your sides, standing about four feet away from the couch, irrationally afraid that any closer she might spring out and grab you. “I don't want to…”

“Well… come here anyway,” She instructed sternly, beckoning you.

You took a few cautious steps back before Negan grabbed you by the shoulder to stabilize you, giving the woman a glare he makes sure is out of your sight. “Lucille. You are SCARING her, don't make me regret asking her to do this.” He said, reaching out to grab something off of the counter with frustration.

Modern day, this would most likely have been a weapon to threaten someone with, but he reached over and picked up one of the coffee mugs he'd made, slamming it down on the table beside her and passive aggressively stirring in her ideal amounts of milk and sugar.

She watches him do this for a moment, then frowns with realization, her voice gaining a threatening undertone, “I'll stop if you tell us where you got the milk.”

He freezes where he is, a glint of self disgust entering his eyes as his hand ceases above the mug, fingers tightening around the spoon. “Does it matter? We have it, you both need it to get stronger, so here it is.”

They share a tense look.

You furrow your brows, the subtext of the conversation not quite making it to you as you try to imagine where he could have gotten such a substance, subconsciously walking closer as your interest grows. “Did you find a cow and… slaughter it?” You asked, unable to imagine anything worse from him.

He opens his mouth, sorry eyes flicking down to yours for a moment, before Lucille uses your words to gang up on the man.

“Yeah, Negan, DID you find a cow?” She nudges you, trying to get you to pay attention to his next answer, “You know, cows usually have FARMERS, so where was the cow's farmer, Negan? –Was he a nice man? Did he offer you the milk and let you see the cow?”

He winces, dropping the spoon, “Lucille…”

“How come you didn't bring her with you THAT time? –She likes animals, she would have loved to have met the farmer.” She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh, it seemed more like anger and worry. “So you'll bring her to bash dead people's heads in, give her weapons, but you won't let her see a farm? A cow? …Unless of course, something else happened.”

Once again you’ve become lost in the conversation, confusedly cocking your head at your father to ask him to explain.

He shakes his head, reaching out to cover your ears but pulling back as he sees his dirtied hands hovering above your innocent face. “That's enough. Don't do this in front of her.”

Lucille pushes the mug aside, “She's the only one who needs to hear. –The only one in this whole damn house who doesn't get it yet, and she deserves to know the most since it seems like she's sticking around,” She turns to you, eyes pleading for your safety in a way that pierces through any fear of her you had, “Ask him about the farmer, sweetie. He won't lie. –Not to you.”

Lucille hadn't ever snapped at you before that singular incident, in fact, she'd been the one to get you inside their car when it all started, and one of kindest people you've met, so… it should be fine to listen to her, right?

You looked up at your dad with wide innocent eyes, pleading for an explanation to make sense of it all. “...Dad…What happened to the farmer?”

You wish you'd never asked.

***

“You okay?” Carl asks from across your bedroom, your eyes refocusing on the room and the string you've been wrapping around your fingers.

Your pointer starts to turn a light shade of purple, so you quickly unravel it and start playing solo cat's cradle once again.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, leaning on the edge of his seat, leg bouncing up and down nervously as the two of you wait. “For a second there you seemed kind of lost.”

You look over at the door, pulling the strings taught again. “I was just thinking about stuff… things that hardly even matter anymore.” You mumble with a glare. “Nothing’s permanent.”

“What does that–” He's about to say something else when you both hear the crackle of the walkie-talkie, his hand shooting out to pick it up. “Dad? Dad, are you there?”

Rick lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, I'm here. Sorry I couldn't pick up earlier, I went to Hilltop to talk to Maggie and see how she was doin’...” He pauses, "I wasn't expectin’ you to call back so soon, but I'm glad.”

Rick sounds genuinely happy to hear from his son which makes you smile, remembering one of the last times you had seen the two of them together and Rick had thrown his arms around Carl and squeezed him so tightly he looked like he might pop.

“Well, we have a working walkie that no one's looking for…” Carl says, smiling to himself. “How's Maggie and everyone?”

“Maggie is good, she's leadin’ the people at Hilltop and they're all gettin’ along… they've got a nice farm started too. –Not nearly as nice as ours at the prison, but still nice…” He jokes, his voice longing for his son. Then he lowers his voice to something soft, “...Enid was asking about you. Seemed real worried and begged to be brought to Alexandria so she would be first to get updates.”

Carl visibly cringes at her name, tipping his hat down so that it covers his face. “You didn't let her, did you?”

“No.” Rick answers curtly. “They need her.”

“Good.”

You cock an eyebrow, confused as to why Carl’s best friend and ex-girlfriend being denied entry into Alexandria would be a good thing in any kind of way when the girl was genuinely worried about his safety, and for good reason.

There's a long pause between the two of them, almost like a silent conversation before Rick speaks up again, switching topics. “You never answered Michonne’s questions last time we talked… I can't help but feel that was on purpose, even though our conversation was cut short.”

Carl looks up like he's nervous to answer in front of you. “She… was going to overreact. –I didn't want you guys to worry.”

Rick pauses, “Is there something to overreact to?” He says in a dangerously low voice.

It's only then that you realize Carl never told you what exactly they had been doing to him before he was with you again, every time you asked he had carefully avoided giving you an answer.

Carl gives you another nervous glance, mumbling a small ‘sorry’, before pulling the walkie-talkie closer to his face.

“When I was still alone they were keeping me in a cell like the one they used for Daryl and take me out to do labor, but sometimes they'd… rough me up a bit. I-It wasn't that bad. No broken bones… I think...” You see how embarrassed he is by this, by not being able to defend himself against them and having to tell his dad about it. “Other than that it was just the usual Negan shenanigans–”

“Define ‘roughed’ you up. Did they beat you? I swear if they laid a single finger on you, I'll…” The man demands in a snarl. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears even though he's miles away.

“It was… It was fine.” Carl denies, pulling his hat even further down over his face. “I'm fine.”

“No.” The man snaps, “You gettin’ hurt is not ‘fine’, and ‘the usual Negan shenanigans’ usually entail someone getting psychologically or physically tortured, so I'm gonna need a better explanation than, ‘it was fine’, Carl.”

“I'm not broken!” Carl finally snaps loudly, his voice cracking with emotion.

You flinch back with surprise at this, until you see a tear rolling down the lower half of his face below the brim of his hat that he quickly swipes it away, taking a shaky breath as he lowers his voice to a respectful tone, “–And I'm not alone a-anymore, so it's okay. I-I'm okay. And when I get home everything c-can… go back to normal.”

You hear something akin to a pained whine from Rick. “Carl. You don't sound…” He trails off, deciding to drop the topic for now. “You aren't alone anymore?”

Carl looks up at you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I'm with h-her. –I'm with Eli, she's safe.”

“Stick together, okay? Don't let her go off alone, and don't let her leave you alone… Just because you're a young man doesn't mean you're immortal, or immune to being hurt.” There's a pause, a small clicking noise coming from Rick's line like someone spilling a tub of beads. “Wait, is she there NOW? Let me talk to her.”

“Me?” You mouth, your heart stopping, snapping your head up from the strings to give Carl a distressed look.

You don't want to talk to Rick. –Especially not with him missing his son so much as a result of your own actions, and the childish way you've behaved since you got back here. You feel guilty.

Carl opens his mouth to say something to convince you otherwise, but the desperate look on your face gets him to drop it. “I don't think she's ready to talk to you right now.”

“Well, hold the thing up near her and let me talk.” The man demands in response.

Carl looks at you for permission before coming across the room to sit next to you on your bed, holding the walkie-talkie out to you. “She's here.” He says, letting you take it from his hands so he can comfortingly rub your shoulders.

“Hey, kiddo…” He pauses for a long time, maybe waiting for a response, or maybe thinking of what to say next, “How have you been? Does it feel good to be back there?” You wish his words were tight and angry, laced with condescension, but they aren't. They're the soft words of a caring man who genuinely wants to know how you feel.

You feel your eyes start to burn.

“Have they been treating you nicely, lettin’ you get your bearings after being gone for so long?” He lets that question sit in the air for a while, probably already knowing that there was no way Negan had.

You reach out and take the walkie from Carl, trying to mask the pain in your voice, but it comes out strained and tense. “Yes.”

“Really? That's good.” He hums, “Is it like it was here?”

Once again, you answer simply, and against your will. “Yes.”

“You know, I always wondered why you were so loyal to Negan… Do you think you could explain it to me?” He asks, but you don't respond, so he rephrases the question to something easier to digest. “What is your relationship to Negan? Does he… What is he to you?”

“I–” You reach out and clutch Carl’s thigh, seeking some other form of comfort.

He strokes your face, kissing you on the forehead as he moves closer to fully envelop you in his arms. “‘S okay, you can do this.” He whispers.

Your voice comes out hoarse, your eyes glued shut. “He's my dad.” You rasp, tears finally falling.

You wait for the man to yell, to be angry with you, or start picking you apart and joking about all your faults, but it never comes. “He's your dad… That makes more sense. Thank you for telling me, Eli, I appreciate it. I know it must have been difficult for you.” He answers calmly, void of judgment.

You just about break into a million pieces at the words, having to lean on Carl’s chest to stay upright, his arms quickly squeezing you tighter to reassure you.

“Is that why you want to stay?” He gently presses for more information.

You sniffle, wiping away a few stray tears. “I want to go back, really I do… but I missed him. I missed everyone, I just want to be here for a little while longer, I'm sorry. I know this isn't fair of me to ask,” You run a hand through your hair, “But he's been telling me all the things he's gonna do to be better, and I believe him. He's definitely changed in some way, I-I just want to give him a chance. –Please don't be angry, Rick, I'm sorry.”

He takes a long pause, followed by a short sigh he tries to muffle with his hand. “I'm angry with you, kid. I think it's great that you're so trustin’. You wouldn't have been able to mesh with the people here if you hadn't been.”

You aren't sure you agree about being overly trusting, but you have to admit that in combination with how nice everyone was, you did very easily acclimate to their side. “So you aren't upset? We can stay?”

“Woah, slow your roll. I didn't say that.” He chuckles, “Words are great ‘n all… But what has he actually done with you since you've been back?”

What immediately comes to mind is the moment he forced Dwight’s hands around your neck and everything else that's hung over you like a shadow since you got dragged back here. –The alcohol, the bruises, the angry insults you've both endured.

But just like Carl you know you can't say that.

“We've been doing a lot of talking.” You answer, and much like Carl you subconsciously tack on, “–It's been fine.”

That word must be driving the man insane by now.

“Well, how did you feel in Alexandria?” He asks, and it's like the sweetest poison you've ever tasted. You can practically feel the sun in your face and the rocking chair on their porch… although it might just be Carl rocking you softly. “At The Sanctuary do they eat dinner together? –Let you wander around and take care of you like we did? Tuck you in at night? Do they realize when something’s wrong, just by lookin’ at your face?”

That last one gets you, but you try to hold strong. “You don't understand… I would never be able to come home again and see him. –I would be seperated from my family forever. I can't do that.”

“So you'd rather take the abuse, and never come back to Alexandria?” He suggests, voice still calm and even. “Does that sound much better? Would you be happier if that were the case? –Carl can't stay there. You would have to say goodbye to him.”

You move to say something heated, but Carl gently puts a hand over your mouth, shaking his head. “Just listen, please?”

You don't want to listen, but you understand where Rick is coming from and see how important this topic is to Carl, so you decide to comply… Also, his hand is over your mouth, so there's not much you can do.

Rick continues, “We couldn't talk to you like this either, the only way you'd hear from us again is if you saw us by chance. –Could be years apart.”

You lift his hand from your face, a few more tears trickling down. “But I could see you again, I could come with during collections and–”

“We aren't complyin’ with that anymore. I'm sorry this is how it is and you're caught in the crossfire again, it's not fair, but there's nothin’ I can do to change it right now.” He swallows back his concerns for you, “I have to protect the people relyin’ on me.”

This is too much for you to handle right now.

“I… I'm sorry, I can't do this.” You sniffle, pulling out of Carl’s arms to pace the room.

He immediately moves to the edge of the bed to follow you, turning the walkie on one last time for the night. “Dad, I'm sorry, but we gotta go. Negan's probably going to be looking for her for dinner soon anyway.”

“Okay. Be safe.” He pauses, “And I'm sorry again about all this. Neither of you did anything to deserve it.” The walkie-talkie gives one last dying click.

Carl slips the device under your pillow and hugs you from behind to stop the nervous movements. “Seriously, are you okay?” He asks, peppering kisses on the nape of your neck.

“No,” You frown, gently cupping the arms around your chest. “But we don't really get that privilege, do we?”

He turns you around to face him and takes one hand in his, placing his other hand on your waist and starting to sway. “Mm, but we can be messed up together.” He jokes.

You press your forehead to his. “I sure as hell hope so.”

The two of you sway to the tune of silence for a while, eyes locked on one another in a sweet moment of reprieve until you hear a knock at the door.

Dwight pokes his head in, face downturned. “He wants both of you to join him in his room.”

Carl is the first to pull away, his face twitching in a funny way like he almost wants to cry at just being called to Negan’s room, his hand quickly finding yours. “So it's time.”

“So it is.”

The walk to his room is silent, your hands tightly locked together between you. –Dwight walks in a completely different direction, clearly sent to do something else and only stopping by to warn you as a personal favor.

When you walk inside together you see your dad practically leap from the couch, pushing Carl aside to give you a large hug. “Hey baby girl! How are you fuckin’ feeling on this fine ass day?” He grins.

You don't return the smile, your hand reaching out to Carl even though Negan is playing keep away with you like a doll. “I'm good, can you just–”

“What the hell…” He pulls back from you, peeling down the side of your shirt to unveil the rest of the mess Carl had made of your skin last night. His eyes widen, then briefly dart over to Carl. “Jesus, you've still been…” He coughs to clear his throat and prevent himself from saying something he'll regret, “Come on, sit down baby.” He offers, sitting down on the couch and patting the spot next to him.

You sit down across from him next to Carl, adjusting your shirt to hide the love bites on your neck. “Why did you need both of us today? You seem… weirdly happy.”

He pulls a long black box out from behind one of the pillows and sets it in front of himself, toying with the ribbon to get it off. “Well, I'm celebrating. A squad out for collections found some deserter Saviors out in the woods, so Eugene hooked me up and we stuck ‘em to the fence covered in melted steel to make ‘em hang for longer.”

The thought of him killing people who were trying to run for their lives and then presenting them like trophies disgusts you. You can't help the small, “That's awful…” That slips from your lips.

He pauses at your words, wringing out his hands with a small frown. “You really think so?”

There's a small flicker of hope in your chest as you see the look on his face. “Yes.”

“Then I'll think about taking them down, baby. Maybe after a few days, once everyone gets the message…” He finally undoes the ribbon and tosses the bow and box aside, setting the large plum colored bottle down between you with two wine glasses. “But for right now…”

Carl’s heart drops, the feeling reminding him of what it had once been like to ride a rollercoaster before everything. “Wine?” He mutters silently, shooting a glare at Negan.

Negan pops the cork on the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the liquid and sliding one over to you.

“I know me yelling at you yesterday made you upset, I'm not blind, baby, I'm sorry. This is my treat for you. I want you to have fun and loosen up a bit.” He glances over at Carl with a glare. “But you aren't going anywhere until you're sober.”

You stare down into the glass, the bloody pool calling your name.

“I-I'm having fun already, I don't need this…” You deny quietly, looking up at him.

But your hands are already on the glass before you can process it, your eyes locking with Carl’s as you tip your head back and down the whole damn thing in one go. Carl’s hand shoots out to stop you, but it's too late, his hand falling to your thigh helplessly.

You look like you want to cry, so he rapidly shakes his head, stroking your leg softly. “It's okay. –Sweetheart, I swear it's okay. He made you do it.” He whispers softly.

Negan does the same with his glass, then tosses it aside and lets it shatter on the floor. “Wow, that shit is STRONG, I definitely made the right goddamn choice. You like it?” He asks, seeking your approval.

You hold your head in your hands, feeling like one of the worst people on earth for going back on your word without a single day having passed.

“No.”

He sits up so he can see you clearly. “No? Was it too strong? I thought you'd built up an immunity to it, so I thought that one glass would be alright…” He stands up to touch you, but Carl holds his arm out between you, even knowing he can't stop the man from doing what he wants.

“I… Let's fuckin’ eat, okay? It'll make you feel better.” He suggests, walking over to the side table, bringing back three sandwiches and setting them down on the coffee table. “Here.”

You look up from your hands, pulling your knees up to your chest on the couch and leaning on Carl’s side, head already feeling lighter. “I don't want to.”

The crash from this high is going to be really low. You keep lamenting on the fact that you haven't even been sober for a full day and you already failed.

Negan ignores your original denial of the food, pushing the plate closer to you. “It's your favorite. I even cut it into triangles, just like you like.” He laughs nervously, rubbing his hands as if they're cold or… wet.

You both know for a fact you're thinking of the same memory at the mention of triangle cut sandwiches. –A particular rainy day after you'd left your home in Virginia that he made you this very sandwich and you’d sat on the porch of an abandoned cabin watching the wildlife together, eventually as night rolled on, stargazing.

You start to slip into the memory and out of the present when Carl wraps an arm around you, snapping you out of your nostalgia.

“She said no. She's not hungry.” He repeats, using the arm to help you up even though you aren't nearly drunk enough to be stumbling. “She should go lay down. I can take her back to her room.”

“Fuck no.” Negan slams a fist down on the table. “I already told you, you aren't going anywhere until she's completely sober, sqeaky-fuckin-clean. –I don't even like that you're screwin’ around in general, but I certainly won't have it when she's not all there.” He points to the side of his head, doing a circular motion.

Carl's eye widens, lip curling with confused frustration. “What the f… What are you talking about? She's sick, I just want to get her somewhere comfortable.” He argues.

Negan pinches his brow, limbs growing restless. “I fucking said no.”

He seems to be implying that Carl is trying to take advantage of you, when it's extremely clear you aren't even drunk enough for that. You're barely tipsy. The alcohol hasn't had enough time to take effect, and you know he knows it.

“I'm starting to get real fuckin’ pissed off.” He seethes, motioning to Carl with his arm. “I was trying to be nice, I even invited the goddamn cyclops to dinner because I know you've been clingy with him, and here he is trying to drag you off again.” The arm drops briefly, then points at you accusingly. “I am trying to fix this. Fix us. –I'm doing everything you like, so why are you still upset?”

“Dad, I just want to get some rest…” You say softly, fully expecting him to let you go if you ask nicely.

Negan scoffs at you, which is honestly a shock. “Get some rest in here then. –We can send him back home to his daddy and everything can go back to normal.” He aggressively kicks the coffee table, but it feels like the blow was meant for you.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” You ask, walking around the table to face him even though you can feel your hands shaking. “Dad?”

Suddenly his arms spring out and he grasps you by the shoulders, a frightened gasp slipping out of you, your blood running cold. He seems to hesitate at the noise but he doesn’t stop, beginning to shake you roughly by the shoulders just to prove a point. –All you can muster to protest is a whimper, and it isn't very loud.

He starts yelling at you then, something you can't understand over Lucille's distant voice screaming at you just as loudly, the combination leaving you frozen solid and on the verge of tears.

“See? Look at you.” He stops, chest heaving, eyes wide with regret and something else you can't place as he releases you. “You are sick, and I can't treat it. There's something wrong with you…” He accuses, his eyes starting to water.

Your lip quivers with unsaid words for a moment, some angry, some confused, but what comes out is a simple plea for comfort. “Dad, please?”

He shakes his head, waving a hand as if to dismiss you. “There's something wrong with my baby girl… and she's the only one who would know how to fix it.” He mutters, once again shaking his head. “No wonder you like him, you're both broken. –Inside and out.” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he regrets it immediately.

You're still frozen solid, but slowly, cautiously, your hands slide up to cover your ears so you can stop it. Stop it all.

The door opens quietly and Dwight walks in looking confused, but quickly guides you away from Negan as he sees the genuine fear in your eyes.

“I'm taking them both outside for a breather,” He mutters, not leaving room for argument as he puts hands on both of your upper backs to lead you outside.

Still Negan answers with a small, “That's probably for the better.”

***

Another rainy day when you were much younger, closer to the start, when Lucille was still in good health (as good as she could be anyway), she caught you staring out of the window, at leaning trees and puddles, with your fingers wrapped around the edge.

She tapped the tea mug in her hands, giving you a small smile. “Looks cold, huh?”

You were still shy around her back then, so you only nodded, resting your head on your arm.

She glanced between you and the outside world, the ceramic tapping going silent. “You know, when I was a kid, we used to slide through the street on our stomachs because we get so many inches here…”

Turning around to face her, you prepared yourself to hear another round of boring adult stories tainted by nostalgia. –You always hated it, but you always gave the couple your full attention and respect.

“Ah, those were the days…. Hang on to childhood for as long as you can, okay? Just because the world changed on us doesn't mean we have to do the same…” She lamented, staring down at your bored face.

You nodded in agreement.

It was at that point while staring at your features, she realized how much they'd been neglecting to treat you like the child you were. –Crossword puzzles and old tales from a world long gone were not going to be enough to sustain you for very long or support your development.

She gave you a sly smile. “What size coat do you wear?”

She helped you bundle up, hell, even helped you tie your shoes when you were having trouble, and dragged you outside with a mere kitchen knife as protection.

You jumped and splashed in the puddles with the cute little rainboots she gave you, more giggly and lively than she had ever seen you since you'd gotten there. She does the same, dancing around in the rain, and on occasion linking hands with you to spin around together. “Watch this! Watch this! Watch me!” You'd shout over the thunder, and so she would watch you do “tricks” like failed cartwheels and such.

Then Negan returns, rations in hand, and you don't even hesitate to run over and jump into his arms. “Daddy!”

You hadn't meant to let the word slip out, your stomach starting to churn as you fear what will happen when you pull away, but then he wraps his arms around you tightly, letting out a shaky breath.

“Hey baby.” He whispers softly, dropping the rations to the ground so he can spin you around in his arms.

You feel lighter than air, your face hurting from how much you've been smiling. –You want to say it a million times now and get the same reaction every single time.

When he stops spinning you, Lucille comes over and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek, poking his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Glad you're home… I started getting worried.”

He kisses her back, adjusting you in his arms so that he can get a better look at both of you. “Don't worry about me. As long as I have you two lovely ladies to come home to, I'll always be back…” He pauses, glancing between you. “I love you.”

Lucille seems to hesitate for a moment, recalling when she wasn't the apple of his eye, his betrayal of their marriage, but then she smiles. “I love you too.”

You looked perfect together. You were all so happy…

“I love you more!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, swinging your legs back and forth in his arms.

Now you remember why you haven't thought of that day in years.

***

“Hey,” Carl snaps his fingers in front of your face, trying to get your attention, and finally your eyes seem to focus on him, your hair blowing in the wind behind you in a way that makes you look like a statue. “What is that? –You did the same thing earlier…”

You blink a few times, “Huh?”

He pushes your hair back, cupping your cheeks. “You just… stopped responding and stared off into space for a while.” He pauses, wincing, “You banged your leg on the way here and you didn't even flinch… I'm getting really worried ab– you– and there's–”

You stop listening, your eyes drifting over to see Dwight leaning over the railing overlooking the fence, puffing on a cigarette as he watches the new walkers fight their restraints.

The smoke disperses into the air in a satisfying way that reminds you of–

Carl forcefully turns you to face him again, eye wide with concern for you.

“It's… It's like you're not even here. Can you actually hear me right now?” He asks gently, trying to keep your attention with gentle strokes on your shoulders where Negan bruised you.

“I'm fine, I can hear you…” You wrap your arms around your stomach after a sharp thorny feeling emerges. “Actually, I… I'm feeling a little sick. –My stomach really hurts.” You admit.

At this, Dwight pops his head up, stomping out his cigarette.

“What d'ya need?” He asks, trying to sound as casual as possible even though he was the first to notice your odd behavior starting from your first day back, and is panicking on the inside. “Medicine? Food? Water? –Tell me what to get for you, bug. Let's fix you up.”

“There's something wrong with you.”

You look down at the concrete with shame. “I don't… I don’t really know. I'm tired.”

Carl pulls away, standing dutifully in front of you. “What about me? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” He asks.

“...And she's the only one who would know how to fix you.”

“I…” You bite your lip, trying to stop the tears you feel coming. “I don't think so… Just stay with me, please? –Don't leave.”

He throws his arms around you for what feels like the millionth time, but he's still not sick of it. “I promise I won't ever leave you. Not even if you ask me.” He comforts, kissing your forehead.

Dwight skips back up the stairs talking over his shoulder, “I'm going to go get you some pain killers…” He pauses, glancing at the unguarded gate. “Don't… do anything reckless, okay? Be careful.”

You turn to look at him, face still in a frown. “We aren't going anywhere, Dwight. I know…” I know you were giving us the opportunity to, is what you want to say. “I… I still need to say goodbye.”

Carl’s eye snaps over to you. “Goodbye?”

“To my dad.” You clarify, balling up your fists. “I'm pretty sure he's already gone, but I just want to spend a few more days with him. Two. Maybe only one. –Then that'll be it.” Your voice is on the brink of breaking.

“Oh,” Carl leans his forehead against yours, rubbing the small of your back. “I'm so sorry,” He holds back the tears he wants to let out on your behalf, “I know you were really hoping he was better, honey. I wish he was... –I don't think he's irredeemable, but I agree that the man who was your father is gone. A dad wouldn't do this to you.”

You knew it from the moment he grabbed you like that. He went from protecting you from moments like those, to actively trying to make you panic, and for what? To prove you were unfixable without Lucille? To prove you were just as broken and belonged here with him?

You can't take the obsession with his dead wife and the… bat… any longer. You hadn't even been able to grieve her normally and have conversations about her death with the man because he refused to acknowledge her life. –It was like she never existed outside of your world, like you didn't exist aside from your bubble in The Sanctuary.

You look down at the bruise on your shoulder.

“Rick was right… This place isn't normal and what happens here is NOT okay.” You express in aloud, hoping it'll make it feel real and help it set in, “One more day here, and then we need to go home.”

Chapter 22: For You

Notes:

Carl has been away from Rick for 5 days...

“Up and at ‘em!” Negan shouts, having a few of his men douse Carl in buckets of ice cold water. “Come on, I need those fuckin’ eyes open and that scowl, scowling… Or should I say eye?” He jests.

Carl blinks through the water, the shock of being woken that way making his head hurt. “Huh?” He groans, peeling his face from the pavement to see where he is.

On his hands he can see that he's laid across the ground of the lot The Saviors use to park their trucks, the engines humming and their lights nearly blinding him. –Which is all the more jarring, because last he remembered he was lying in your bed with his arms around you, lulling you to sleep.

Negan pokes him in the small of his back with Lucille. “Hurry it up, we need to get a move on while it's still early. I don't want Rick crawling up my ass…”

Carl narrows his eye at him, “Where are we–” Negan grabs him by the rear of his shirt collar like a misbehaving dog and starts dragging him towards his truck, which Carl now recognizes as the same one the two of you saw sneaking over the wall together. “Hey! Let me go!”

Negan ignores his pleas and opens the truck door, shoving his upper body inside, until he sees Dwight approaching from behind, a sorry look on his face.

“What are you doing?” Carl asks nervously, kicking his legs to keep the passenger door from closing him inside. “You don't have to do this. Dwight, I know there's someone good buried under all that–”

Dwight helps Negan slam the passenger door shut, the pull-lock sawed off so that the passenger can't leave the car unless the driver lets them. Realizing this, Carl practically jumps for the car controls on the driver's side, but Negan enters the vehicle first and slams his bat down over them to threaten the boy's fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah, don't do anything stupid just yet.” Negan teases, entering and starting the vehicle.

The boy looks around outside of the vehicle, trying to grasp the hell of a situation he just woke up to. “Why should I comply if you're–”

Negan pokes the bat underneath his chin, dragging the nails along the vulnerable skin of his neck. “This is why,” He huffs, “All you need to know is what I'm gonna tell you, so listen, and make sure you listen real fuckin’ good.”

Carl wants nothing more than to punch the smug man square in the jaw, but he knows doing so would likely only escalate the situation further. So after a moment of frustrated eye rolling, Carl nods and holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine.”

Negan continues without hesitation, “Number one, you're going the fuck home today. I didn't sign up to babysit you for days on end, and I'm not going to.”

Carl clenches his fists in his lap. “But what about–!”

“No, enough of that. Shut your goddamn mouth for a second.” He threatens, “Number two, you aren't gonna make a huge fuss about it. You're gonna play nice with me, just like I've been doing with you.” He taps the bat on his chin a little more roughly, “I don't want to see any of that sassy teenage boy pouting either. Take this shit seriously. –Like your goddamn life depends on it, ‘cause it just might.”

Without thinking, Carl immediately breaks the second rule out of panic as the situation starts setting in. “What about your “daughter”? –She's gonna be pissed when she sees that you took me. You didn't even let her say goodbye.”

Negan side eyes him. “That's strike one… A few more of those and all I'll be returning is a really ugly coffin.” He grumbles, but he manages to keep his patience, starting the truck and pulling out of the lot.

“So you actually are taking me back home again?” Carl questions, glaring at him with his singular eye, which Negan would say something snarky about under different circumstances. “Why? Why not just keep holding my life over my dad's head?”

Negan groans, very dramatically leaning back and rolling his eyes. “Jesus, kid, can't this just be a silent ride?”

“You kidnapped me, and last we spoke you said that–” Carl’s voice breaks but he tries to cover it up, going silent for a few seconds to regain his composure. “No. What you said to me and the things you've done to other people are irredeemable. You don't get silence.”

“No wonder you like him, you're both broken. –Inside and out.”

Negan's hands visibly tighten on the steering wheel at the mention of what he'd said to the boy and you, his leather gloves squeaking from tension. “Forget what I said before Carl, you aren't broken and you certainly aren't weak. –You should know that by now.”

He can't keep inflicting the same pain on children he knows can't cope with it normally and barely have a support system, when he knows damn well he suffered himself when he had one in adulthood.

The causal, calm tone Negan takes in combination with addressing Carl by name sends a spring of panic through him. “Why?”

Hadn't he meant it? Even if Carl didn't like it, wasn't it true that the both of you were broken beyond repair?

Negan narrows his eyes at the road, briefly flicking them over to the boy in a threat. “Stop asking me why, I don't know. –I don't need a reason.” He says incredulously, giving an angry half-shrug, “You should just be happy I'm saying it at all. I could've kept it to myself.”

“But you didn't.”

“Yeah? So the fuck what?” He questions, taking a sharp turn without slowing down. “You think that makes you special? You think you deserve a gold star for that? –I got news for you kid, sometimes I just say shit and I don't really mean anything by it.”

Carl looks down at his hands, deciding to take the risk of another strike to gather information about you.

“Is that how you ended up with her? Just… sayin’ shit without it really meaning anything?” He asks quietly. “You don't seem like the philanthropist type, so it's hard for me to picture you willingly taking in a child like that.”

“I promise I’ll be more careful, coach Smith. I won’t let you down!”

Negan winces at the memory from before he got his bloodied hands on you and ruined the little, socially inept, girl he knew.

“You're right, I didn't take in some random little kid. I knew her before everything started…” He admits, “But don't you dare imply that I didn't mean to end up with her and got stuck with some kind of burden. I've meant every word I've ever told her even when it doesn't exactly come out the right way.” He gets this weary look in his eyes, like he can't quite understand himself and the choices he's making. “She is still my goddamn daughter, and I don't regret a moment of the time I've had with her. I'm the luckiest man on earth to have been chosen by her, and for her to love someone like me as much as she does. –The fact is I don't deserve anyone's undying trust like that.”

Carl glances out of the window, half to see if they're really making their way towards Alexandria, and half because the conversation keeps getting progressively more uncomfortable.

“You really messed up.” He mumbles, unjudging, but firm, like his own father, “And taking me away from her when she’s at her lowest– not because of who I am, but because I was the first choice she made out of her own free will… That's gonna do something to her. Something bad. –But I think you already know that.”

Negan doesn't respond to him at first, his brows knitting together in the middle of his forehead, before he suddenly breaks the silence. “I do… That's part of the reason why I'm doing what I'm doing and not what I really wanted to.”

“Well don't regret it.” Carl warns.

He can see a highway marker in the distance that he recognizes from long runs out of Alexandria. –They've been going in the right direction this whole time, but he can't help being surprised that Negan really is taking him back there.

Negan swallows hard, nodding to himself. “I won't. I've been thinking about it nonstop.”

Carl isn't sure if he's happy to be this close to home or devastated he's going without you. Either way he already plans on getting you back, that's for certain.

“I'm serious, don't,” He repeats, “Because if you come back without me and she starts hurting herself with the drinking and trying to make it hit harder, eventually she's going to be another number on your kill count and you won't leave me any choice but to make good on the threats I've been sending your way.”

Carl knows Negan isn't going to let you die. He'd probably rather watch you suffer than end it out of mercy, or keep you locked up like Michonne had told him the governor did with his daughter… But still, worst case scenario, he wants to let Negan know he's making himself an even bigger enemy of the other settlements.

For a moment it seems like the man might give him a genuine response, but then he clears his throat and gives him a small, “Strike two.”

Carl lets the silence hang between them, watching the trees pass by and wondering if you've woken up by now. –If you have, would you know he'd been taken by Negan? Or would you worry that he'd gotten sick of waiting after nearly a week and abandoned you? He hopes not. He hopes you know that he loves you and is on his way back the second he can come.

“You know she was never going back on her own, right?” Negan admits suddenly.

“I–” Carl wants to immediately respond with your plans to leave after one more day with the man you call your father, but he doesn’t want to risk exposing the plan and then leaving you alone with him. “I don't know that, actually, she–”

“No she wasn't.” He repeats, “Deep down you had to have known she was never really going to leave her whole family behind by choice. She was going to keep putting it off until you got sick of her and left, because she doesn't like to take action herself. –She's always been that way. A responder.”

Carl doesn't like what the man is insinuating about you. “Maybe that's who she was before, but she's changed a lot. Even just counting the time I've known her, she's gotten a lot stronger.”

“You mean less than a month?” Negan snickers, taking another sharp turn to go down a darker, wooded road that flings tiny pebbles onto the car. “And maybe she got physically stronger, sure, but emotionally she's a fucking mess. I've never seen her so lost and I hate to say it, but… pathetic. She's getting worse and worse every day in The Sanctuary. She's losing her footing, seeming to forget everything we stand for, worrying about things she's never cared about…”

Carl gives up on the conversation again, crossing his arms and keeping his mouth shut to avoid another strike. If he opens his mouth now, all that's going to come out is a string of foul insults. You always cared. It was just that you never had the balls to stand up to your dad until now, and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt even when he continuously abused that trust.

“I will admit though, a lot of it was me… Most of it, actually.” Negan flashes a pained smile, giving him a contradictingly playful shove to the shoulder. “If I had used different words when I was asking for them to– No, if I had made different choices from the beginning none of this would have happened to her.”

Carl sees the man's eyes start to turn red from the strain he's putting on them not to cry. “That's probably true…” He agrees quietly.

“I'm choosing this. I'm choosing to go with you from now on.”

“You know, she was really smart for her age before all this? –And I don't just mean, like, fucking logic… She was book smart. She knew big words, and all the states and their capitals.” Negan tells him like it's some kind of high achievement. “But now she can barely read at seven grades below.”

Carl winces, the story reminding him of his own struggles to keep up with some form of schooling now that there aren't any more teachers. –The only thing that saved his reading and writing comprehension was his love of comics, so for someone like you who didn't have access to that, you would have no reason to practice.

“It didn't help that I took away all the opportunities she had to learn… She lost the skills a child her age should have had because all she wanted was to be around me. –All she had was me, and I was the worst thing for her...” He admits, letting out a shaky sigh.

“We can take her. She’d be happy here in the Kingdom, we have the room and food. —It has to be better than whatever she’d endure at The Sanctuary, you know that.”

“–And everytime she had the chance to get away, I shut it down because I was scared to lose her.” He lets a tear slip on the side of his face he knows Carl can't view. “She's all I have left, but keeping her near me is dangerous, and I know it.”

“I deserve to know what’s going on around here, I deserve the truth about what’s happening with Alexandria! I can handle it, whatever it is, whatever you’ve done, we can get through this!”

“–I made her feel responsible for what I've done. I made her a complicit accomplice in my crimes…” He wipes the tear away and reaches into his pocket with a shaky hand. “I'm a shitty dad. There's only one thing left for me to do, the only thing a shitty dad can do.”

Carl sees they're rapidly approaching Alexandria, and even though the sight of his home makes his heart swell, he can't ignore the way Negan is rambling about you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asks, but before he knows it, Negan tosses him the metal peony necklace he gifted you and is preparing himself to act like the cocky asshole he's become.

“Just… take care of her for me, alright?” He says, before dragging the boy out of the truck and throwing him on the ground outside of the gates.

Carl audibly groans, the bruising on his body hitting the ground that hard making him want to curl up and vomit, when he sees the second truck stopped next to Negan's and watches you be dragged from the back of it, bound by the wrists.

“Let me the fuck go!” You scream, kicking at the dirt to free yourself from their grasp, “Let me–” The second you see Negan, you stop screaming for freedom, your eyes widening.

What the hell is happening to you right now? This morning you woke up to spend your final day with your father, hoping to get some quality time and closure, but instead you were cruelly bound and stuffed into the back of a semi. –You thought you'd been kidnapped, but here your dad is right in front of you.

“Next to the boy.” He demands coldly.

He can see the hurt and confusion that flashes in your eyes, but he only seems to double down as he sees it.

You fight your restraints as they throw you down, getting up on your knees next to Carl so you can get a good look at your father. “Dad! Dad, what's happening? Why am I tied up? Why are we here?” You ask, tears welling up in your eyes as he ignores you. “Dad!”

The gate flings open, Rick and a few of the other people of Alexandria hesitantly gathering around the fence like they usually do during collections. When Negan spots Rick, he locks eyes with the man briefly, flashing a dangerous smile before turning his attention back to you, suddenly reaching out and gripping you by the face.

“Shut. Up.” He snaps at you.

Carl understands now. –The ultimate act of betrayal a father could commit, the last thing Negan could do for you out of love, is to give you the abandonment you so feared. It's going to destroy you, but it's also going to be the best thing he can do for you.

You can't speak through his grip, so you have to wait the pain out to speak. “I-I-I don't understand,” You say, starting to cry, “Dad, what did I do wrong? I'm sorry, I can fix it. Just give me a chance.”

Negan looks like he wants to break down and hold you in his arms, but he knows he can't with Rick watching. That's part of the reason why he needed an audience. –Rick won't take you in, unless you've been completely abandoned.

“You’re just as fucking weak as them now.” He accuses, pointing at the people by the gate. “You're no Savior. They made you soft in all that time you spent here.”

You rapidly shake your head again, the tears flowing down your cheeks like a river at this point. “No. No, you don't mean that! You promised that we'd be together now, that you were going to–”

He grabs you by the chest of your shirt, lifting you up slightly and then releasing you to let you fall again, citing your wounded chest as the topic of his next insult.

“You were right, all I needed you for was my dirty work and now you can't even do that. You're all busted up, a broken toy soldier isn't useful anymore. You deserve to be here…” He tries to swallow his building emotion, “Truly, you do.”

The man attempts to pull away and leave you behind, but even bound and berated you reach out and desperately cling to his shirt. “Daddy, please? –I'm sorry.” You sob.

Negan can remember the day you were shot in the chest clear as day, desperately calling out for him the same way you are now. The only difference is that this time he knows having to leave you at the group's mercy is what's best for you.

You'd been so happy here, and so wounded at his side.

He just has to convince himself that this is the right choice and come to terms with the fact that he's never going to see you again…

Never watch you get older, or marry and walk you down the aisle like most father's dream of, or see you pop out little monstrous babies that are a perfect mix of all the traits he loves and hates about you and Carl, and what goddamn infuriating little shits they'd be… Never get to watch you grow into the woman he always knew you'd be, or take care of you when you're sick, or see you have another argument, or hear your laugh…

You'll be dead to him, just like Lucille, but worse. –Because he'll know exactly where to find you, but always have to make the choice not to go near you again.

Rick is watching the two of you intently, clearly trying to decide whether or not you'll be another problem he has to take care of, like an animal skittishly investigating a foreign young and deciding if it should take them in or not. –And Negan needs Rick to take you in. The man is relentless when it comes to protecting his kids.

“Oh, baby girl…” Negan reaches out and pushes your hair back, almost soothing you, before taking advantage of the moment and shoving you to the ground away from him with a loud thud.

You let out a choked yelp, gripping at the ground to try and get back up to face him.

He had to get you off of him. He didn't know how long it would take for him to give into your pain, so he had to end it. All he wants to do is take it all back, but you letting him in again would be much worse than leaving you to deal with the fallout of this. –He has to ignore how much this is breaking the both of you, how much you're crying and begging for forgiveness when you haven't done a single thing wrong.

Now it's time for the dramatic Negan finale, where he really hits it home that he doesn’t want you anymore.

“Congrats, Rick. It's a girl.” He says, steeling himself to you. “A weak, useless, little girl.” He congratulates sarcastically, making his way back to his truck. “Still, even with the extra burden make sure you have enough tribute for me next time. Give me a fair trade for the damaged goods.” The engine of the truck starts back up with a roar.

You immediately start scrambling to get to the man, but Carl holds you back with a hug, preventing you from getting very far.

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…” He apologizes as he restrains you, “He's leaving, just let him go.”

You watch the truck pull away and scream at the top of your lungs, kicking and fighting Carl even harder, when suddenly you feel a pair of hands behind you that come underneath your arms, trying to lift you to your feet.

“He's right, just let him go, bug.” Dwight says softly.

He must have hid when you got here so that he could escape, only coming out once he was sure that the coast was clear.

“No! No! No!” You shriek, refusing to leave the ground, elbowing him in the stomach. “I was supposed to have time! All he needed was one more chance! –He was going to be better, he promised!”

“I know,” Dwight comforts, motioning for Carl to leave your side for a moment so he can calm you down and stop the violence. “I know. Let it all out… It's okay, bug.”

“It's not okay!” You deny, “Nothing’s okay!”

“Carl!” Rick cries out, he and Michonne rushing over to him the moment Negan’s presence isn't hanging over them. “Are you okay? Let me see you, come here!”

Carl stands up and hugs his dad tightly, burying his face into his shoulder and inhaling the familiar scent of aftershave and outdoors, it nearly brings him to tears but he manages to compose himself and pull back to start explaining himself. “Dad, I have no idea what happened. He just let us go.”

Michonne wraps her arms around both of them to pull them into a group hug, resting her head against the side of Carl’s.

“I don't care about that right now, what matters is you're back and you're both okay.” Rick soothes, pushing hair out of Carl's face to get a good look at him. “Carl… You're soakin’ wet.”

Carl pulls back with a weary smile, stretching out his shirt so he can see how wet it is for himself… It looks like he jumped into a pool.

“Yeah, but it's just water,” He shrugs, “It'll dry.”

Rick chuckles at this, resting his hands on either of Carl’s shoulders. “I'm glad you're in such a good mood, all things considered–”

“Carl!”

The second Carl hears her voice he visibly cringes, looking to Rick and Michonne for some kind of explanation. “She's here?” He whispers, his smile dropping. “I thought you said they needed her in Hilltop?”

Michonne starts to say something, but quickly shuts herself up when Enid sprints over and throws her arms around him.

“Maggie wanted to be here waiting too, but she had to stay to take care of things… I'm so glad you're back safe.” She hums quietly, then she pulls away from him and flicks his hat off of his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Carl? You could've gotten hurt.”

“I was–” He pulls the hat back down, realizing what he still has in his hand as it jabs him in the palm. Your necklace. He takes a few steps away from the girl and slips it into his pocket. “What exactly are you doing here?”

Michonne sucks a breath in through her teeth and yanks Rick away from the two, seeing the oncoming confrontation.

Enid seems taken aback by his cold attitude, physically recoiling at his words. “I came here so I could see you when you got back…” She explains with confusion, “Well, actually, I wanted to be involved with rescuing you. I couldn't just sit by knowing I could have helped. If something had gone wrong, I would always have blamed myself for it. I had to be here. –You're important to me.”

She says it like it's obvious, because it is, but that doesn’t mean it gets under Carl’s skin any less. It's like she can crack him open and see inside whenever she wants, and it terrifies him.

“You're important to me too, but you said we were over until we beat the Saviors… You have responsibilities, Enid, you can't just ditch them to see me.” It's a flimsy, hypocritical excuse, but it's the only one he has to hopefully get rid of her.

“You mean like you did? –Constantly trying to come and see me when I told you I needed space?” She points out, finally starting to frown at his strange attitude. “At least I had the foresight to let people know instead of sneaking out like you, and found someone who could take my shifts for a while… Why are you being like this?”

“Because I–” Carl cuts himself off at the sound of another particularly distressed scream from you, turning on his heels to look in your direction. Tara is trying to force you inside of the gates, Rick, Dwight, and Michonne lingering behind her as she finally manages to get you inside.

“Hurry it up out there, I don't know how much longer she's going to put up with this!” Tara yells over her shoulder, squeezing the arm she has around your torso harder. “Just stop fighting me, dude! This is for your own good!”

Enid gives Carl a longing look and then strolls off, the two keeping their distance as they walk inside of Alexandria. He really wishes he could say being home felt as refreshing as it had before the girl showed up, but Enid's presence is like a constant threat to him.

Rick points ahead, “Take her to my house, and upstairs to the spare room.” He directs, then turns to Dwight with a skeptical look. “I thought you defected. You've been missin’ and unresponsive for weeks, Daryl saw you go back with Negan during The Sanctuary's collapse...”

Dwight smiles softly, looking off to the side. “Of course not, I know I don't have the cleanest track record, but I really needed to see somebody off before I left.”

“Another Savior?” Rick asks, cocking his head.

“Yeah,” Dwight agrees, scratching the side of his face awkwardly. “Somethin’ like that.”

***

Tara drags you up to the guest room and tries to let you go, but you make a break for it almost immediately after she does, so she grabs you again and forces you still.

“You realize he left you alone, right?” Tara tries to comfort, not fully understanding your position in the situation. “You're free now.”

“Free?” You repeat blankly, almost in a laugh.

Her statement pains you more than anything else, a painful blow to remind you that Negan, who you thought loved you like you were his own, just handed you over to a man he plans to kill like trash.

“I don't understand…” You stop fighting her and slowly fall to your knees on the floor, slumped over like the failure you are. “What did I do…?”

She lets you fall and then backs away towards the door where other people have started dispersing.

They all started leaving once they saw you were safely locked away, just like the damn cell. –Like you're some kind of zoo animal on display people are getting bored of.

“For her it isn't freedom,” Rosita says, peeking around the corner at you with a stoic look. “It's exile.”

You look up at her, all teary and expecting some form of wisdom or a continuation of her words, but she doesn't bat an eye. She doesn't know what to say to you.

“Sorry, kid.” She apologizes, starting to leave you behind in the room, “The whole world keeps moving, even when yours stops.”

Tara follows her out, and suddenly you're alone again with the crushing weight of knowing how close you were to coming to terms with having to leave your family behind, only for Negan to decide to abandon you first because of your own weakness. You aren't even good enough for the murderous monster who made you who you are.

You hate that in the back of your mind there's a little voice screaming that you should have killed him every time he got close enough to you, to stop the violence between the Saviors and the settlements, but the little girl in you is too busy sobbing for your lost father to even comprehend such a thing.

What was everything even for? Why had you suffered so much and clawed your way back to him, listened to his promises and numbed the pain of his crimes, just for him to decide it wasn't worth his effort?

You let your upper body go slack and your face hit the cold floor, rolling over so you can stare up at the ceiling on your back.

All you want right now is to get lost. –Lost in your memories, in alcohol, in anything except reality. You've reached the point you can't handle anything else, so you close your eyes and wish the world away despite the sun having risen only a few hours ago.

Chapter 23: Hopeless

Notes:

Reader has been abandoned for 2 days.

(Yes, I know the Alexandria group was at a factory before they were kidnapped, but Rick is going to explain why they're back later when he talks to you.)

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“Carl, could you take some food up to her?” Rick asks, feeding Judith another spoonful of mashed carrot. “I know she probably won't touch it, but it is lunch. She's missed six meals, she has to be hungry by now…”

The little girl in front of him lets out a noise of displeasure, sticking her tongue out, an action that Enid immediately mimics, giggling at the little girl and doing the peek-a-boo movement repeatedly until Rick hands the spoon off to her and moves away to drink some coffee.

“Already on it,” His son says, practically fleeing up the stairs with a plate in hand.

He takes a deep breath outside of the guest room door, knocking quietly before opening it and stepping into the dim room. You're still exactly where he last saw you, on the bed with your back turned to him, refusing to eat and drink. –The plate from your last meal is sitting untouched on the dresser, but he still sets the new one beside it, closes the door, and takes a seat on the bed next to you.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder.

You don't look at him, staring into the wall as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Maybe it is. You've spent so much time getting familiar with it that sometimes your brain makes patterns on the wall that make your vision go fuzzy.

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from crying at the sight of you curled up in the fetal position, with a dark spot near your eyes on the mattress where it's stained with tears. You need him to be strong for you, to be reliable and nearby.

“Okay, well, what about lunch? Are you hungry?” He coaxes, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. “...Even if you aren't hungry, will you take a few bites for me? A-And take a drink of water?”

That gets your attention.

Your eyes flick over to him, realizing that he's distraught by your behavior and you nod slightly. So small he could miss it, but large enough to let him know you'll do it if you must.

His heart flutters at your eyes locking with his. “Hey, sweetheart.” He coos, reaching over to get the plate and nudging the glass beside you closer. “You should sit up so that the food doesn't make you sick.”

You comply with this request as well, sitting with your legs crossed and your head against the wall when he suddenly presses a spoonful of a rice looking mush to your lips.

“You're going to feed me?” You question, tipping your head to the side.

It's the first thing you've said to him since he held you back from running to Negan, and he's glad it wasn’t resentful like he expected. He gets a little embarrassed, realizing he had done the action out of habit from feeding his sister, but nods. “If you want me to… I just want to see you smile again.”

That's why he's been keeping the Peony necklace from you. He isn't sure how you'll react to such an object or the story of how he came to possess it, especially considering how you'd reacted when Negan gifted it to you, but it feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

Your eyes flick around the bed sheets for a moment before you sink your mouth around the spoon and take the first bite awkwardly, chewing slowly. “This is stupid…” You mumble with a mouth full of food, but when he presents the next spoonful, you take it from him again.

“I know, right?” He says, grinning at the sight of you so lively. “I bet Judith can't wait until she can feed herself and choose what she eats.”

You pick at the sheets, remembering how long it's been since Carl was able to see his sister because of you. “How is she?”

“She's good,” He snorts, “Apparently she was so bored while we were gone she took to harassing Gabriel for entertainment. –She took a crayon to the walls of the church and a few of the books.”

“Really?” You ask, not quite cracking a smile at the thought. “I did something similar before we left. –I damn near turned the whole thing upside down.”

You're so wrapped up in the conversation that you've forgotten all about only eating the bare minimum to make him happy. Before you know it, half the plate is gone, and the glass of water is completely empty.

“Ugh,” You groan, looking away. “You tricked me.”

He laughs, moving closer to thumb a drop of water from your lips. “Did I? I think maybe you tricked yourself, you had to have been starving.” He suggests, squinting in an overly dramatic way so that you know he's winking. “But don't worry, I'll come back and feed you whenever you want.”

You flush, your eyes darting from his hands to his lips with want, his eye seeming to do the same to yours.

“Will you come back later and stay for the night?” You ask, starting to flick your tongue over his thumb. “I miss you… You don't really stay for long when you come to see me.”

“I–” He starts to reject, when you take his finger into your mouth and gently drag your tongue along it. “U-Uhm, I don't know… maybe? There's just a lot that needs to be done…” The back of his neck starts to flush, but when you lean in for a kiss he pulls away.

“Are you really ready for something like this?” He asks softly, shifting his hand to stroke your cheek. “I mean, I am too, but I just want to make sure. I know you're having some issues with–”

You put a hand over his mouth, pulling away. “It's fine. We're still… recovering and stuff…”

It's not fine. –You're sick of saying that when really all you want is him close by right now. With everything going on and how bad you feel, you could use some relentless affection.

“Speaking of recovering, eventually you need to go to the infirmary. I already went, but you're the one with an open wound. I really want you to get checked out by someone other than me, if that's okay?” He poses, which would be fine if he didn't keep listing all the overwhelming shit you need to do with the tact of a feral cat on roller skates. “Also, my dad wants to ask you about stuff… like that stuff. I told him to wait, but he's getting pretty impatient.”

Having to explain the situation with Negan to Rick by itself is enough to have your head spinning, but he keeps going.

“Aaron wants to give you a book he thinks you'll like reading while you recover, he said you seemed interested in it before so he found a copy… Oh! And Gabriel wants to pray for you and get your help in the church, repainting something I think… and Rosita thinks cleaning guns might be cathartic for you… Tara wants to see if you'd be willing to help her sort the medicine in exchange for some kind of special treat, Michonne–”

“Stop.” You snap, holding your head in your hands.

The light mood you were in is gone, and now all you want to do is lay down and forget about everything again. Alone.

He looks up at you, brow furrowing. “I-I'm sorry, was that too much? It was, wasn't it? Shit.” He apologizes, getting closer again. “That was completely on me, don't worry about any of it. I'll take care of everything you can't do right now. They told me to tell you when I came in here, but I should have known better.”

“No, don't do…” You shake your head, “Can you just stop? –Like, everything you're doing right now?”

“You want me to stop talking? I can if you want to rest…” He looks lost, shaking his head slightly like he can't comprehend what you're saying to him. “Tell me what you want me to do.” He offers.

He's being annoyingly kind, more so than usual, almost to the point you want to ask why even though you have an idea.

Your mental state has been deteriorating ever since the jail cell, and it's getting worse faster. It seems like he's overwhelmed with having to take care of you, yet he doesn’t want to let anyone else do it. –But he can't help you and you know it. All you want is your dad. He's the only one who would understand the pain trickling through your veins because he was there too, but you're the last person he wants to see. He left you.

“I don't want you to do anything, Carl… I'm tired.” You sigh, tears starting to well up in your eyes. “I'm really fucking tired.”

He starts to panic, reaching out to wipe away the tears. “No, no, no, honey, I didn't mean to make you cry. That's the opposite of what I wanted to do.” He frantically kisses you on the cheek a few times, “I'm so sorry, forget I ever opened my stupid mouth.”

You want him to stop worrying about you, but you aren't ready to be the put together version of yourself you are normally.

“Just… Please, just go.” You say quietly, when suddenly the door opens slowly, Enid leaning into the room with a small smile on her face, swinging from the frame for a moment as she observes you.

The last time you'd seen the girl she'd asked for your advice and then fled over the wall, so you're somewhat relieved to see her alive again even if you don't know her that well.

“Yeah, your mouth is pretty stupid, Carl.” She agrees, taking a few steps into the room. “I don't even have to know what you were talking about to know I'm definitely on her side.”

You almost laugh at the abrupt bluntness of her words, but you keep it contained. –It feels wrong to laugh considering everything that's been going on and you aren't even sure that you can anymore, every time you open your mouth it feels like you're on the verge of tears.

Carl goes stiff at the sight of her, yanking himself all the way away from you so that he's sitting at the foot of the bed instead of close enough to touch you.

“Enid. Get. Out.” He seethes, “She needs to rest.”

“Right… That's why you came in here to harass her and make her cry?” She questions, cocking her head.

Carl balls up his fists. “It's not like that.”

“Really? Because you've been treating me pretty shitty too, and I haven't done anything wrong. –Not to mention, you and I have a preexisting entanglement that should make it a lot harder for you to be so mean to me.” She shrugs, “So, is it really all that wrong of me to assume you're in here treating her the same way and being snippy?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it and tightens his jaw. “Why are you here right now? Don't use someone having a hard time as an excuse to corner me and start a fight.”

Someone? He's talking about you like you're a stranger, when moments ago he was spoon feeding you and you nearly kissed. You've had sex before for christ's sake, so why is he acting like you're a distant acquaintance? –Maybe it's to prevent Rick from finding out about how much your relationship has grown through the girl? Either way you don't think you like that very much.

“Oh, please, I'm not here for you.” She says, rolling her eyes. “And when we talk our issues out it'll be in private. I'm not going to corner you, Carl, don't be dramatic.”

Carl feels like he's been punched in the gut, second guessing himself for a moment before he remembers a few instances where she had done exactly that. “Don't act like you haven't done it before…” He sputters, his shoulders falling. “I'm not being unreasonable or mean, all I'm saying is don't abuse the situation.”

Enid sighs, taking a deep breath before leaning up against the wall on the other side of the room. “You know what? You're right and I'm sorry, but let's not do this right now.” She dismisses in a sing-song voice, “I actually didn't come in here to talk to you, I just couldn't help it when I heard the crying.”

Carl doesn't like what she said for a number of reasons, but most of all because her words hold no meaning. What she essentially just said was, Yes, I hurt you… So? And to top it all off, she added that she only started messing with him when she entered to piss him off.

He has to remind himself that that's not the point.

“So you came in here to talk to her?” Carl says, glancing over at you. “If you're about to say something stupid to her, you might as well get out now.”

Enid brushes her hair aside, letting out a deep sigh. “Wow. You know, she and I have talked before, right? I just want to say my piece since everyone else got their chance already.”

Carl starts to argue with her again, but you can see the genuine softness in her eyes behind the icy persona– something that reminds you of the cocky mask Negan used to wear, and shoot him a glare.

“Come back later, Carl… I want to talk to her.” You say softly.

“I–” His eye darts around your face with concern for a moment, before he nods slightly. “Okay… If this is what you want, I promise I'll be back later.” He excuses, getting up to leave the room.

He leaves the door slightly cracked open, but you can tell he's not eavesdropping because his shadow disappears down the hallway.

Enid comes and plops down on the bed in front of you, crossing her legs in a mirror of your position before flashing you a small smile. “Hi.” She says, taking a deep breath.

“Hello…”

Suddenly this feels immensely awkward, and you aren't sure why.

“So… jeez, I should have thought about what I was going to say more…” She pauses for a moment to gather her thoughts before shrugging and deciding to wing it.

“I hated it here.” She says with a full smile.

“Oh?” You blurt.

“No, not like that,” She averts her eyes, running a hand through her hair. “I mean when I first got here all I wanted to do was find a way out, and last we met I could kind of tell that was how you felt too…” She pauses with a slight shake of her head, “But people change. I know it might suck right now, but you'll come to love the people here. For me, Carl was my reason to stick around. He's sweet, strong, and kind, even though he's not acting like it right now… He showed me there was more to life than running away from people so you don't have to get hurt. –Turns out, there's a lot of good that comes with being around other people and getting attached to them…”

Oh. That's why you're feeling this way and why Carl was treating you like a stranger in front of her. –The last these two spoke, the lovers were planning on reuniting and getting back together after taking down your father, only for you to convince Enid to stay split up with Carl, and end up with him yourself pretty much immediately after.

You suck a breath in through your teeth.

“When I heard about what the Saviors did to Glenn, I pictured violent, heartless monsters… But you were actually the first Savior I'd met.” She admits, resting her face on her shoulder with a pout, “You were kind, and real, and I don't know… just by looking at you I could tell you lived your life afraid just like the rest of us. –Meeting you humanized them to me. You were nothing like what I expected, so I was a little taken aback when you ended up helping us multiple times.”

“I didn't really do anything…” You mutter, looking away.

“Yes, you did. You're a total badass. I heard about how you saved Judith and helped load the supplies up during the attack on Alexandria.” She says giving you a push to the shoulder to hype you up. “Aside from that you started learning mechanics during the fucking apocalypse just so you could get cars up and running for your enemies… Just the fact that you're alive right now, makes you awesome.”

You faintly feel a smile coming on, but it vanishes just as fast. “You aren't going to think I'm awesome once you know what I've been doing.”

“You mean Carl? I know.” She shrugs, “He didn't have to tell me for me to know. I can see he's all over you right now…” You start to say something of an apology, but she hasn't finished talking yet, “We were on a break, so it makes sense. What I'd be more interested in knowing is if you're his girlfriend… but we don't have to talk about that right now.”

“Girlfriend?” You glance away, your cheeks flushing and your heart starting to race a bit. “Well, he hasn't called me that…”

But you want him to. So badly.

“That's good…” She nods, dangling her legs over the side of the bed. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I like you, but I've loved Carl for a long time. I don't think I can just stop because he's been hooking up with another girl when we agreed to take a break.”

The blush on your cheeks vanishes, your eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“I-I'm not trying to be cruel or anything, I'm just trying to give you a heads up,” She stands up from the bed, giving you an apologetic look. “I really care about him, and I… I don't think I can just give up on our connection, especially not when he hasn't told me he intends to break things off, and the girl he's been hanging out with isn't a girlfriend.” She pauses, seeming guilty about her own words, “I hope we can still be cool, but I… I'm not giving up on him. On us. I don't think he has either.”

“Is that why you came here?” You ask with horror.

“No, of course not.” She says softly, and you can tell it's the truth. “If it didn't come up naturally I wouldn't have said anything yet… I just wanted to tell you about my experience, and how important you are here. –People out there are looking for you because they care.”

“Wait, don't move on from what you just said.” You insist, moving towards the edge of the bed as she creeps her way towards the door. “You basically just told me you're going to try and take him back, but now you're breezing past it like it didn't even happen.”

She raises her hands in submission, but she certainly isn't backing down. “Look, I'm not saying I'm gonna go out of my way to seduce him or anything like that… I'm just saying that if something happens between him and I, I'm not going to stop it.” She whispers, trying to make the topic go away. “Back to what I was saying before, I can't imagine how much it hurts to be abandoned like that. –I know Alexandria isn't exactly the most amazing and plentiful place… It's probably nothing like The Sanctuary, and we don't have the history you had there… but the people here are really kind and they're worth getting to know better.” She pauses, “It might not be your first home… but it is one.”

You hate that even though she's being dodgy, she's giving you solid advice.

“Don't you dare leave right now, Enid.” You say, pointing to her hand on the door handle. “You said you want us to be cool, right? I don't think we can be cool if you leave after saying something like that.”

Her name on your tongue feels weird, probably because that's the first time you've said it out loud, but this is the second time you've seen her flee from a tough conversation she doesn't want to have. –You're starting to get the feeling this might be a pattern with her.

“I think Rick is calling me,” She says, pointing a thumb at the door in a goofy manner that clearly looks like a desperate excuse, “I gotta go, sorry…”

And with that, she flees once again.

***

Coming home after leaving you was one of the hardest things Negan has ever had to do. The entire way back all he wanted was to turn the goddamn truck around and slam through the walls of Alexandria so he could take it back, take you back, but he somehow managed to make it all the way back to The Sanctuary.

He just had to keep reminding himself, it was all for you.

The people of Alexandria could help you more than he ever could and they seemed more affectionate and caring as a whole community. There aren't people there that have tried to kill you, there aren't creepy men trying doors at night, or unbelievable amounts of alcohol just lying around where you can get to it while his back is turned. –And most of the time, he realizes, his back was to you. Even if he adored you he wasn't giving you what you needed and the affection you deserved.

So when he got home, he took the exact advice he seemed to have passed onto you and opened a bottle. –And then another.

And then another, and another, and another, and another, until he isn't really sure how much he's drunk or how much time has passed. He’s just sitting on your bed, staring at the sole decoration on the wall– That damn “family portrait” you'd drawn of him, you, Dwight, and a few other men…

Which gets him wondering, where is Dwight anyway?

The bottles are piling up on your floor, but he doesn’t look at them. No, what he's more interested in is that stupid outfit he chose for you when he threw you that catastrophic welcome home party. –Why had he ever thought that was a good idea, when from the moment he laid eyes on you he knew something was wrong? You were concussed and traumatized, but he just had to add alcohol to the mix. –Father of the year.

He gently lifts up your worn shirt and holds it to his face and chest, leaning back onto the pillows, hoping that if he waits long enough he'll open his eyes and find that it's his baby girl he's cradling. –Lucille will be there too. Right next to him with that romantic judgemental look on her face, and she'll wake him up and promise him that everything's okay, because it is, right?

He just has to believe it is, or he can't go another day.

Negan wraps the arm not holding your shirt around the pillow by his head, willing her scent into existence. He thinks he can smell it, faintly, but it feels artificial. It's not really her.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he left you, but all of a sudden he feels the curtains get ripped open and the light shines in his eyes. –He wants to believe that someone else did it to pull him out of this nightmare, but it was his own hands that moved them.

“What are your orders?” Simon asks from behind him, still wounded on his back from the punishment given for nearly killing you.

But for once, Negan isn't sure.

He wants something to numb the pain, but he isn't sure what. All he knows is that he needs to be careful now when people look to him for orders, he can't risk saying something stupid and putting you in harm's way again.

“Everything.” Negan demands, clasping his hands behind his back. “I want it all, and I want some necessities sent to Alexandria. –Address them to Rick, say it's a gift for whatever the hell he got me extra on the last collection date.”

Simon's eyes shift around the room, gazing at all of the bottles. “Are you sure? I mean, if you're not feeling well, I could always take the lead–”

Negan hardly looks over his shoulder, but it scares the other man to silence. He looks wildly unhinged and dangerous with his scruff grown out and eyes red from crying, it's truly a sight to behold as a subordinate.

“Quit being a slippery fuck,” He warns, “And do what I just told you. –Remember that this is your final warning, that I, your gracious leader, only extended to you because a fucking child thought your pathetic life mattered enough to be saved. So be REAL careful.”

Simon nods, biting his tongue so hard he thinks it might just fall off.

“Of course,” He tries to say cordially, “My bad.”

The other man starts to leave when Negan thinks of something else. –Something he can do for you, without you realizing that it came from him and risking ostracizing you from the rest of the people in Alexandria.

“Wait,” He calls to stop the other man in his tracks, “Make sure you include some sandwich cookies in that package. She likes those.”

You're probably devastated and confused right now, the least he can do is remember something you seemed to enjoy and send it your way… Even if he can't bring himself to say your name.

Simon pauses, scratching his mustache. “Uhm… okay?”

He starts to leave again, but Negan thinks of something else and stops him again. “Also some non-alcoholic beer and ginger ale, so she doesn't get sick.” He adds.

Simon is starting to get annoyed. “Alright.”

“Some fresh bandages so she can keep taking care of the wound on her chest too,” Negan adds, “And if you're doing that you might as well add in some antibiotic ointment. Oh, and some–”

Simon cuts him off, shrugging slightly. “Do you want to just make me a list? That way neither of us forgets anything?”

It seems weird that after the man abandons you he's somehow paying you more attention, but Simon decides not to question it. He doesn't want to piss Negan off any more than he already has, and he doesn't want an already scorned, rageful, drunk Negan to seek out Dwight– who has presumably jumped ship for all intents and purposes, and find out he's gone.

That would be really bad. For everyone.

***

You're laying on your back with your eyes closed when the door opens and Carl quietly enters with another plate, eyeing you like a guilty puppy as he shuts the door.

“I'm really sorry about earlier,” He starts to apologize, “I didn't want to keep you in the dark about things, and it looked like you were feeling better so I just thought that… If… I-I never meant to make you upset.”

You feel like you're standing on broken ice, helplessly watching it crack underneath your feet, every move you make it worse… You aren't sure how long it will be until you plunge. –You aren't even sure what it would mean to plunge– But you know Carl was trying to be supportive in his own dorky way.

“It's… okay. I think hearing everything all at once like that messed with my head,” You articulate, “I already feel like I'm under a lot of pressure to do the right thing, but I'm not sure what that is. Every time I've chosen so far, it's been the wrong choice.”

He sets the plate down and comes over to where you're resting on the bed, sitting beside you and brushing your hair out of your face so he can get a good look at you.

“You aren't making the wrong choices. Everything you've done so far has saved people's lives, including your own.” He points out, “We're still young, if we regret our choices it's a good sign that we're moving in the right direction. –If I had chosen a different day to save Siddiq, or waited until it was later at night, he probably would have…” He trails off, “Considering where you came from I think you're doing a pretty great fucking job at making the right decisions, sweetheart.”

You watch his eye soften, a smile playing at his lips and you feel the urge to ask.

“Carl?” You call out, to which he nods, your heart starting to race. “Am… Am I your girlfriend?”

He cocks his head to the side like he doesn’t quite understand the question. “I– I mean, yeah? I thought you were?” His brow furrows, concern seeping into his voice. “Are you… not?”

You let out an audible sigh of relief. “I want to be.”

He glances over at the door and moves closer to you, lying down in a mirror of your position. “Was it her? Did she say something to upset you?” He asks, setting his palm against yours as if he's measuring the difference in size.

There's a moment where you hesitate to answer, worried he won't believe you if you tell him.

“N-No,” You lie, averting your eyes from his, “But we've never really talked about it… So, I don't know… I just got nervous.”

He looks into your eyes for a moment, searching them for something, before slipping off of the bed and gently tugging your arm as if asking you to follow him as he kneels down in front of where you're sitting on the edge.

“Uhm, Carl?” Jesus, it looks like he's about to propose to you. “What are you doing?”

He simply smiles for an answer, running his hands down your arms until he encloses your hands in his. “I never realized I hadn't done this the right way because I didn't take you for the hopeless romantic type, but I won't make that same mistake again…” He takes a deep breath, thumbing the back of your hand, “Eli… will you please do me the honor of officially being my girlfriend?”

You try to bite back the smile and giggling that ensues the confession, but you can't help it. All you can do is rapidly nod, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss that neither of you can stop smiling into.

He stands up between your legs and pulls back. “This was what you wanted all along wasn't it? –For me to just be there for you, instead of trying to fix everything?” He speculates.

That was exactly it. –You needed him, but not to do anything for you. Your problems are something you need to work through on your own and at your own pace. How can someone really consider a problem fixed if they don't understand it, or its solution, and someone else always takes care of it?

“What can I say? I'm an independent romantic,” You coo, brushing his hair aside to pull him in by the face, dipping your tongue into his mouth.

He hums, his body melting into the kiss, but he still seems to be showing some semblance of restraint as he tries to hide the obvious hard-on he has, still trying to not push you too far.

You want to let him know that's not a concern.

You pull his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking it hard as you place one of his hands on your inner thigh and lead it upwards, guiding him to gently rub your core as you take the clothing off of your lower half.

His chest hitches, his breathing deepening as he pulls back. “You're sure? This is absolutely what you want? –They might hear us up here…” He bites back a smile, “You can get pretty loud.” He teases.

You feel your entire face going red with embarrassment. “I-I wasn't really that loud, was I?” You question, but he only grins in response. “Oh my god… I was, wasn't I? That's so embarrassing, Carl, stop…”

“Okay, okay,” He relents, setting his hat aside. “Even if you are a little loud, I…” He swallows hard, “I have some other ideas of what we could do.”

You cock your head. “Like what?”

He flushes, his eye darting away with what looks like shame. “Well, I– U-Uhm… Just lean back okay? –Trust me.” He pleads, setting both of his hands on your inner thighs as he kneels back down in front of you.

It feels awkward to you, but you do lean back and let him splay your legs apart in front of himself. “So… what are we–”

You have to slap hands over your mouth as he suddenly brings his mouth down on you, licking delicate circles around your clit and gathering the wetness accumulating at your core before sinking his tongue into you and curling it a few times.

“Carl,” You whine, your hand shooting out to tangle in his hair. “No warning?”

He pulls away with a gulp, looking up at you for approval. “H-How was that?”

You aren't sure what to say to him– The initial feeling was much more precise than the regular sex you'd had and there wasn't any pain when his tongue entered you…

“I liked it…” You mumble, shying away from him and trying to close your legs, but he holds them open firmly. “But what about you? I want you to feel good too…”

He still seems embarrassed by the situation, but even more than that he wants you to be guilt-free with him when you're together, especially after your first time. He knows he'd been unnecessarily cruel, and although it ended up with the two of you enjoying it, he knows it could have turned out much differently.

“It isn't about me right now, but if you're really worried, know I am enjoying this.” He confesses, covering his mouth. “I've been… thinking about it. A lot. –This and some other things I want to do to you.”

Your heart flutters with excitement at the mention of other things he wants to do to you that he's apparently been thinking about. “If… If you like this too, then I guess it's okay.” You permit.

Without another moment to waste, he loosens his grip on your thighs and returns to lick a long stripe between the folds of your cunt, sinking his tongue back inside of you, only deeper.

It feels so good you can hardly take it and you aren't sure why. Last time, it had taken you much longer to get to the point where you could feel yourself constricting around him and sucking him in, but now the response is almost immediate to his touch. Is it because you're excited, or desperate?

He lets out a groan, the vibrations nearly pushing you over the edge, your back arching with satisfaction.

You try to relax, letting your head tip back as you hold a hand over your lips to muffle the loud noises your agape mouth is trying to set free. –You absolutely cannot let anyone in this house hear what Carl is doing to you right now, but especially not Rick. If he knew what his precious son was doing between your legs he would have a heart attack and Michonne would probably chop you to pieces.

Carl manages to pry himself away from your pussy so that he can mark up your skin, going straight for your breasts and collar bones the second he's not lapping you up.

You think for a moment he might stop without letting you finish, taking your hands away from your face to say something, when you feel two of his fingers slip their way inside of you all too easily.

“A-Ah, fuck!” You try to muffle the downright sinful, high pitched moan you let out, but you fail miserably, his other hand coming up to mute any other noises that might find their way out of you.

“Shh,” He hushes, “Remember to be quiet, darling, we don't want them catching us in the middle of this, do we?”

You shake your head, which quickly becomes a shudder when he curls his fingers into your g-spot.

“There we go,” He lulls, “Just relax.” His mouth returns to your neck with a bite as he begins to ruthlessly fuck you with his fingers.

You shake your head, trying to communicate with him through his hand until you're quite literally tugging at his hair to warn him that if he doesn't stop you're going to make a mess of these sheets that don't belong to you, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Eventually, he pulls his mouth from your skin again, kissing you on the cheek. “I told you to relax, and I meant it. It's okay, honey, let go if you need to.” He reassures.

That feels like a stupid move, especially for two people trying to hide what they're doing, but after a few more hits you just can't take it anymore, that familiar wave of heat washing over you as your thighs tighten around his forearm, slick pouring out of you as he drags his fingers out slowly. –Like he's trying to get as much out of this as he can.

It feels like your entire body is just about ready to collapse on itself, but you're content with this kind of exhaustion. It leaves you feeling warm and complete. –All you've ever wanted is to be loved, and here's someone who does exactly that.

“Good job, honey,” He praises, letting your mouth go. “You stayed quiet… -er.”

You sit up, coughing from the silenced noises that made the back of your throat itch, clutching your throat. “I hope so… I really don't want them to know about that.” You cough again, “I would actually die of embarrassment.”

He rubs your back to soothe you while you cough, moving to sprawl out beside you and wrap his arms around your waist.

“Careful,” He warns, then after a moment he looks down at your naked lower half and the old discarded clothes on the floor. “Do you want me to get you some fresh clothes or anything? –Whatever you need.”

You turn over to face him properly, thinking the offer over for a moment. “Yeah, but I should probably shower first… It's been awhile,” You pause, searching his face for nothing in particular. You just want to see how he looks after… that. “You're staying, right? –You promised.”

He nods, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip, “I am.”

“Yeah?” You ask, just because you want to hear it again. “How long?”

He snorts, reaching out to pinch one of your cheeks. “Yes, I'm staying right here with you, all night.” He glances over at the door, realizing that he'd forgotten to lock it, “I might need to leave and get pajamas or whatever, but then I'm all yours.”

“Well, what if they look for you?” You ask, not really anticipating them to. “Will you still stay?”

He laces his fingers with yours, shaking your intertwined hands in front of you to make a point. “Yes… I'll be right here, all night, no matter what happens.” He repeats.

You decide that's an acceptable answer.

“Good.”

Chapter 24: Action

Notes:

Reader has been abandoned for 3 days.

Chapter follows Rick for a while, who is objectively more sane than you or Carl, which also means it’ll be less romanticized when it comes to… certain things.

Rick fastens his belt, taking one last look at himself in the mirror and smoothing the shadow growing on the side of his face with a quick swipe. He tries to keep himself at least somewhat well groomed despite the circumstances, partially to set a good example, and partially to give himself some sense of normalcy in a world where nothing is normal anymore.

His children won't have the lives he imagined when Lori was pregnant with Carl, getting to send the boy off to college and watching him become a perfectly upstanding citizen. –Not even the life he pictured when Lori was pregnant with Judith, being safe behind walls until the day all the monsters were gone and she could rest easy… But this is a life he can make due with.

He gives one last swipe to his shirt before his eyes catch some movement in the mirror behind him, Michonne sitting with her legs crossed and her back against the headboard, flipping through a magazine about long dead celebrities boredly, when her mouth suddenly turns to a grimace.

“You know, Carl never came out of her room last night.” She points out, flipping the page.

Rick makes a similar grimace, trying desperately to forget watching Carl try to sneak across the hallway to your room so late at night. –He doesn’t want to have to admit to himself that there's a very real possibility that what you and Carl have going on is more than friendship at its best, and a risk like the one Maggie and Glenn had taken at the worst.

“She's sad,” He shrugs, “He was comfortin’ her.”

Michonne puckers her lips with a hum, finally looking up at him over the magazine. “All night?”

Rick shakes his head dismissively and picks up his knife, slipping it into one of his belt slots. “When you go out for the run later, could you pick up some snacks if you see ‘em? –Popcorn, especially.”

“Popcorn?” She repeats curiously, tossing the magazine aside. “Yeah, I can do that… but why? Are you craving it?”

Rick averts his eyes, pausing as he recalls the concerning recent developments he'd noticed in his children. Like the way Judith started grinding what little teeth she'd gotten, and how it seemed Carl was on the precipice of tugging out his hair every time he ran his hands through it. No matter how much Rick tried to gently reprimand the behavior out of them, they only seemed to get worse.

“We have the equipment just collectin’ dust, so I was thinkin’ –maybe– if the kids are good today…” He pauses, like he knows she's going to reject the idea despite the fact she’s known to be the fun one in the couple. “We could have a movie night.”

She smiles, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not? We used to have them before everything.” He starts to ramble about how it'll be good for the kids to connect as normal siblings, take the edge off, and be good to have the entire family in one room bonding, but Michonne cuts him off before he can.

“Sounds good as long as you don’t mind the power being sunk into a non-necessity.” She agrees, standing up to grant him a parting kiss as she picks up the sword laying by the door, propped up on the wall. “The collection they’re going to try and fail to pick up won’t be for another two days, so what are you going to do today?”

Their plan to stand against Negan’s collections still stands, despite whatever strange decisions led him to abandon his child at Rick’s doorstep like a mother running from a fire station. Alexandria can’t —and won’t— wait for you to figure out your daddy issues to stand up for themselves and the other settlements when people are still getting hurt across the board.

Rick just grins, holding the door open for her in a terrible bid to come across as mysterious. “A few things need work around here, that's all…” He answers with a bashful undertone.

Sometimes he can’t help but slip back into the version of himself that thought farming on a decent plot of land would solve all of their problems like Hershel, but he never lets it go beyond his thoughts. It was a sad pipe dream that died the moment it came into existence, and his refusal to acknowledge it was over led to his own son having to take care of business for him. —He can never forgive himself for what he made Carl do to Lori.

The woman in front of him lightly caresses his cheek in parting and then quickly glides her way down the stairs and out of the house like she’d only been waiting for him to finish getting ready so that she could say goodbye.

Rick gives himself one last once over before he steps out into the hallway and moves to make his way down the stairs, hoping to pour himself a generous cup of coffee before scrounging around the whole settlement, deciding which parts needed more defense and what items they’d need to do it, when he hears a voice that makes his skin crawl.

Negan.

And it’s coming from your room.

He’s not a fool, he can tell that Negan isn’t actually inside of your room right now, but the possibilities are terrifying. You’d gained inside knowledge in all of the time that you’d stuck around and you knew just how to crush their rebellion, all you would have to say is something about the gun in the church, or the hidden weapons, and you’d probably be guaranteed a spot back in The Sanctuary after whatever the hell happened that made Negan abandon you in the first place.

He rolls his shoulders back and walks over to gently nudge the door open a crack with his knuckles.

Carl is gone, the curtains are shut, and there you are, lying on the bed in the fetal position with a walkie you definitely didn’t come here with —which means you’d stolen it at some point— crying your eyes out and clutching a fistful of sheets in your fingers like you’re trying not to fall apart.

Then Negan’s voice again, slow and slurred like he’s been drinking, “There’s some missing fabric from the work floor ha— have Gavin check it out and make sure they’re punished. —As a matter of a fact, start heating up the goddamn iron.”

Someone else answers, “Are you sure? W-We don’t even have a suspect yet, and they weren’t worth that much.”

It doesn’t seem like you’ve said anything to Negan, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to. The man doesn’t even seem to know you’re on the channel listening, and it makes Rick wonder how long you listened to them before the fateful day you decided to turn the walkie on and say something to Daryl.

Had you been lying somewhere, dejected just like this, trying to picture something brighter for yourself? Getting attached to their individual voices, and listening to them complain, and cry, and laugh, without ever getting to pipe up and say something?

“Nothing and no one is,” Negan responds coldly, “It’s the principle.”

Negan’s walkie clicks off and you let out a choked sob, hands coming up to cradle the device like it’s your last life line. Rick gets the feeling that it might just be, so he decides to turn a blind eye and gently closes the door to leave you alone for now.

But again, it gets him thinking; What if he were to invite you to their family movie night? It might make you feel better, and then he can finally start asking you about The Sanctuary as a whole, and what went down there that got you sent straight back here in nearly a third of the time Negan spent trying to find you, or hunt you, or whatever the case may be.

Of course, before he breathes a word to you, he’d make sure you were ready for it. Not like the days in the cell where he slowly broke you down day by day chipping away at your resolve, that was bad, REALLY bad, and he knows that now, but before he thought it made sense because you seemed like a threat. He hates that he’s thinking it, but now you’re more like a kitten that’s lost its claws and been thrown into a bear den. You aren’t a real threat anymore, and he doesn’t know if you ever will be again when you can barely care for yourself.

There’s a small part of him that’s glad Carl was with you all night, because that same small part of him remembers what Beth tried to do to herself, and sees all the same red flags waving him right in the face. —The excessive crying, the drinking, the erratic behavior Gabriel told them about from before you left, Daryl’s report of your failed one-woman suicide mission, your inability to get out of bed, or eat, or drink, hell, it even looks like you’re struggling to keep yourself breathing properly right now.

Rick would love to be able to go sit in the room and talk with you person to person and comfort you, but he knows you’re still skittish and he’s probably the last person you’d want to see right now, even though he did take notice of the star still dangling around your neck.

If he could, he'd tell you he was proud of you for staying strong throughout all of this, when no one was expecting you to.

He tries to shrug off the worry nagging at him when he thinks of you finally reaching out and saying something to the people on the other end, tries to give you the benefit of the doubt, but he can't stop picturing it. Finally he decides to make his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he can see an already made pot of coffee that confirms his suspicion Michonne had been awake much longer than she let on and pours himself a mug, leaning up against the counter with his palm.

Rick is about to take his first sip when he's interrupted by a very visibly agitated Carl coming in and slamming the front door behind him.

“Fuck,” His son huffs under his breath, hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

Rick opens his mouth to lecture him about swearing and slamming doors when Enid follows in behind him and closes the door softly.

“Shh,” She hushes him in a whisper, smoothing her hair out of her face. “You're going to get us in trouble.”

Carl whirls around to face her with disdain on his face, clear as day. “Us? Us? There is no us, Enid. How could you do that? Shit… just get the fuck out.” His voice breaks weakly, like he wasn't prepared to swear at her and the sight of her shiny blue eyes full of betrayal destroys him. “Please.”

Rick remembers the days where Carl would get so frazzled around her that his brain would completely tap out. He'd be sitting on the porch, watching her walk by and completely miss whatever his father had been saying, or get so flustered when she spoke to him he'd go mute…

Apparently today is not one of those days.

“Me?” She asks, voice heightening. “I didn't feel you pulling away, Carl, your hands were all over me just like mine were on you. Don't play innocent. You made a choice, and now you have to decide what you're going to do about it.”

Carl shakes his head, taking a few steps back and forth in a cornered pace. “No, you lead me out there. You needed the supplies. You said you missed the walkers and shoved me into that closet.” He says, closing his eye in a panic. “You knew. You knew she and I were… and you…”

She throws her hands up into the air, “So what now? You're accusing me of lying about needing feminine hygiene products and dragging you out into the woods so I could take advantage? That's ridiculous, I hope you know that. I would never do anything to hurt you or something you didn't want.” She snaps, offended by his words.

He lunges forward, only stopping in front of her so he can look down at her chest to chest with the little height advantage he has over her, his breathing heavy.

“You kissed me.” He seethes, sounding like he wants to cry.

“I was–” Enid cuts herself off at the sight of his genuine distress, “I… I didn't…” She brings a hand to rub along his jaw, her expression growing concerned. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, it was an honest mistake. You were just so close… and I could feel you breathing, and your arms were around me… and then you laughed and I couldn't…”

She leans up like she's about to go in for a second kiss, but Carl dodges her right before their lips touch.

“Get the fuck away from me,” He growls, crossing his arms as he turns his back to her. “I came home to get away from you, I even shut the door, but you still followed me. I-It's like none of my boundaries ever matter to you.”

She squints at him like she can't comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. “Of course they don't when you've never had any. What do you mean ever?”

Carl shakes his head like he doesn’t want to answer that particular question, bringing the conversation back to the core of the issue.

“Let's think about it your way then,” He suggests, narrowing his gaze at her. “Me going somewhere with my friend when she said no one else wanted to go, then having fun and laughing when I started enjoying spending time with her, was an invitation for her to shove her tongue down my throat when I already told her we were done?”

If Rick were drinking his coffee he would have spat all of it out on the counter at the crude description.

“See how that doesn't make sense?” He points out with a frustrated shrug. “I'm not lying, I'm not doing anything to make you out to be the bad guy. I don't have to lie for what you did to be wrong.”

She scoffs with surprise, once again reaching out for Carl’s upper arm in a way that makes Rick uncomfortable. –It seems less like a please, listen to me, and more like a I know you won't do anything about this.

“Are you serious?” She questions, almost smiling at the ridiculousness of the possibility. “You weren't acting this way when your hand was on my a–”

Rick clears his throat to make the two of them aware of his presence in the room, the mood immediately shifting to something more secretive than the heated fight they'd been having a moment ago.

The man is more than a little out of his depth in this situation, mostly leaving Carl to resolve any relationship issues on his own –or in special cases, seek out Michonne for advice– but this feels like it's rapidly snowballing into something bigger. Rick doesn't like the idea of his son being in an intimate relationship this early, but it seems like that's why the two of them clamped up the second he said something. –To keep hiding what they've been doing to maintain some sense of privacy in a world where it's hard to find.

Carl’s brow furrows, a hand motioning and Enid accusingly. “Dad, she–”

“Hello, Mr. Grimes,” She greets politely, her head hanging with embarrassment as the hair she tucked behind her ear falls out in front of her flushed face. “I-I'm sorry if we were being too loud. I tried to keep it down.”

He can tell her apology is genuine, but Carl looks at her with building resentment, a silent plea for Enid to be sent away.

This house is supposed to be their home, a place where they all feel safe and can get the space from other people they need and don't get when they leave the confines of it. What Enid just did would have been considered trespassing in the old world and Rick would prefer to think that some rules should still stand in certain cases.

Rick nods at her politely to greet her, eliciting a frustrated eye roll from his son. “Now, Enid, you know you're always welcome here,” He starts, giving her a critical gaze, “But I think it'd be best for you to leave for now. I need to talk with Carl about somethin’, and I'd like to have some privacy.”

“Yes, sir,” She seems to understand with the way Rick carefully phrased the sentence to appeal to her own desire for it, and nods with understanding, silently and shamefully leaving the house with her head hung like she's going to cry.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Carl turns to him expecting some kind of lecture in one way or another, but Rick just finally allows himself a long sip of bitter instant coffee.

He takes his time, purposefully slurping on it aloud with his eyes shut as he racks his brain for what would be the right thing to say to his young, impressionable son. He's trying to buy himself time, but by wasting it, he seems more condescending than anything else, like he's purposely dragging out his sip to force Carl to wait for him to finish so he can get an earful.

“What?” Carl finally snaps, clearly agitated, throwing his hands up into the air and then letting them fall and hit his jeans at his sides with a small clap, “What do you want from me? I tried.” He says with pained frustration, violently hitting a hand against his chest instead of motioning to himself.

Rick immediately sets down the mug, his carefully neutral face falling into one of concern. “Carl–”

“I tried!” He repeats, storming off with his hands tangled in his hair like he's going to push it back, but his hands never fall. They just tug.

“Carl, come back here, you aren’t in any trouble I just wanna talk!” Rick calls after him, but he hears his bedroom door slam and knows his chance to say something has slipped through his fingers. He took too long and it cost him.

Rick's shoulders fall, his eyes drifting down to the inky black coffee in his mug with a frown. Surely, this is a normal period of teen angst in Carl’s life, right? He’s just learning how to navigate all his new feelings and relationships like every teen does, he’s only so on edge because of their situation.

“Oh, Lori… What am I gonna do?” He mutters under his breath, taking another sip before setting the mug aside.

He has to get to work…

Alexandria is relying on him to push through any issues he's having in his personal life to save lives, just like when he was an officer and he had to swallow his marital issues every morning.

But, hadn't that ultimately led to more fights between him and Lori?

He was hardly present in their marriage physically, emotionally he was always somewhere else, going over the details of heinous crimes with a stone cold grimace on his face no matter how much she tried to get his attention with drawn out dinners and flowers, and mentally he knew their foundations were crumbling. He saw all the signs, and he's seeing them again.

The stench of rotten instability, slowly corrupting their family.

***

“Rick!”

Daryl is frantic, Aaron and Jesus in tow as he runs through the gates of Alexandria with his crossbow in hand aimed lowly at the ground. His head is spinning from area to area, looking for any sign of where Rick might be while Aaron slams the gate shut behind them, his hands shaking as he manages to secure it shut before falling back in with the others.

“Rick,” Daryl pants, finally seeing the other man crouched down in front of a corner of the wall that’s soft and blackened, looking like the wooden support beams may succumb to rot, his hands fiddling with a tape measurer. “Rick, somethin’ fucked up s'going on in these woods, man.”

Rick stands upright with slight confusion that quickly shifts to concern when he sees the state of him, his concern only growing when he sees how panicked the other two men look as well.

“What happened out there? You're all…” He takes in the perspiration practically leaking from the men. “Sweaty.”

Jesus steps forward, conspiratorially looking over his shoulder as a chill runs down his spine. “We were just scouting the area and scrounging up whatever we could, but some of the walkers out there aren't normal walkers. They're moving strangely, unlike anything I've ever seen and…” He bites his lip, “I think there were people mixed in with them.”

Rick furrows his brow, “People? You mean the bitten?”

“Nah,” Daryl growls, making a loose masking motion with his hands, trying to get Rick to think about the discarded skin mask and bloody footprints they'd found when Carl and you vanished. “People, disguised as walkers. Herdin’ ‘em like sheepdogs and coexistin’ with monsters like a goddamn episode of Sesame Street.”

What?

Rick lets out a heavy, panicked sigh through his nose, eyes darting between the three men. Undoubtedly, adding new people to this already tense situation would be bad for them and the settlements, but as long as these new ones don't do anything rash they could actually be a help. Willing or not.

“That's all they were doing? Just… coexisting?” He voices, “You think they'd be able to… help us out?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Jesus holds his hands up in a plea, “It felt bad, Rick. Really bad. –They were armed pretty heavily from what I could see and it didn't seem like they were in the mood to do anything for anyone else.” He narrows his eyes, briefly shifting them over to Aaron. “Some people didn't even seem to want to be there.”

Aaron nods in agreement, setting a reassuring hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “I agree, there were definitely some hostages in the mix.”

Rick scratches his chin, breathing picking up as he tries to think the situation through.

“Maybe the hostages were Saviors,” He poses, nodding to himself even though he knows the scenario is unlikely. “It could be that they were tryin’ to prevent Negan from findin’ their community and claimin’ it as his. Did you get a good look at any of their faces?”

“Walker masks,” Daryl reminds, making the same masking motion while grunting to himself.

Rick is about to question the validity of their concerns about the group seeing as they hadn't seen a single human face despite the strange movement, when Judith comes out of nowhere and clings to his leg.

“Baba?” She coos, reaching up at him to signal her desire to be picked up.

Rick scoops her up, resting her on his hip and returning to the conversation without sparing her another glance. “And when you say heavily armed, you mean guns?” He clarifies.

Jesus nods, “A few, but there were even more spears, machetes, knives…” He shakes his head softly, biting the inside of his cheek. “I know what you're thinking. You can't rob them, Rick. –It'll go bad, and we already have those garbage dump people on our backs.”

“The Scavengers,” Daryl corrects, glancing over his shoulder because he'd seen Jesus do the same. “Look, I ain't got time to debate this shit anymore. We gotta do something, or I can tell that a lot of people are about to get hurt. –That's not a question, it's just gonna happen.”

“I think–” Rick starts, but pauses when he sees Judith's smile turn into a pout and realizes he tightened his protective hold on her almost painfully, loosening his grip. “I think you're both right, but I think it's best we let them make the first move. We don't know what they're capable of.”

Jesus nods approvingly with support from Aaron, but Daryl looks betrayed.

“You're kiddin’ me?” He growls. “What if their first move is killin’ all of us in our sleep? O-Or linin’ us up like that again, just asking for trouble so they can prove a point?”

Rick feels himself falter. “Daryl,” He warns.

“Mm-mm,” The other man shakes his head, taking a few stumbling steps back, “Nah, fuck this. I can't… I'm not waitin’ around for shit to happen here again,” He denies, adjusting the way his arrows are resting on his back before whirling around and going back towards the gate.

He's leaving, Rick realizes.

He can’t miss another opportunity to say the right thing like he had with Carl, so he decides he may as well barrel straight first into the conversation without planning what he’s going to say ahead of time.

“Stop! There's no need to do anything rash,” Rick warns again, cocking his head and holding out a hand as if he could stop the other man with an invisible tether. “–Just one day, hold out one day, and then we'll all go together.”

“Rick, I ain't goin’ after ‘em,” Daryl shakes his head without turning around to look at the other man, not slowing his pace, “But I can't watch when they come for us. I already saw how that goes with Glenn and Abraham. People are goin’ to die. Only difference is this time I won't be here to fuck shit up.”

Rick starts to argue against him again, when Jesus rests a parting hand on his shoulder.

“I should probably get going back to Hilltop too,” He explains, “I don't want to move a lot during the day, but I especially don't want to not be able to see them coming at night.”

Rick watches with resignation as the people around him disperse, Aaron excusing himself almost immediately after he watches Daryl and Jesus walk back through the gate and into the hellscape they had been running from.

“Dada,” Judith calls, tugging at his ear, “Down now?”

Right. His children, and the movie night they were supposed to have to release all the pent up stress they accumulated. –He'd almost forgotten it with everything weighing on his mind, but it's not like he told them yet. He could still postpone it, and the only one who would ever know and be disappointed is Michonne, but even her only minorly.

He might not have a choice in the matter.

“Walker masks?” Dwight repeats, emerging from the shadows behind him like a ghost.

Rick nearly jumps, but manages to maintain a neutral face so as to not scare his daughter, turning to face the man and adjusting his hold on Judith to pull her closer to his chest. —Although it seems like Dwight notices his cautious stance and prematurely stops in his tracks to maintain a decent distance between them.

“Yeah, it's their skin,” Rick explains with his tongue in his cheek, “We had a few run-ins with them right before Negan took the kids. –Factory was crawling with those freaks, but especially the night before.”

Dwight narrows his gaze, looking off to the side.

“That doesn't give you an excuse to try and terrify me last night, or hurt me because of what he's doing. I'm out. I'm done. It's over. –I don't want any part in this stupid fight anymore.”

“We weren't here last night. We got here this morning.”

“...I see.” Dwight says slowly, like he's remembering something and coming to a new realization. “And what exactly did they do?”

It still bothers Rick to have to admit that he isn't really sure. He was never actually in the room when you were seeing whatever you saw, he only saw the aftermath and the toll it seemed to take on your mental state.

“I don't know,” He admits, shaking his head softly, “We thought maybe they were targeting Eli because they were Saviors looking to bring her back to Negan for the reward, but that wasn’t the case. They were just targeting loners from our group and we're not sure why yet… Could be cannibals, I guess. We’ve run into some of those and they’re definitely the performative type.”

“Mm.” Dwight is staring off into the distance with an icy look in his eyes, breathing softly through his nose. He looks troubled.

“Have you gone to see her yet?” Rick asks, not sure if the man will answer.

Would he even want to see you? He freed himself of Negan, so what reason does he have to stick around you any longer? Honestly, Rick assumed he would have already taken off by now to avoid getting caught up in this war against The Saviors any further.

“I…” He pauses, eyes widening at the prospect. “I can't see her like that. I don't like it when kids are in pain…” He trails off, balling up his fists with a contrasting shrug, “Especially not ones I know.”

Rick feels his protective grip on Judith loosen. “I get it. I feel the same way…”

He could trail off there, let the conversation already on life support die to the silence stretching on between them, but after a moment he adds a soft,

“But I think she needs you.”

And it’s true, he really does think it’ll help to have someone who understands the life you lived thus far to guide you through your pain. —Who better than someone you also already have a close relationship with, who seems to care about your well-being in some capacity?

When he himself was processing the death of Shane, he leaned on people who understood who Shane was— The kind, generous, loyal side of him that was Rick’s closest friend, and the ugly side of him that he tried to keep hidden. The side that tried to steal his wife after he came face to face with Rick, and plotted to kill him, and did kill others in the name of survival.

Dwight’s brows pinch together, his eyes that had previously been trained on the ground slowly rising to lock with his.

“Look… I’m going to propose something I’ve been thinking about, and I want you to consider it,” The man says, lowering his voice to a secretive whisper, “I’m talking really mull it over so you can be sure the choice you make is the right one. You could destroy lives if it’s not.”

Rick narrows his eyes. “Okay?”

He tries not to think too hard about what Dwight says to him next, but silently adds it to the growing list of problems simmering in Alexandria.

***

“Are you listening to me?” Michonne asks, snapping her fingers in front of Rick's face in a playful manner.

The man had been sitting on the couch with his back to where she was standing and ended up getting lost in thought, completely forgetting that she had even been talking to him.

“I was listening… at first,” He admits with a twinge of embarrassment.

She cracks a smile, letting out a long, content sigh, “Of course you weren't… Well, luckily I'm here to save the day.” She brags, motioning to the pot simmering on the stove. He isn't sure what she means until he hears the first few pops, the buttery kernels exploding from the heat.

He would be happy about her finding salvageable kernels for the kids, but all he can think about is them becoming perishable as they're popped, instead of the long storage corn kernels he was counting on when he decided to cancel the night.

He swipes a hand across his face, which quickly becomes him pinching his brow with stress.

He hates disappointing the people he loves and that's all he's been doing all damn day. Watching their faces fall as he does what he needs to for the sake of their safety, watching them push him away– sever that invisible thread that would have held Daryl back earlier when he stormed out in a fit. That leash he puts on them as a leader.

But how can he truly claim to have everything under control, when he himself is on a leash connected to a vicious murderer? They all saw him go belly up when it came to it, and they can never unsee it.

“I think we should cancel tonight and move it to another day,” Rick confides, and he can see the exact moment her shoulders drop with disappointment, but in her eyes he can see she expected it from him. He sighs, trying to explain himself, “I'm havin’ trouble coping with all the stuff goin’ on around here and with Daryl takin’ off… I just need a night is all.”

“Alright,” She agrees without a fight, walking over to turn off the stovetop.

Carl comes down the steps with Judith in his arms, initially looking frustrated until he stops, his face twitching slightly as he catches a whiff.

“What is that?” He asks, visibly relaxing at the sight of Michonne hovering over the stove and not the sight he expected to see, Rick waiting up in the kitchen to stop him.

His father is about to guiltily explain the cancelled night, eyes darting between his two eager, wide-eyed children, but Michonne beats him to the punch with a much better explanation.

“Something to look forward to.” She drags out the S sound in something, like she's uncertain of herself, but Rick can't help but feel it's her own disappointment seeping through.

Carl sets Judith down and creeps over to the stove like it might reach out and grab him if he's not careful, peering into the glass lid of the pot to see the steamy kernels.

“Can I… have one?” He asks, then lowers his head, “–Please?”

The guilty face he makes is so cute Michonne can't help but look to Rick for approval to crank the heat and finish cooking, scooping out a few already popped kernels for Carl to pick over, and he smiles. –Actually smiles as he crunches on the first kernel, then bends down and feeds one to a very giddy Judith.

That's when Rick realizes he can't back out now.

“We're having a movie night tonight.” He says, rolling his shoulders back to try and shake the dread he feels.

He sees the startled look on Michonne’s face when he says it, pleasantly surprised that he had changed his mind again, but more importantly, Carl’s face lights up too.

“Wait, really?” He asks, looking between them like this is some kind of joke. “This'll be the first one we have together, Judith's first one. You're being serious, right? This is actually happening?”

Rick gives him a small nod, sighing through his nose.

“We have to make this perfect…” His son plots, staring at his younger sister intently, “I'm going upstairs to get all the blankets and pillows and stuff, I'll be right back!” He calls, suddenly bolting back up the stairs.

“Rick…” Michonne says softly, coming to put a warm hand on his cheek. “If you're not up to this we don't have to do it.”

“We do,” He reiterates.

“We don't,” She says again, cupping his chin. “If you really want it for them, then I can watch them and make sure we use minimal power and all that… You're a good dad, you can take a night off if you need it. –Especially with an extra kid in the house.”

At this, Rick groans, feeling a headache surfacing. “You know what Dwight said to me, earlier? He wants to know if–” He cuts himself off, eyes darting around the kitchen floor where Judith had been moments ago. “Did Carl take her upstairs?”

Michonne looks over her shoulder, then shakes her head. “No, she… Maybe she wanted to help him?” She suggests, quickly walking over to turn off the stove just in case. “What did Dwight say?”

“Doesn't matter anymore,” He shakes his head, “I don't think I should let him do it, but I want to ask Daryl what he thinks. He's seen the worst of him out of all of us.”

With a groan, he rises to his feet and starts flicking the lights off one by one before kneeling down in front of an old fashioned projector connected to a dvd player and starts messing with the cables behind the busted TV.

“Well, Daryl isn't here right now, and you know I don't like surprises,” She trails off, leaning her elbow on the counter to watch him. “So tell me.”

“Really, it's nothin’, he's just… thinkin’ about what he wants to do when he leaves…” He answers vaguely.

Michonne rolls her eyes, letting out a sigh, “Really? That's so boring… Why is he coming to you with that like you’re a highschool guidance counselor?”

“Because he wanted– I don't know what you would even call it… My blessing? To do what he wants…” Rick pulls at one of the cords frustratedly, making an audible plastic crack.

“And what does he want? You keep avoiding that bit.” She presses.

He shrugs to minimize the request he'd gotten. “I'm tellin’ you, you don't want to know unless it happens. I don't want this to be a big thing where people get upset. I learned my lesson after that votin’ on execution thing. I'm going to think about it by myself, and talk to people who might have valuable input when I need to.”

Her eyebrows raise, then come down tense. “That big? Big enough we could all take a vote on what he does?”

“Yeah, some people might argue that. –Gabriel, especially.”

“And we might all have differing opinions?” She asks, sick of playing what feels like twenty questions. “I'm being serious now, Rick, I want to know.”

He lets out a long sigh, pulling himself out from behind the TV, the projector coming on with the images from the dvd player.

“It's really only going to affect one person, Michonne.” He points at the ceiling, “I think you should stay out of this one. It's not really our problem or our choice to make, he just wanted to know if I agreed.”

She looks up, realizing what he's implying. “Something with her again? –Poor kid.”

Rick finds the singular children's movie he'd found in the basement and carefully puts it in, trying to ignore the guilt and concern rising to the surface when he thinks of you.

“What happened with Negan the other day was strange. I wouldn't have expected him to just dump her like that after putting all that effort into finding her.” She starts gently tapping her fingers, “You think maybe he figured she wasn't really worth it in the first place and dumped her on you as some sort of punishment, or a test? He has to know by now we aren't complying, so why else would he–”

“Michonne.” He warns, hearing the excited footsteps returning.

Carl bounds his way down and proudly throws all of their collective blankets into a pile on the couch, before carefully organizing them the way he wants them to be, even fluffling the pillow he sets down where he puts Judith's blanket.

“Okay… She's getting a doll, but after that, everything should be ready…” Carl beams, rubbing his hands together.

He can remember the days he spent sat between his dad and Lori when he was younger, watching movie after movie into the early hours of the morning before everything happened, and the thought of getting to do that with his new family has his stomach doing flips.

“Dad, what movie is it?” He asks, giving the living room one last once over with his eyes, trying to determine if it's good enough for his younger sister. “Is there any chance we might have The Wizard of Oz? –She has that lion toy, so I think she'd like that.”

Rick picks up the previously discarded case, flipping it over and then back again to take in what he can about it, vaguely remembering showing something similar to Carl when he was younger.

“One of those ones with the talking vegetables and pop culture references,” He mutters, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

After a moment he glances back at Carl, who's anxiously fidgeting with his hands, realizing how long it's been since they were all in the same room for longer than thirty minutes. Hell, he can't even remember the last time he just sat down next to his own son for longer than five.

“Carl,” Rick calls, and he snaps his head up like he's about to be in trouble, “C’mere.” He pats the spot on the couch next to him, and Carl smiles with understanding, jumping over the back of the couch to get there.

Michonne bursts into laughter at the sight, then quickly copies his move, landing with her feet up on the coffee table next to him. “Sheesh, if I had known I was going to win I would've made it a contest.”

Carl sticks his tongue out at her playfully, then his eyes look at a spot behind her and it slowly retreats, his entire body straightening up like he's not sure whether he should get up or not.

Instantly, the two adults look over their shoulders in response, only to see Judith coming down the stairs with a proud smile. Her lion stuffy in one hand, and your's in her other. She's practically dragging you down the stairs with her, but you follow, giving the family an awkward wave and half-smile.

“Sorry,” You flush, “She just–”

Rick waves a hand dismissively, “We were just about to start watching a movie, come sit with us.”

This is the first time you've actually left their guestroom. He doesn’t want to make you feel anxious or uncomfortable about it when he knows how much that must have taken out of you to do something like that.

“Don't you still need to question me and stuff?” You ask, slowly sinking into the spot in the couch next to him, nervously glancing over at the others in the room as Judith releases your hand and climbs into Carl’s lap.

“Tomorrow,” He shrugs, “We can deal with everything else later.” He presses the play button on the remote and the credits start rolling, as well as the very upbeat musical intro, when he sees Carl lean over the back of the couch to talk to you.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks in a whisper, reaching out a fanned hand.

Rick isn't expecting it, but the moment you notice him, you reach out and press your hand to his.

“I'll live…” You giggle, actually giggle at him, making Rick very uncomfortable between you two. “Judith was kind of right to drag me out of there, even if she didn't understand. It's about time I fall back in line. There's a lot that needs to be done.”

It seems like Carl is about to say something, but stops himself. “Alright, whatever you think you can handle. Just let me know if you need my help at all.”

Carl’s fingers slowly push downward and lace together with yours behind Rick in the dark. He can see the reflection of the movie in his son's eyes, but they're on you, completely and utterly love-struck.

“Love you, silly,” You say, and it sends a foreboding chill down Rick’s spine.

When had you gotten so close? In The Sanctuary? –Surely there's no way Carl would say something of that caliber back, right?

“I love you too…” Carl’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing becoming unsteady as he tries to find some way to get closer even with Rick between you. “I-I have to tell you something… When I went out with Enid earlier, she–”

Rick tries to let you have your moment despite how uncomfortable it's making him, but it's gotten to the point where the two of you are almost leaning into him to hide your interaction, so he leans backward and feigns a cough, breaking your hands apart.

You both awkwardly shift back into your original places, but once again, Carl tries to interact with you.

“Later?” He whispers, motioning to the stairs.

You nod once, then turn your attention back to the projection.

Later? What the hell are you two going to do later? Finish your conversation? Rick's mind starts to wander back to all of the times he'd actively insisted on putting you both in unmonitored spaces alone together, back to what Michonne had said earlier about being alone together in a bedroom all night, and the problems he tried to ignore but now the possibility feels all too real.

This isn't good for either of you, and now there's a whole other added conflict with Enid he witnessed this morning. Why does it feel like all the problems he's having right now are somehow all connected to you? He mentally slaps himself for having such a thought, knowing none of this is your fault, but in the back of his mind he starts to speculate like Michonne had. Is this why Negan left you? You were just a courier for a constant onslaught of problems?

Rick startles when he hears you and Judith both laugh at a part of the movie, so he nudges you with his shoulder to get your attention. –He'll just ask once, and then leave it alone for the rest of the night like he promised.

“You doin’ okay? Havin’ fun?” He asks in a whisper.

When you realize it's him trying to get your attention and not Carl, you suddenly go shy, nodding your head slightly.

“What about…” He tries to stop the words, but they're all he can think of, “What about Negan? What are you going to do?” He knows he fucked up when he watches your smile fall and sees Michonne's head snap in his direction.

Surprisingly, however, you don't break down.

“What I already planned on doing. I got out of there, so now all that's left is to end the fight between the Saviors and the other settlements, which is easier said than done…” You pause, looking down at your hands, squeezing them closed. “I don't think I can fight them face to face, especially not him, but I still want to help in any way I can. –So when the time comes, tell me what I need to do and I'll do it. It doesn’t matter what it is.”

Rick feels a massive sense of relief wash over him at your confident words, despite all the other issues swimming around his brain, including what Dwight asked.

“Good,” He says, resting a hand on your head. “Don't let me down, deputy.”

Chapter 25: Away?

Notes:

Reader has been abandoned for 5 days.

I know exactly where I want to end this story, and it requires that weird time jump from the show, but changed for this AU so… next chapter will probably skip six months instead of years. (I think there will be 27 chapters total).

Most references from this chapter come from chapter one.

When Dwight came knocking on your door you thought for sure you'd passed out again and dreamed up him coming to see you, especially when he sat down on the edge of the bed and handed you flowers and candy, but after subtly pinching yourself several times you've come to the frightening conclusion that you are in fact awake.

He notices the shock on your face and rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere except at you. “Chocolate and flowers and crap like that is what you used to give people laid up in the hospital, bug,” He explains softly, “It's like saying, get well soon.”

You look down at the flowers again, “Oh… Well then, thanks?”

He nods, cracking his knuckles where his arms are resting between his knees, his back hunched over like there's a million things he wants to say, but none of them are quite right yet.

“I'm sorry,” You say, setting the gifts aside, “I didn't mean to be rude, I just wasn't expecting you to ever come see me.”

He sets a palm over his scarred face, swiping down. “It's not… You weren't rude. This is just not normal for us, these people are all touchy-feely and we aren't anymore,” He stops, turning so he can look at you fully. “Did Rick talk to you yet? –About me leaving?”

You're about to say yes, because Rick had already asked for all the details of your time in The Sanctuary, until you register his last words.

“Oh,” You lower your head, “No, he didn't say you were leaving… You're really going away? Like, far? Will you come back?”

He has no reason to stay here anymore, you get that, but you can't help feeling disappointed anyway. To you, he's the last remainder of a life and family that slowly fizzled out before your eyes, and now he wants to go?

“Yeah, far away. I don't know if I'll come back, I'm not even sure where I'm going, but…” He sets a hand down in front of you, smoothing out the sheets. “I was thinking that I could bring you with me.”

Your eyes widen.

He notices your obvious shock and quickly tries to explain himself, a far cry from the man who nearly deserted you at The Sanctuary to join Alexandria. “Now, I know I've been shitty in the past, I won't deny it. –Beating you on Negan’s orders, sending you into full on panic attacks lately and ignoring you when you're in pain to save my own skin…” He pauses, “But I think we both know I didn't have a choice… I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again, but you’re competent enough that if we were on the road together you’d do just fine.”

You run both hands down your face, trying to grasp what he's proposing to you. “So you just want me to follow you on a road to nowhere? Go scrapping and– and live on it?”

He can tell you're starting to get flashes of the days where you and Negan were just looking for ways to survive, going from house to house collecting whatever crumbs you could find, camping out and breaking in, and he clenches his jaw. “I'm not proposing to be your dad. I'm never going to be like him, I know that.” He tries to ground you with a hand on your forearm, your posture crumpling. “But I didn't want to abandon you either. I wanted you to have a choice, and I thought if you came with me you could have a life away from everything. You'd finally be a free, normal kid, just think about it.”

It feels like quicksand is seeping up your legs.

“But they care about me here,” You argue, even though it was just an offer. “I care about them too, I can't just leave them. I promised them I would be here to take care of what remains of the Saviors and finally end it.”

Rick assigned you a job, to get messages back and forth between the communities, and you fully intend to follow through. You’re the only one here that the Saviors won’t stop or kill for wandering where you don’t belong and running your mouth, because you’re (almost) sure that Negan still won’t let them kill you.

“That's not your job, little lady, and I can assure you the Saviors are about to fall apart anyway,” He affirms, “With that half destroyed building, sickness spreading like wildfire, men dropping like flies, and Simon trying to take over, I'm surprised they're not down for the count already.”

You hate how much his words make you worry about Negan, the man you should hate with all your heart but just can't, a twinge of panic shooting through you at the mention of The Sanctuary falling.

“Well, I still need to be here, even if they all die on their own.” You say stubbornly.

He cocks his head, “Why?”

“Because I'm in love with Carl.”

The second you say it, you realize just how stupidly juvenile the explanation sounds, even to your own ears, but it was all you could think of in the moment because it’s the truth.

“He saw me at my absolute worst when I was just Negan’s spoiled daughter, and he looked at me like he saw something no one else could,” You continue, cringing at the bittersweetness of your time together, “He didn’t seem to care whether I changed or not, didn’t ask me once, but he saw me for who I really was— The person everyone told me I shouldn’t be, and he gave me hope.”

The day you turned on that walkie talkie was the day your life started after being stopped for so long after Lucille’s death.

You touch a hand to the center of your chest, eyes gleaming with self resentment. “When The Sanctuary fell and I was bleeding out on the ground, all I could do was cry for help, and I got it from all these selfless people, when I sure as hell didn’t deserve it.” You give him a stern look, taking in his scarred face, “People keep saying I was innocent because I never took part in Negan’s violence, but I know I turned a blind eye, and if he asked me to I probably would have. That’s just as bad.”

The sharpness in your eyes dulls out, the star around your neck pressing into the center of your palm where you’re touching your chest.

“But I want to change,” You swallow back tears you’ve decided aren’t worth shedding anymore. Crying gets you absolutely nowhere, it’s action that really matters. “I want to be like Carl, going out and trying to save people, even when I know it’s my own neck I’m risking. I want to be like Daryl, taking charge to protect people, all people even if they aren’t my own because I see the beauty in life. I want to be like Michonne and fearlessly charge straight into danger if it means a chance at protecting the people I love. —And I want to be like Rick.” You slap the hand that had been on your chest onto the sheets where he’s picking at them, “I want to be someone worth saving, every. single. time.”

He pulls his hand back from where you slapped yours down, not to pull away from you, but because he’s a little shocked by your sudden change in attitude. Usually when you try to change, it’s timid and complicit, and you lurk in the background begging for something to happen… but this seems more heady. Confrontational, even.

“I want what I’ve learned and loved to stick to me, finally, after years of fleeting moments and people,” You admit, feeling your cheeks and the tips of your ears start to burn scarlet with embarrassment. “I like Carl. A lot. —And I admit that’s a selfish part of why I want to stay, he makes what I do feel right. So… I have to be here.”

He blinks, long and slow like his brain is trying to catch up with yours.

“You and him…” He finally mutters after a long pause, unsuccessful in trying to recreate your train of thought. “I was sure I had a handle on it when I brought you both to The Sanctuary, but your relationship is moving so fast… I mean, good for you, but damn.”

Finally he claps a hand on your shoulder blade, standing up from where he's sitting with a deep breath as he tries to process your words. —You’re still young, so he knows to take what you say with a grain of salt, but everything makes sense to him. It seems you’ve matured in your time here.

“Well, alright,” He relents, “I'll stick around for about… two more days. If you still don't want to leave by then, I'll go alone, okay?” He says it so much like a question, you can't help yourself.

“What if I asked you to stay here with me?” You ask carefully, “I won't change my mind about staying, but you could still change yours about leaving.”

His eyes soften, head tipping slightly to the side with sadness. “I gotta find Sherry, bug. I can't just sit on my ass while she’s out there on her own…” He pauses, “Tell you what? I'll swing by here every so often and check on you, if that makes you feel better.”

Your face lights up for a moment, “It does.” But then your lip starts to quiver, your eyes filling up with tears. “I’m really going to miss you.”

He could leave you there like that, open-ended and steeping in your own sorrow just like he had so many times before, but as he starts to walk away this time he feels himself turn around on his heels and lean down to roughly put his arms around you. It’s the first real hug he’s ever given you, but you already know it’s the best.

“You did good, bug, making it out of there and away from him,” He whispers into your back. “You’re not like him. This place needs someone like you.”

You squeeze him tighter, knowing when you let go you won’t get to see him again for a long time, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “The people around me made me what I am. You’re one of them. If there’s any good in me, it must be from you too.”

He lets out a soft snort through the nose, letting you hold him until your arms are sore from the sheer grip of the hug, then waits for you to pull away. —To absolve him of any responsibility he may have had over you before.

This last act of letting you be the one to pull away is the closest thing you’ll get out of him as a goodbye.

You can feel that same ice, cracking beneath your feet all around you, threatening to send you plummeting under. But this time you’re not so helpless. —This time, you’re breaking the ice yourself.

The surge of adrenaline you feel pump through your entire body when you pull away can’t compare to anything you’ve ever felt. It’s not the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but it makes you feel stronger in a way you can’t describe.

Even as he leaves the room it has your hands shaking, your heart racing wildly like you don’t know what’s about to come next. Like at any moment someone could touch a live wire to the back of your neck and relieve you of your pain, invigorate you to do something, take something.

All the rage you’ve had boiling inside of you since you were a kid, even before everything went to shit suddenly goes up in a puff of smoke, replaced by pure determination. —It’s like someone dumped out the contents of you, the poison you’re made of, and replaced it with their own good material.

Maybe that’s exactly what everyone here has done for you.

You think you understand now, what it would mean to plunge, and when you finally slip through the cracks, it’ll be because you tried.

Chapter 26: What I'm Made Of

Notes:

Reader has been abandoned for 185 days.
(Six months).

Negan will be back for the next and final chapter + this is the last smut scene (I think)

“I’ve been lyin’ to you about something…”

You look at Carl over your shoulder, stepping over some stray broken glass and adjusting your grasp on your cleaver.

He's got his hands balled up at his sides, eye pointed downward with something that looks like shame as he searches the floor with his gaze.

Things have been going good for the two of you for quite a while, he even got Enid to back off and respect his boundaries– albeit begrudgingly, by threatening to completely end their friendship if she couldn't stay away. Which as it turns out, ended up being a point of major guilt for him when they found her head on a pike.

Yeah, that was not Alexandria's finest moment.

Carl looked like he was about to collapse when he saw her, his knees shaking like they were threatening to buckle as he stumbled a few steps back, unshed tears surfacing. —When he saw the row from a distance down the hill, he was sure they were alive.

Rick was too stunned to say anything, but Michonne ran up and brushed hands over Carl’s shoulders, trying to get him to stop looking at the gory scene of one of the people he loved most’s head on a pike, snapping at him as her cold clotted blood sloshed down in chunks in the grass.

You tried to say something of comfort, but your words failed you, and Daryl quickly demanded all the kids be sent away while they talked this over… but Carl didn’t like that idea. He’d never been shielded from the violence before, and he wasn’t about to pretend he wasn’t going to see this very scene play out over and over again until the day there’s finally peace.

He stalked forward with his eye wide like he couldn’t comprehend the sight, shoulders straight, and plunged his knife into her soft skull. Just once. Just to end her suffering.

You could tell he couldn't bear to see her like that, but like he said, it should always be someone you love. Hell, even you felt bad as her frienemy, and looking at the line up– Ezekiel, Tara, Henry, Frankie, Tammy, Rodney, and Adeline, you could tell the Whispers were about to do some even more fucked up shit.

When Rick came to his senses and handled the more pressing issue, he told you to stay put in Alexandria and not keep going out until they could figure out a way to stabilize The Kingdom's fate without their king and stop the Whisperers, but you've grown up a lot. You know you have to go out and pass these messages to ensure that people survive.

So yeah, you can already tell that there are things Carl's not telling you, but you both silently agreed that neither of you would ask until the other was ready to share. You don't even care if it's about Enid, you just want him to be okay.

“I'm sure you are, lover boy.” You say sarcastically.

There are walkers pounding on the windows outside of the gas station you're trying to raid, loud thumps and moans, essentially white noise to the two of you after years of growing up hearing it.

He takes a step forward, one of his hands raised like there's something clenched in it.

He's been doing that a lot around you, especially in recent days where you've been traveling between the settlements carrying messages that would get anyone else's head bashed in, and with Negan on the run after Dwight took over The Sanctuary, and the Whispers lurking around, it's not hard to see why he's so nervous when he sees you.

–But again, things have been good.

You come home after missions that take roughly a week's trip there and back, counting the time it takes you to get between all of them, rest, and restock supplies, then you come home to Alexandria for a few days or weeks of downtime and you get to sleep in the same bed again. –Get to feel his rough hands on you again, gently caressing your torso and squeezing your breasts and ass as he recounts how the weeks without you have gone.

Damn.

You give him the look, playfully motioning with your head to the storage room you came across searching the place.

“I'm being serious, Eli,” He reiterates, taking a half-step forward, “I've been lyin’ to you for months.”

You reach into your back jeans pocket and pull out an elastic, tying your hair back into a neat bun. “Yeah, yeah, okay, then spit it out, Carl. You know how we deal with stuff, one thing at a time, so if it's something urgent it's best to get it out in the open now.” Stop beating around the bush, you wish you could say.

He takes a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I want to marry you, you know that?” He says softly, your heart pounding excitedly in response, but it seems like what he said is unrelated to whatever he's trying to tell you.

You step closer, stopping in front of him as a chill runs down your spine, sending a nervous glance the walkers’ way. Sometimes you feel like you can sense the whisperers watching you from a distance, but they haven’t tried to attack you in a while so you tend to ignore them.

He looks up from his closed fist, cocking his head sadly and running a thumb over your cheek. “You've seemed so good… so comfortable in yourself, I-I didn't want to ruin it by bringing somethin’ like this up, but I don't want to keep it from you forever, either.”

He opens his hand, the memories of what feels like a past life washing over you in an instant, joy, grief, and anger compounding into confusion within you as you see that damned necklace. It’s unmistakably the same one, you can even see where part of the delicate metal flower and chain has been rubbed a sort of golden color by his nervous touch and your eyes jump to his.

“What… is this?” You ask, then correct yourself, “How did you get this? Negan took it from me when he… let us go. Have you had it this entire time?”

He licks his lips, his throat feeling dry all of the sudden. “Do you want to know the truth about that day? It's been eatin’ at me, and ever since Enid… I realized one of us could die without the truth being out there, and I want more than that for you. I want you to find peace instead of suppressin’ it like you have been.” He shakes his head softly, hair falling in front of his eye. This entire time his nervous tell has been showing, his accent slipping through with basically every sentence he speaks.

“The…” You shake your head with disbelief, “The truth?”

Carl hates the way your voice heightens, reminding him of the scared little girl you used to be, hating himself for having to do this to you.

“Negan didn't abandon you,” He starts off in a gentle voice, hands lightly caressing your arms, “That day he left us back in Alexandria he talked about regretting the way he treated you, and wishing he could have been a better father–”

You pull back abruptly, looking around confused as your cleaver clatters to the floor loudly. “A better father? H-He was a murderer, Carl!” You object, but he clamps his hands down on your wrists like cuffs, refusing to let you go. “Stop, this is ridiculous!”

“Honey, listen to me,” He hushes softly, brushing his lips against your ear, “It’ll be okay. I promise, I’m right here.”

“No, that’s enough.” You refuse, a few strands of hair slipping from your bun as you try to violently tug away from him.

Out of everyone left alive, Carl is probably the only one aside from Dwight that actually understands your complicated relationship with Negan. —He should know how hard it is for you to be reminded of your loyalty to him, your time under his wing, and how confusing it is to be reminded of the good parts of the man. They blind you to the point you almost forget all the horrible things he’s done to people, yourself included. You’ve just barely gotten out of that phase where their voices stop sifting over your brain like snow at the slightest reminder… So what is he thinking?

“I’ll keep it short,” He tries to console, “But I can’t let you keep thinking he never gave a shit, okay? I can tell it’s killing you.”

Even if it hurts you, “It’s better this way. I don’t— I can’t— Just leave things be for once!” You snap.

“I’m sorry, but you need to know no matter what you decide to do with the information…” He takes a deep breath, “Negan told me that he wished he could’ve given you more opportunities in life, instead of keeping you trapped by his side.”

No.

“He said that he only saw what he was doing to you once you got back, and he realized there was an opportunity to free you by giving you back to us. An out for both of you where you got to be somewhere safe, and he…” With a gulp, he finishes simply, “He asked me to take care of you because he couldn’t anymore.”

This is a nightmare. It must be.

He brings the necklace up to your throat and clasps it, letting it dangle alongside the star you proudly brandish everywhere you go. —It feels like a chain.

“He loved you,” Carl says with a slight crack in his voice as he lets your wrists go. “You were always right, he loved you from the beginning, even before he took you in.”

“No,” You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “Stop it.”

“You were never some lap dog, you were his daughter, even at the end,” He continues in spite of what it’s doing to you, “He pushed you away because I think he knew my dad would never trust you if he didn’t. —Negan, for every horrible thing he is, actually cared about you more than anything else. Enough he was willing to give you up when he saw he was suffocating you, when he saw you wilting before his eyes.”

You’re gritting your teeth, trying to stop the tears from falling for him again after all this progress you’ve made to become your own person, when you realize they aren’t really for Negan.

They’re for yourself.

They’re for the innocent little girl who just wanted a family that loved and accepted her. Who begged Negan to stay by her side, even when she saw what he was capable of. The girl who did, and would have done anything for him. Because she loves him, even now.

“He was your dad,” Carl repeats, opening his arms to you, and you gladly accept the motion, throwing yourself into his arms with deep sobs.

“I miss him,” You admit in a wail, “I miss him so much it hurts and every time they go out looking for him, I hope they don’t find him.”

He presses your head into the crook of his neck, stroking your back lightly. “I know, honey, I know. I…” He pauses, letting out a string of curse words under his breath, “I hope they don’t find him first either, for your sake. —I’ve been looking for him.”

You don’t know how long you sit there, letting him hold you before you lean up and press your lips to his. He seems hesitant at first, loosening his grip on your shoulder blades before his hands slowly drift down to your waist, mouth parting to grant you entry. His tongue, the same tongue that’s been able to destroy you with just a few words so many times before, is massaging the inside of your mouth in a comforting gesture that leaves you panting for more.

He pulls back first, looking down at you with a needy look in his eye, a silent question.

If this were any other day, you’d test his patience by taking a painfully long time to answer, exaggeratedly tapping your chin and humming even if you were both already half-naked, but this time you grip his hand —bending down to swipe your cleaver— and start dragging him to the privacy of the storage room, slamming the door shut behind you. He’s on you in seconds, pushing you up against the wall and thrusting his tongue back into your mouth, his thigh between your legs in a gentle rubbing motion.

If there was one good thing about being separated from him so often between the communities, it was that you ended up getting a lot of “practice” the moment you were back in one another’s arms.

You push your fingers just inside of his belt, teasing his trail as his lips separate from yours, his attack on your neck starting with rough hickeys and markings he wishes would just stay all the time so people would know you’re his.

As you undo his belt he briefly pulls back, looking apologetic. “I don’t have a—” You hold up the little square packet and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk, his lips crashing into yours once again, with a small, “I should’ve known this was your plan.”

It was. The second you got back yesterday you planned on having him at least nearby every second of the day, if not between your legs, until you got to share the news… Oh, shit, the news!

Your fingers pause while unbuttoning his jeans and you give him a wide smile that he returns. “Guess who’s sticking around for more than a week this time?” You announce awkwardly in a sing-song tone, still sniffling.

“Really?” He asks, rubbing circles on your hips. “They’re finally giving you a long overdue break?”

You nod and finally get his belt undone, pulling it from the loops of his pants in one swift movement that he matches by tugging yours down, tonguing the lobe of your ear.

God, you’ve missed him so fucking much.

He slowly runs his hands up the back of your shirt, lifting it off of you and making you shudder with excitement. “Hurry up, silly.” You try to say lightly in a joke, but it comes out breathless and needy.

“The things you do to me…” He returns in an equally heated murmur.

He tosses the foil of the condom aside at your pleas with a pained groan, quickly pinching the tip of the rubber and rolling it on. Normally he would pull your panties off and leave a trail of hickeys around your wet cunt, but this time he just pushes them aside to fuck you against the wall… Not that you're complaining. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he lifts one of your legs to rest on his hip, biting into the soft flesh of his freckled shoulder and taking a deep whiff of his hair.

He lines up and slowly pushes himself inside of you, shuddering with breathy moans he’s sure to make right next to your ear.

You bite down harder in a playful show of frustration, running one hand along the line of his pail ribs, the other toying with his jaw. —He seems to get the message, laughing elatedly as he sets a steady, slow pace, gripping one of your hips to angle you so that he can properly hit all the places he knows drive you crazy.

“You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone?” You say between a string of moans, your mind blurring with pure pleasure as you feel yourself hitting your climax, waves of ecstasy hitting. “I couldn’t help it, every time I saw something that reminded me of you I had to have it. I needed to get it.”

He seems pleased by the revelation, touching his lips to your neck to mark you again. “You fuckin’ better.” He thrusts grow needy and sloppy between your legs, his eyes half-lidded with bliss. “I can’t do shit when you’re not around because I can’t stop thinking about you. Worrying that the next time you leave something could happen, thinking about your skin and your voice.” He reaches down between you and brings his hand up to smear some of your slick across your lower lip. “I love being able to touch you and make you happy. I just love you.”

“I love you too.” You both lean in at the same time, pressing your mouths together again until he ceases above you with a few final thrusts, releasing into the frustrating plastic between you with a whimper.

Even after he finishes he remains between your legs for a moment, resting his ear against your chest to listen to your heartbeat as he waits for you to calm down and give him the go ahead to pull out.

After a moment of searching the room with your eyes you let out a shaky sigh, “Okay.”

He pulls back and gently lowers the leg he’d had hiked up on his hip to the floor, giving you a few kisses on the lips and cheeks before bending over to collect your clothes for you.

“We probably shouldn't have done that here, but we got carried away,” He says with a smug sigh, “They wanted us back an hour ago, and we were already running late before. We’re gonna be in so much trouble.” He adds.

You’re rolling your eyes and smiling so much that it hurts. “We always get carried away.” You say, reaching up to fidget with the glass star, only to make contact with the metal peony first as the chain is a bit longer.
“Oh…”

He pauses in the middle of buckling his belt to observe you, trying to gauge what that reaction means in this context.

“You want me to get rid of it? I already talked to a guy in Hilltop a few months ago who said he could melt it down and turn it into something else for you.” He suggests tentatively.

You scoff, a small smile coming to your face. “Seriously? You’re back on the ring thing?”

He shrugs, quickly looking back down to fasten his belt.

“No… I don’t think I want to melt this down…” You say slowly, bringing the flower up to the light so you can inspect it, “I don’t know what exactly it means to me, but it means something.”

It’s not clear glass like the star, but it has its own reflective quality to it, the scuffed metal almost looking like it glows when the light hits the spots Carl has nervously rubbed raw. This is the first time you’re actually seeing it without a screen of tears or panic between you and the peony, which lets you notice something hand engraved on the back of one of the petals.

‘The only blood that matters is in our hearts. —For our only baby, L.S. and N.S.’ With a small anatomical heart next to it.

You nearly bite clean through your lip, trying not to regret every decision that led to you being separated from them, but knowing their fate was always set in stone. Lucille was always going to die, and no matter where you went, Negan was going to go bat shit afterwards. The family you made together was doomed from the very day he started letting you in on his team’s practices.

Carl has finished getting dressed and approaches you, already able to tell that something is wrong by the look on your face. “What do you need from me?” He asserts, keeping a few inches between you.

“I just need some fresh air,” You say with another shaky breath, to which he nods, immediately retrieving the cleaver for you. “And I was wondering if… maybe next time you go out looking for him, I could come with. I want to talk to him before he gets his ass kicked by everyone.”

He cocks his head, words stalling behind his lips as he rolls the idea around in his brain. “Well… As long as it’s not too much for you, I’d be happy to have you with me out there,” He pauses, throwing a wink and an air kiss your way, “Sneaking out is boring without you.”

If you roll your eyes one more time, they might just roll into the back of your head permanently. “I’m sure it is, you massive dork.”

***

When you arrive back in Alexandria, Michonne sets a doting hand on Carl’s hat, pushing it down over his face. “You’re late,” She pauses and looks at you as you walk off to speak with Daryl, “You were both late.” She adds.

Carl shrugs, tipping his hat back up and giving you a look that practically screams heart eyes to anyone who can see his face, which thank the stars is only Michonne. “You’re always late and it’s never an issue, plus, you knew where we were if you thought we were in trouble.”

“Hm,” She hums, raising an eyebrow teasingly, “Well, when I come back I don’t smell like sex and shame.”

“Right, because you smell like sex and my dad.” Carl says back without wasting a second.

She’s stunned to silence for a short moment, before nodding approvingly. “Touché. —Just be safe and come to me if you need any, y’know,” She waves a hand, “Anything.”

Judith hops down the steps of the porch with a big grin on her little baby face, sprinting over to you when she sees that Carl is busy talking to Michonne, squealing, “You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!” And clinging to your leg.

It was far too late to wake her up yesterday when you came back from your last trip, and this morning when you left it was far too early for her to be up, so she hasn’t seen you yet like most people have.

“Yeah, I am,” You say with a small smile, kneeling down to give her a candy bar you’d found on your trip to the gas station and patting her on the head. “I missed you a whole lot, Judy.”

She takes the candy into her hands and presses it to her chest. “I missed you too… Will you play dolls with me later? Carl doesn't do it right.” She has her lips turned down into a pout.

Most of the time the people she grew up with can't play with her anymore because of everything going on, and it's clearly making her upset.

You know you aren't her first choice but, “Of course I will.”

Daryl groans when he sees Michonne and Carl start to play wrestle off in the distance, Michonne putting Carl in a headlock and slamming him to the ground.

“You gonna stick ‘round for awhile?” He asks without looking at you, “There’s work that needs doin’ if you’re interested, peaches. I know you like electrical shit, and there's more than one house that needs that kind of work. –Ain't gonna be easy though.”

You stand back up, taking your hands off of the little girl’s head as she takes off to join Carl and Michonne’s fight. She runs raising her arms with a roar as she throws herself on top of them, Michonne feigning weakness as she lets the two of them pin her down together.

“I’m definitely interested,” You say with a smirk, “Being on the road alone makes me can't wait to get my hands dirty again, so I don't see why not.”

“Good,” He nods while rubbing the back of his neck, eyes narrowing. “So… how’s Carol doin’? I wouldn't ask but I know you went over there… a-and I know she ain’t the nicest to ya’ but if you could tell me anything you saw, I’d be real grateful—”

You interrupt him, “Last I saw her she was still grieving Ezekiel and Henry. She kept crying, kept trying to leave but she couldn’t pull herself together long enough to get away from the wreckage.” You admit above a whisper, your shoulders dropping, “But she wanted to see you, so hopefully she can pull it together soon.”

You let yourself lean up against the wall of the Grimes’ house with him, watching the people in Alexandria pass by with stoney eyes, the rocking chair blowing in the wind on the porch.

Every time you came back there was more and more new people until you couldn’t possibly know all of them by name, but Carl did. He’d lay in the bed next to you, staring up at the ceiling with your hands laced in the air and tell you about them –who they are, where they came from, what they do now— and sometimes you’re able to recognize them, just from his descriptions of what kind of people they are. It's not like he's got files on them, he just… got to know them, gave them a chance and shared what he gleaned during everyday conversations.

You think you fall for Carl a little bit harder every time you see how beautiful of a soul he has.

Aaron passes by and waves at you two, a man you now know as Jesus walking by his side with their hands interlocked between them, smiles on their faces.

You wave back, giving them a nod and closed mouth smile of solidarity.

Jesus has been going out and gathering information about the Whisperers using the surprising amount of stealth and shortcuts he has, which is a job no one wanted to take or had the skills for, and he’s helped everyone’s understanding of the other group a lot. —He plans on going out with Daryl and Aaron again soon.

Daryl suddenly lets out a half-laugh, half-scoff, after the couple passes. “You’ll never guess who went and picked up guns, then went out and shot down a bunch of walkers in the middle of the night, tryna’ figure out how the Whisperers make their suits.”

“Really? Jesus did that?” You ask with disbelief. “That's… on a whole new level.”

“Not Jesus,” He smirks, "Keep guessing, I bet you a hundred bucks...” There's a long pause after he says that before he changes the stakes to something that actually makes sense to you, “I bet you three days rations you'll never get it.”

Your eyes widen, “Not Carl,” You say with certainty, to which he nods. “So, Rosita?”

“Nah, she’s been on this whole acceptance kick, gettin’ over Abraham and Sasha,” He raises his arm like he’s blowing a semi-truck horn, “Next stop on the military cry baby tour is Eugene at The Sanctuary.”

“Rick?” You say, more than a little confused. “He doesn't seem like the type to… Hm, I take that back actually.” You retract.

“Fuckin’ Gabriel,” He says with a few snickers.

You jump off of the wall, coming to stand in front of him with wide eyes and a huge smile, slapping him in the shoulder. “No way! No, you’re lying!”

He shrugs again, “Yes way. —That asshole totally took a page straight out of your midnight murder attempts book, but I can’t say I blame you for being surprised. He came back with a full, sloppily put together skin suit and said,” He lowers his voice to a mocking quiver, “I’m going to protect this place with everything in me, and purify these unholy abominations, no matter what needs to be done. I’ve spent more than long enough cowering while CHILDREN do our dirty work. Everyone should be ashamed aside from them.”

“Damn,” You say stomping your foot, “I should’ve been here, that sounds super badass. —Good for Gabriel though, I guess the whole pikes thing lit a fire under his ass too.”

Rick steps outside, his eyes falling on Carl, Michonne and— “Judith, you just had a bath…!” He says, slapping a hand over his face. “Come inside for dinner, please.”

“Rick, look,” Daryl says motioning at you.

He doesn’t look, still focused on the dirt getting all over his daughter's clothing. “Aw, geez, can you believe this?” He asks, motioning to the three of them with a fond smile as he repeats, “Michonne! Coral! Judith! Come inside and get washed up for dinner!”

Carl is beneath his sister and step mother, who quickly pulls him to his feet by the arm, lazily throwing arms around both of their shoulders.

“Rick,” Daryl says again, more sternly, but you hold up a hand motioning for him to keep quiet.

If he's not going to look over here, you have no choice but to pull some mischief. You kick Rick in the shoe with yours and he finally looks up, surprised for a moment until he sees your face and smiles.

“Oh, there you are,” He pauses, “Sorry I’ve been a little distracted with what you told me about the soil fertility at Hilltop…”

“‘S okay, I know how you and Carl are about gardening.”

“Farming,” He corrects with slight offense, then he nods to himself. “Why don’t you come inside for dinner too, so we can get the old gang back together? I already invited everyone else.” He says, eyes flicking between you and Daryl.

You try not to cringe at his choice of words, smiling, “That sounds nice.”

***

“Pass the potatoes,” Rosita demands, then shies away with the faintest, “...please.”

Daryl doesn't even bother paying her lack of manners, then added manners any attention, dropping the bowl down in front of her with a loud thud. “Here ya’ go,” He says with a mouth full of food.

Two tables are smashed together, lined on either side with everyone you've come to know and love, and a few extra people you've just met, but it makes your chest feel fuzzy.

You can remember failed dinners like this with your first family, your biological one, where you'd gather around a table and pick at food nobody really wanted to touch, waiting for the time they allotted to you to end.

Then you can remember the dinners you ate with Lucille and Negan, laughing all throughout the night, your cheeks flushed and happy. It didn't matter if you were eating from a punctured can or a bag of cat food, you were just happy to be together.

Then the days you and Negan spent alone, scarfing down whatever you could find…

Your fingers find their way to the peony around your neck, fingers ghosting over it before you remember Carl’s words: “He was your dad. You were always right, he loved you from the beginning, even before he took you in.”

The guilt you feel vanishes, letting yourself cradle the metal flower in your hand alongside the star. Your weak heart wants to believe what Carl said is true, because you can feel it in your bones from years of affection and unsaid words that left you completely at Negan’s mercy. –And he, at yours, his most trusted confidant, his daughter.

Even just the word brings a smile to your face.

If you were to close your eyes right now, you could almost picture him right next to you with everyone else, –Not the man with the bat, of course, but the kind, suburban dad who made you feel like you were in a toothpaste commercial, all smiles– holding your hand, talking about all the group's shared memories, and what he's going to do to keep Alexandria in shape.

“I can train people, and work in the infirmary too.” He'd say, then with a cocky grin, waving his fork at the group, he'd add, “I'm first-fucking-aid certified.”

And Rick would roll his eyes with a scoff, having a domestic distaste for the man instead of a murderous bloodlust.

Your peaceful daydreaming is disturbed when a flash of light goes off in front of you, Carl being caught taking a polaroid of the moment with the flash on. “Sorry…” He apologizes sheepishly when he realizes everyone is looking up at him.

You wondered why he was just standing up staring at the group with a smile, but now that he's finished relishing in the moment, he takes a seat between Rick and Judith, who is on your right.

“Let us pray,” Gabriel offers, submitting his hands to the people on either side of him. “Jesus, our savior, has once again provided for us.”

Jesus, on his left, just looks down at it, then back up at him. “No need. You're welcome guys,” He jokes, raising his hands in a shrug.

Aaron bursts into laughter, which other people around the table join in on almost immediately. —It makes you feel undeniably human for a moment, forgetting the threat of monsters lurking outside just beyond the walls.

Carl smiles to himself, blue eye reflecting the light of the candles in the room with a satisfied sigh as he looks around at all of his loved ones. “Peace,” He mutters to himself, closing his eye to savor the image.

You wish you knew what he was thinking, but you might have an inkling already.

Chapter 27: Negan

Traipsing through the woods looking for your escaped, deranged father wasn’t exactly Carl’s idea of a good date, but the way you lit up when he offered to take you searching again today dispelled any apprehension he had about the whole thing. You’ve gone stargazing and on picnic dates plenty of times before, and you will again as soon as he puts this whole thing to rest.

A twig snaps, a small squirrel scampering up a tree and out of view.

“Carl, did you hear that?” You whisper, putting a hand on your gun.

It’s around the thirtieth time you’ve attributed a small, unsuspecting noise to Negan, eagerly charging forward by yourself, but Carl still plays along.

“Yeah,” He answers, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It was just an animal, ‘s okay.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face the endless scape of trees around you, the wind blowing in your hair. The prospect of finding Negan in these woods, the same woods you’ve taken hundreds of times should have been easy, but day by day it’s starting to feel more like finding a needle in a haystack.

How on earth did Negan deal with the search for you coming up empty all that time?

Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe every time the search came up empty he only got more desperate to find you and bring you home safe. That’s certainly how you’ve been feeling. It’s such a rush that you can hardly sleep at night, just waiting for the sun to come up and it to be an acceptable time to suggest going out again.

There’s a crunch in the distance, then another, and another, in quick succession like the drag of a limping walker.

You immediately rush forward without a second thought, leaving Carl in the dust as you make your way in the direction of the noise through bushes and lush plants that block your line of sight to where the noise originated. It’s further than the others you’ve responded to, but boy is it worth it, because standing there in all his glory, is your dad. He’s a little worse for wear, his peppery stubble grown out more than usual and his jacket nowhere near as shiny as you know he likes it, Lucille swinging lowly at his side— probably because of the walker lying on the ground.

Your heart swells with excitement, mind racing with joy and fear of your impending reunion as you start to take a step forward.

“You okay, kid? It didn’t get you did it?” He asks before you can actually take that step, and you almost want to let yourself believe his words are meant for you until another girl around your age stands up from the brush.

She has a small smile on her lips, something pretty and untainted by the horrors of the world on her rounded face, freckles adorning her skin, with dark silky hair that looks just like old pictures of Lucille’s.

“Does it matter? We should keep moving.” She requests, tugging the hood of her dirty red and white track hoodie back up.

He lets out a noise you can only describe as worry, grabbing one of her arms to stop her, and you’re ashamed to admit that there’s a small part of you that wishes he would hit her, or yell at her, or tell her to be stronger instead of letting something as stupid as a walker get the upper hand in a 1v1, but he doesn’t.

“Let me see.”

You let out a shaky, stuttering breath as your dad drops Lucille on the ground to cup this stranger's face in his hands.

“Daddy– Negan, I'm fine…” She grumbles, as if his affection is overbearing.

It should be impossible for him to be this gentle with someone, for him to cast the bat that was even more important to him than you aside so casually, it’s just not in his nature. Yet here he is with this girl you’ve never seen before, doting on her and coddling her instead of demanding she be better like he’d done all your life.

You want to be angry at him, but the insecure part of yourself that still wants his approval just keeps asking what’s wrong with you. What about you made him feel he couldn’t treat you this gently? Why were you never good enough?

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, blood trickling down in place of the tears you’re holding back as you draw your gun and step out into the open.

The girl sees you first and gasps, drawing her knife. Negan has his back turned to where you are now, but when she pulls her weapon he kicks Lucille up into his hands and takes a wide swing without even bothering to look at what he might be hitting, then holds the weapon in your direction threateningly, a warning that you’re familiar with.

When his eyes lock with yours, recognition crossing his features, they widen, glossing over. “Baby girl?” He says under his breath, then the girl tries to tug him away from you, like you’re the danger. His attention turns back to her. “Lydia, relax, I know this kid. She isn’t—”

This kid?

You click the safety off of the gun, cocking your head to the side. “Lydia, huh?”

Just look at him, about to reassure her again that nothing will happen to her. How could he be so sure that you aren’t going to shoot him between the eyes right now, when you know damn well that you should? —No one would even blame you for it, and god, how good it would feel for everything between you to finally come to an end.

His nose scrunches when you say her name, the hand not holding Lucille moving back to push her behind him protectively. “I know what this looks like, baby, but I swear it’s not like that,” He tries to soothe, lowering the bat ever so slightly, “I just need to get her home safe to some friends and then I’ll get the fuck out of your way, I swear it on my life.”

“Out of my way?” You don’t lower the gun but you finally let your lip slip out of your teeth, lapping at the residual crimson.

The girl cowering behind him, holding her knife so sloppily that if she actually tried to stab into anything with it she'd cut open the palm of her hand and expose herself to being infected, gives you a sharp look, daring you to get any closer as if she could do anything about it.

“Looks like you found someone to play house with,” You seethe, pointing the gun at where she’s peeking out behind him, “Someone who actually looks like her.”

“No.” He says sternly, “Nobody could ever replace you baby girl, never. What her mom and I had was a mistake. She’s bad. —Worse than me, even.”

It seems like he knows that’s the exact opposite of what he should have said when your brows furrow with confusion, your trigger finger only curling tighter. “Her mom? You and her, and her mom, all together in one big happy fucking family?”

In the past, such simple assurances would have been enough to placate you back into silence, but now, after months of being in the dark and thinking he hated you until Carl told you the truth, it just makes you even more uncertain. Just how long has he been with this girl?

His demeanor softens as he takes a step forward, lowering the bat slowly. “Baby, it killed me to let you go but I was poisoning you—”

Let you go?

“You left me!” You shriek, waving the gun around between the two of them, “You didn’t let me go anywhere, you took that choice away from me. –All my choices, right up until the very end!”

There’s a pause at this, his head tilting to the side, eyes flickering over your face to analyze your pain until he sees the necklace around your neck. –Carl must have told you what happened, or at least some version of the story. The only question is what he'd perverted to result in his obedient, soft daughter before him with a gun.

“That's it?” You push with a pang of sadness at his silence, “You're not even… going to deny it or explain why?”

Negan decides he can’t waste anymore time. He has to get Lydia somewhere safe, even if it means disarming you and leaving you behind in the woods, confused, and bleeding from the heart again. –He knows Carl and the rest of the people from Alexandria will help you lick your reopened wounds again, hell, they might even blame themselves for letting you out on your own, so he tries what he’s always done best; Manipulating.

“Baby,” He starts with a proud smile, eyes narrowing with something that looks like pride. “You’ve gotten stronger, I can tell. Meaner, too, with a smug mug and a glare that fuckin’ kills. Actually, you're startin’ to look a lot like me—”

You fire a warning shot, the bullet grazing the girl’s shoulder. She lets out a frightened scream, slapping a hand over the open wound.

“Jesus, fuck! Eli, stop it!” He shouts, but stops himself from berating you too much as the girl picks up a backpack lying near them and takes off running.

“Guess you weren’t that close after all.”

He shoots you a glare, silently cursing you for scaring her off. “What is it that you want from me now, kid? You’re better off without me! Just fuckin’ look at you! —I’m not good for people! I did you a goddamn favor by leaving you with those people and you repay me by stopping the one truly good thing I've tried to do on my own?” He reaches out to take away the gun but you kick him in the stomach, causing him to keel over and clutch the area.

He hadn’t expected you to retaliate after he expressed his disappointment, but that was his mistake.

“I don’t know what I want.” But you never wanted him to leave. “I might never know what I want again, but right now, all I know is that you aren't getting the fuck out of this. –You don't get to walk away again.”

His hand falls, his upper body unfolding so he can be face to face with you again, the self consciousness in your voice seeping through to stab him in the heart. You almost sound… afraid… that he might leave you again, despite being the one in full control of the situation. You have the gun.

“Oh, baby girl…” It’s getting harder for him, especially when he sees the blood on your lips and the shake in your hands. “I know you’re fuckin’ pissed, you have every right to be, but I didn’t plan on this. My hands were dirty as shit because of everything I did, and you were clean. I couldn’t keep tainting you like that… They wanted you, you wanted them, and I was… I was too weak to protect you from yourself.” He glances over his shoulder to where the girl went, and fuck if you aren't tempted to pop him in that moment, but you listen.

You can’t let your emotions get the better of you with stakes this high, not with the end this close.

“You heard her name, right? Lydia.” He repeats, trying to get the name to stick with you. “Lydia's mom is a real piece of shit, she runs a group called the Whisperers, and they don’t discriminate when it comes to killin’ and hurting kids.”

He sees the recognition that flickers in your eyes at the name.

“Those assholes?” You mutter under your breath, your guard lowering for the first time since the conversation started as your eyes search the grass, deep in thought.

“Mhm, yeah,” He nods in agreement, motioning once again for you to lower the gun. “Those assholes.”

Your gaze becomes accusatory, coming back up to meet his. “And you were fucking their leader? Her mom?”

He doesn’t answer the question, the silence hanging between you an answer in itself.

“Of course you were…” A deranged man, through and through.

“She was letting them do whatever they wanted to Lydia, so I told her I could get her to one of the settlements and free her. That’s all. She’s not my daughter, she’s nothing like you. No one’s ever replacing you, baby.”

You lower the gun slightly, “I’m always going to love you. Nothing will ever change that, and I know it, but I also hate you.” You confess, “Every day I wonder how much of me is you, if what I’m saying is because of you, how life would be if you could’ve kept your shit together when Lucille died, like Rick did when his wife did…” You shake your head slightly, giving him a pleading look, “It’s things like this that make me worry about myself. —You haphazardly took in another kid and got her to call you dad with no intention of taking any responsibility for her.”

He nods, not bothering to fully consider your words. “You needed a dad, and I’m not one.”

“You are,” You shake your head with a scoff that almost turns into a tired laugh, “A shitty dad, but you stuck around.”

His eyes widen, mouth parting for a moment as the weight of this interaction hits him for the first time.

He's alone in the woods with the person who should resent him the most, and they have a gun, but the part that hits him hardest is realizing that he doesn’t feel the need to protect you anymore, rather he has to stop his fingers where they twitch to prevent himself from picking up the bat to defend himself… Since when were you the enemy?

“So, are you going to kill me? Let me have my last words and then put one right between the eyes?” He eggs on, not knowing what possesses him to taunt you.

Maybe it's insecurity in the fact he's not in control, and hasn't been since he lost The Sanctuary… Or maybe it has to do with the satisfying feeling he gets when he thinks of you being the one to end the mess he put himself in. If you were the one to do him in, he thinks he'd be okay with that.

“I can't deny I thought about it… a lot,” You swallow hard, finally lowering the gun on your own accord. “–What I would do when I saw you again, how I'd make you pay… and none of it was pretty, Negan, but I don't want you dead.”

“So what then?”

“I'm bringing you back to Alexandria.” You pause, sniffling dryly, “You're going to pay for your crimes, but I won't let them execute you. I hate you too much to see you go out quickly like that, but I'll let them choose what to do with you.”

He kicks up the bat again, hesitantly clenching it in his hands as he winds back, ready for a fight. “You know I can't let you do that, baby girl. That's not how this works, I can't just give it all up like this…”

“I do,” You say with conviction, tossing the gun aside to work with your own knife, which you know can be used to incapacitate him in a non-lethal way. He'd been the one to teach you after all.

Taking a deep breath he shrugs back his concerns, stepping back to let you get your feet into the clearing properly. “If we’re doing this, I’m not gonna play dirty. Not with you.” He clarifies, but as soon as you plant your feet into the ground he takes a forceful swing at your head, the whoosh of the bat ghosting your hair as it comes down for a second time, skinning your leg.

You let out a snuffed scream of pain, ducking away from his next swing, attempting to slash him back, but he blocks it with Lucille, forcing you into the tree behind you and pressing the barbed wire into your neck.

The force gradually gets harder until you don’t have any choice but to sink your knife into his side, somewhere in his upper thigh instead of the soft, mortal flesh of his torso. You don’t mean to, but with your eyes you plead for an ending straight from a fucked up fairytale, one where the fighting stops and you walk home side by side.

He groans, clenching his teeth as he pulls the knife out of himself and tosses it out of reach, pushing harder on your neck. “We don’t have to do this shit,” He says desperately, “Turn a blind eye for me, and I’ll turn you loose. Easy-peasy, no necks getting squeezy.”

It feels like he might actually snap your windpipe, you think for a moment, but then you remember being in this exact position with Dwight and shallow out your breathing, making room to pry his fingers from your neck and gripping the wound you made on him, feeling the hot crimson liquid leak through the slats of your fingers.

“Shit! You little fucking asshole!”

It works, he lets you go, and you rush straight for the weapon in the grass.

Once the blade is safely in your possession you turn back towards him where he’s putting pressure on the gash in his thigh, his other hand holding him steady on the tree, your hand nursing the punctured crown around your throat.

“This is for you too, you know?” You say, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I might want you to hurt for what you did, but there’s still a part of me that thinks you can be saved.”

He furrows his brows, “That makes you a goddamn idiot.”

“No,” You say with complete certainty, “You being with that stupid girl pissed me off for a lot of personal reasons, but you were right. —It was selfless of you to save her from a situation like that when you could have just watched. You were always like that, you had rules about people suffering and having to live with the damage done to them. You protected the weak, and made sure they learned to take care of themselves.”

“And look how that always goes for me!” He snaps, pressing forward to cut the bat across the air around you, back and forth.

He’s exhausting himself, and he knows it, but he’s desperate to get you to be quiet.

“Yeah, look!” You say, motioning to yourself once you’ve backed a decent distance away from him. “A daughter who can defend herself against a grown man with a bigger weapon!”

He cracks the bat down again, pitifully missing. “Shut up!” He begs, tears starting to burn his own eyes as he watches you desperately try to pull him back to sanity with you.

“A daughter who thinks even murderers can be saved because there’s good in everyone!” You say, not even bothering to dodge the next hit, as he completely miscalculates his swing out of pure desperation, a few crazed strands falling from his usually neatly slicked back hair. “And if you still don’t believe me just look at yourself!”

He brings Lucille down again as you jump over a rotted out fallen tree, the wood squishing and keeping the bat lodged inside of it no matter how hard he tugs.

“You saved me, dad!” You confess, dropping the knife and kicking it over to his feet. “There was always some good in you, even before all of this started when you thought you couldn’t get any more depraved. —Lucille stayed. —I stayed.” You keep walking towards him where he’s trying to dislodge the weapon, still trying to pull him above the ice floor separating you. “I thought I was broken and you walked up in that stupid coach uniform with popsicles and a smile, and you kept me afloat. —Even when you started killing people, I stayed!”

“Be quiet,” He says in a deep snarl, a boot slamming up beside the weapon to try and help dislodge it. “Just be fucking quiet…”

“When you started collecting wives, offering them things that used to come so easily before everything happened in exchange for their lives, I stayed!” Your hand comes up to clench the chest of your shirt, “It didn’t matter what you did because I knew you were still the soft man who took me in. —The man who knew that every person had worth.”

“Some people are worthless.” He seethes, but you ignore him.

“Even when you were running The Sanctuary you would make sure the workers didn’t get killed on the job, because you care. —That’s why you blew up on Rick when they murdered everyone in the satellite station.” You’re close enough that you can reach out and grab him now, his hands slowly releasing the bat and dipping into his jacket for what looks like a self-soothing hug. It’s so uncharacteristically soft that it puts you at ease, almost feeling the way the wall between you vanishes. You rest a hand on his shoulder, thumbing it softly before retracting the hand. “Even when you hurt me too… I stayed.”

He takes a peek at you over his shoulder, a single tear streaking its way down his cheek, face otherwise untouched.

You offer him a soft smile, holding out your arms for a hug. “I’m still here.”

He slowly reaches out to wrap an arm around your upper body, your muscles untensing in preparation for the hug you’ve been secretly wishing you could get for months, face leaning up so you can rest it on his shoulder…

Only to feel the sting of betrayal when his hands slip out from his jacket and a knife plunges into the softness of your stomach, stuck deep somewhere you’d be sure to bleed out if you were actually by yourself out here.

You can’t even bring yourself to scream, mouth falling open with confusion and betrayal as you try to hold him tighter, but the tighter you hold him, the further he sticks the knife into you, your own blood gushing out and pooling around your shoes, trickling down your legs.

“D-D-Dad?” You manage in a whisper, and suddenly the knife is ripped from you, the arm around your upper body releasing you and letting you fall to the ground on your back.

It feels like you’re swallowing something metallic and warm, your entire body writhing with pain. What the hell did he peirce? It was just for show, right? To prove a point? He would never ACTUALLY hurt you, would he? It’s inconceivable.

“It… h-hurts? Dad—” You feel yourself actually choke and force yourself to stop talking, shaking your head in denial against the forest floor.

He hasn’t made a single move to run, standing above you with the knife in hand, eyes wide as your eyes flicker open and shut, not comprehending the situation around you.

The scene playing out before him reminds him of the day you’d been shot, lying in a pool of your own blood, innocently crying out to him for help as you started slipping in and out of lucidity. —And that day he would have done anything to scoop you up and hold you in his arms.

So that’s exactly what he does.

He keeps the knife clenched tight in his fist, pulling you into his lap bridal style so he can rock you, watching your eyes flick over the clouds in the sky while a lump in his throat forms. You’re dying, and you’re dying because he stabbed you.

He brushes your hair back, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “See? What did I tell you, baby girl? I hurt people. —That’s all I’ll ever do.” His voice breaks as he delivers what was supposed to be a cocky line, your hand clenching the stomach of his shirt for dear life.

“Please—” You beg, choking again and shutting your eyes as his tears start to drip down onto your face. “Please m-make it stop. I wan— I want you to come h-home with me.”

He can’t bring himself to end your pain. He didn’t even mean to stab you in the first place, it just happened. There was a dark part of him buried beneath everything else that knew everyone he loved would betray him, and so after what he did to you it felt impossible that you weren’t going to stab him in the back. So he did it first. He wasn’t lying to himself when he thought you killing him would be better for the world, he would have accepted that.

But you didn’t want to kill him.

You wanted justice.

Redemption.

What a fucking joke.

He pulls you flush against his chest and lifts you up, the knife falling to the ground as he starts carrying you into the woods, slamming his foot against the handle of Lucille to free her. He doesn’t know where he’s going. Hell, he doesn’t even know where he is.

“P-Please, stop,” You cry out in pain as he adjusts his hold on you, moving you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “I-I can’t…”

But you’re going together.

***

He vaguely remembers your cries going silent, the fighting tension in your limbs becoming limp coldness as he walked, but you aren’t dead. No, if you were dead you would have turned and bitten into where your face is pressed into the warm crook of his neck by now, so he presses on.

A part of him that nearly faints at the idea of even just seeing you skin your knee recalls carrying you up to bed like this when you were younger and everything started. —That same part of him keeps quietly lulling you and humming long forgotten, butchered nursery rhymes in your ear, gently bouncing you.

He passes by The Kingdom, only observing the ashes of what was once a populous dream —a place you used to say you wished you could have seen more often because it was like a real life wonderland— pausing for a moment, but only a moment, before continuing along his path.

Seeing it gave him a good idea of where he was, and where he needed to go if he’s going to get there. Where is there? He isn’t sure yet.

Your arm twitches and he stops, resting a comforting hand against the back of your head to give you the opportunity to sink your teeth into him for what he did if you wish, like a mother offering her breast to her young, but the cries start up again and he realizes you passed out from blood loss before.

“Shh-shh,” He hushes, bouncing you again.

He walks over to someplace that looks safe enough to sit and rests you on the trunk of a car, holding you upright and shrugging off his leather jacket to wrap it around you because— god you’re so cold, it’s unnatural.

The jacket looks much too big on you and against the newfound paleness of your skin, the black leather makes you look terrifyingly white and frail.

“You should bite me, even if you aren’t…” He trails off, letting the wind fill the silence between you.

There’s a farm across a field, a rusted out red truck with trees dancing and walkers stumbling, but each time you blink it’s like there’s people there. Not monsters. Just people, going about their business and taking care of the farm, going elbow deep into the hood of the truck to fix the engine… Then you blink again and they’re all snarls and gnashing teeth, rotted skin pulled towards the ground with time.

He sees your eyes looking off into the distance, tries to see what you’re so content with looking at, but he can’t. Your breathing is soft and creaky, and when he lets go of you, you slump forward like you can’t hold your own weight anymore, then back, to lean on the trunk with a settling sigh, your eyes drifting up to the clouds once again.

You mumble something he can’t quite understand, repeating it again and again until he finally makes out a soft, “It’s… gonna rain, dad.”

It’s such a mundane thing to say. The first words you manage after the betrayal he committed are about the weather, warning him even now.

“Yeah, baby,” He nearly breaks down sobbing, heart aching as he kneels down in front of you and tears a piece of his shirt off, barely managing to keep it together for your sake as he tries to patch the wound temporarily. “Don’t move, okay? You’re bleeding a lot.”

Your eyes flicker over to the tree line. “Do you think she’ll be okay out there? —When it rains?”

Realization hits him like a truck, Lydia having been forgotten in his scramble to get away from the site where he… did this.

“Probably.” He dismisses.

“I only let her go because I knew we were near Hilltop… She ran in the right direction,” You smile, turning your head back towards the clouds again. “She just needed some guidance… through the shoulder.” You joke, referring to the bullet.

He stands up, mouth parting with surprise as he lets out a shaky huff. —Even when you hated the girl for everything she stood for, you still made sure she was going to get somewhere safe instead of putting her in danger when you decided to fight the man.

“I shouldn’t get to live after this,” Negan confides with a cough to cover up a sob, “You should be standing above me, spitting on my body and swinging on me instead of… this. —Anything but this. You’re right to hate me. I hate myself.”

Your eyes narrow, your neck straining as you try to sit up, but the man pushes you back down. “Don’t strain yourself,” He warns.

“I benched you. To keep you safe. —Let you breathe for a minute, calm down, refocus.”

The memory bubbles up, but instead of weighing heavily on your mind like they normally do when they return, it fades away, popping.

“I don’t hate y-you. I’m sorry I ever said that, I was just so angry…” You admit, tears spilling over your eyes again as you start sobbing again. “I’m glad you’re here, even if sometimes it feels like I’ll never forgive you. I want to.”

He pulls you into a hug, lightly stroking the back of your head and your shoulder blades, not caring about the way your blood is seeping into his white t-shirt as he does it. —It’s torn anyway.

“I want to go back,” He howls desperately, “I want to go back and undo what I did. I want you to make it through this, baby girl.” He pulls back from the hug and rests his forehead against yours, letting your tears cocktail with his and fall between you onto his leather jacket around you. “It should have been me. I should have to pay for everything I’ve done.”

He keeps whispering a mixture of self-hatred and comfort into your ear until the rain starts trickling down, a thunder clap sounding in the distance.

You want to stay like this forever but your body won’t let you, torn between nausea and exhaustion. So you try to remind yourself of what you need to do before you end up slipping away again, trying very poorly to hide the terror you’re in as you pull back.

“I don’t feel good.”

He runs his thumb along your cheek, searching your eyes until he understands. “You’re gonna pass out again?”

You reach into the front of your shirt and tug and the two necklaces around your neck like you’re going to pull them off, but you’re too weak to actually accomplish this, so you settle for holding them. “If I—”

“You won’t.” He denies quickly, pushing them back down to your chest.

“But if I do, I want you to keep the flower and give the other one back to Rick… make peace with them so we can all live in peace,” You narrow your eyes lovingly at the glass star, admiring the way water accumulates at each point before falling down. “To be honest, I don’t know that I’ll actually wake up again, but I want him to know. —I want all of them to know, that way they don’t waste time looking for me. I love the people there. They’re like a second family to me …And dad?”

His hand is tense on the car beside you, the veins of his hands and arms showing as he tries to use it to ground himself and prevent an outburst at his own helplessness. “Yes, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby girl,” He takes your hand in his, softly squeezing. “There’s nothing left I need to be here for except you.”

***

After you vanished into the woods Carl spent hours trying to retrace your steps, only to find a pool of blood and your discarded hunting knife, which meant as much as he wanted to keep looking for you, he needed to go and get more help. If the Whisperers were involved in whatever happened to you, he was going to need backup.

He was disappointed to learn however, that most of the new people in Alexandria didn’t have any interest in going after someone they didn’t know in the midst of an unknown community attacking them and bad weather, not even if he begged them, and most of what Carl would consider the original group were out doing various things to protect the damn place, which left three other people to help with the search for you. His dad, Michonne, and Rosita.

Only four people to cover over a hundred acres that he’s already spent months searching through by himself for Negan and turned up nothing.

Rick sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder, staring out at the woods as he considers the impossible task before them. “We’ll find her.”

Carl gives him a skeptical look, reaching up to adjust his hat only for his fingers to go straight through the space as he recalls giving it to Judith this morning before he left.

Rosita pushes past them and into the woods by herself. “We’d better, and soon. If the weather gets any worse we’re gonna have to go back,” She sighs, “We don’t want to work on wet ground, the tracks and any markers we place to track where we’ve been will be erased.”

Rick catches a few drops of rain in his hand, rubbing it between his pointer and thumb. “I wish we had Daryl… He would probably be able to do this better than we can.”

“Well, we don’t,” Michonne chimes in, slinging an arm around Carl’s shoulder when she sees his face fall. “All that means is that we have to work twice as hard.”

The boy shakes his head, shrugging her arm off. “All that means is that she could be like Sophia when we find her. No one could have changed that.”

Rick’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead, the abrupt mention of the little girl shocking him to the core.

“You should have seen the blood, dad,” He lets out a soft cry under his breath, trying to hold it together. “If you had then you’d know it’s been too long. It took hours for us to get out here and more for me to even figure out anythin’ had gone wrong in the first place.”

Carl comes to a stop at the edge of the clearing where he found your knife, clenching the handle of the blade in his hands as he steps over a bush into the space.

“This is where the blood—” He stops dead in his tracks, able to notice the gun on the ground from where he is now, immediately rushing over to that area. How could he have been so stupid as to forget he has a blind spot?, he wonders, gritting his teeth.

Rick and Michonne follow suit, seeing what he is and the brutal picture it paints of what happened here. The gun. A broken bracelet spilled in the grass he knows for a fact doesn’t belong to you. The blood. The scuff marks up a tree. The deep drags in the dirt and disturbed forest floor.

“You said the blood you found was still wet, right? As in fresh blood wet, not rain wet?” Rick analyzes the scene, gaze turning critical as he tries to tap into the cop within him to string together a cohesive timeline. First thing’s first, the fight clearly ended near the larger pool of blood, so this would be the area to figure out what happened before that. “It looks like the fight started in this area,” He motions vaguely to the ground surrounding the tree, then points along a path leading to where Carl found the knife. “And went that way.”

Michonne aims a hand at a bullet hole barely showing through the tree bark, pacing around to figure out where the person aiming the gun would have been standing and settling on a spot directly in front of the bracelet, a few yards away.

“The gun is hers. I remember her carrying it around sometimes, but it was originally from the armory.” She kneels down and picks the gun up, passing it between her hands to inspect the body before opening it up and checking the cylinder. “She only fired once.”

Rick kneels down near her, picking up pieces of the bracelet. “But there’s no spatter from the shot. So maybe…” He holds a bead up to the light, noting how clean it looks, “Maybe she got into a fight with a Whisperer because she tried to shoot them thinkin’ they were a walker and she missed? There was clearly a struggle here, but if she was the only one hurt, she wouldn’t have been able to make it over there and bleed that much after this. She would have passed out.” A person can only lose so much blood depending on their size, so there’s no way both spots are from you.

“So which blood is hers?” Michonne vocalizes.

Carl lets out an annoyed sigh, eye searching the forest and wishing he could take off and leave them to sit here and piece things together while he looks for you. It rubs him the wrong way to know you’re out here in this weather, probably hurt, maybe even captive or…

He shakes his head, deciding to offer up even the most basic information he knows. “The bracelet isn’t hers, she didn’t have anything like that.”

They both look over at him, scrunching up their faces, Michonne picking up a bead that’s in the shape of a cartoonish pink flower. “So there was another kid here at some point?” She suggests, “Or maybe she got this while she was gone and you just hadn’t seen it yet, Carl.”

Rick shakes his head, eyes flicking back and forth at the scene before widening, something clicking in his mind. “No, wait a minute, I think I get it now.” He stands up, walking over to the spot you’d been standing when you’d shot Lydia in the shoulder and lining his hands up to mimic the shot like Michonne had done.

He looks so passionate that Carl takes a step forward to watch, hoping that whatever he’s figured out will help them find you.

“She was over here,” He repeats, starting to lay out the information they know to weave his theory in, “She stepped out of the brush to ambush the people, one adult and one child of undetermined age,” He lifts the hand to mimic a gunshot, “She decided for some reason that she needed to shoot, and I doubt she did it for herself. Maybe she thought the child was in danger or needed help and tried to shoot the adult, but missed? There was a scuffle. She grabbed the kid's arm and snapped the bracelet by accident, but the adult was already aware of her presence at that point and they ended up in the fight?”

Michonne frowns, kicking the walker lying nearby with the toe of her boot. “And how does he play into that story, exactly? I think the walker snapped the bracelet.”

“If that’s the case, then maybe she jumped out to save them and came across more than she bargained for,” He sighs, “The kid might have been a diversion to attack whoever tried to help them. Wouldn’t be the first time. —Used to happen before too.”

Carl’s eye catches the vaguest blur of something red in the overwhelming amount of dull greenery around them, and even though most of it’s been washed away by the rain he can tell it’s blood.

“There’s a trail.” He announces, taking off in that direction, one hand on his gun and the other loosely slapping at the plants in his way of getting to it. He doesn’t even care that his legs ache after hours of frantically searching for you, he just wants to find you, find anything that might tell him how to get you back.

The trail is sparse, the group of three having to split up at times to figure out where the next bit of blood is leading to, at times the trail doubling back around on itself in a strange way that reminds him of cursive. —He isn’t sure what would be worse, if you were at the end of all this blood, or if you weren’t.

Eventually Rosita returns, following their muddy footprints, the rain going from a trickle to a steady pour that makes all of their stomachs sink. Carl already knows what she’s going to say, so when she rests a sorry hand on his shoulder he turns his back on her and keeps pushing forward, trying to ignore the way that his boot slips on the mud, proving her point.

He feels like a hound, everytime he catches the sight of crimson taking off like a feral dog, everytime he smells iron in the air, spinning around to find the source, but never quite catching up.

Michonne’s eyes suddenly widen, her arm flying out to hold Carl back, her eyes fixed on a point straight ahead.

“What?” He asks, heart racing, which only gets worse when she starts to try and shield him from the sight. “No, what is it? What did you find?”

“Rick.” It’s one word, simple and pointed, but it’s enough to make his dad straighten where he stands. —He sees whatever it is too and draws his gun, marching forward.

“What? Dad, what is it?” Carl repeats with increasing panic, trying to get past the woman or get a peek over her shoulders, but she won’t let him. It’s all too familiar to the way she reacted when they found Enid’s head on a pike, but this time, she’s not letting him go. “Michonne, please? Please?” He pleads with her. “I need to see, please let me—”

Two shots fire, the smell of blood hitting his nose almost instantly, sending him into a tailspin and causing him to start thrashing and jerking against her protective hold.

“Let me go!” He yells at the top of his lungs, voice cracking, “I need to know! Please, let me go! Please! It’s not her, it can’t be her!” A few tears manage to squeeze their way out as he loses his grip on staying composed for your sake. “I-It’s not fuckin’ her! It’s not! Let me go! This is bullshit!”

Finally Rick returns to his line of sight, eyes trained on the ground, letting the silence drag on for an agonizingly long moment as he tries to come up with something coherent to say, leaving Carl holding his breath.

“It wasn’t.” He manages, “It was just blood on the trunk that the walkers were after. —It was fresh, still had a little warmth to it…” He raises his eyes to meet Carl’s, raising the bat he’d found leaning up against the car to let him see it. It’s got wood underneath the bends of the barbed wire, the handle caked in a mixture of dirt and blood, the shiny weapon he was once so afraid of reduced to sporting equipment in his father’s hands. It looks so small compared to what he pictures in his memory, but he reminds himself that’s probably because its merciless user is nowhere in sight. “There were drag marks too, so either…”

Either Negan’s got you, or it’s just him.

Michonne loosens her grip on him, shifting her arms to be around his neck in a hug. “I’m really sorry I did that, but I had to, Carl. It wouldn’t have been fair to let you see something like that again.”

He doesn’t answer, blinking out at the farm as he tries to catch his breath from the panic he was sent into, somehow even less calm than he was before now that he knows the possibilities of what’s actually happened to you.

“And remember to watch your mouth,” Rick reminds quietly, almost ashamed for not knowing what to say. “I’ll give you a pass for now considering the circumstances, but you can’t be swearin’ like that around Judith.”

Carl just nods weakly, his hands coming up to meet Michonne's to anchor himself back to his calm and collected state.

Once he’s calm enough to move again, which isn’t very calm at all, he runs his hands down his face and keeps walking. He doesn’t see a clear trail to follow like with the blood before, but he remembers Daryl talking about how to look for signs of human tracks, shoe patterns and disturbed soil, following every little mark he can identify.

***

“Ta-da!” Your dad pulls the silver lid off of a rather regular plate, revealing the spaghetti he made for dinner. “See? I told you that I wasn’t going to burn your house down, prick.”

Rick nods, clearly annoyed by the other man. “That you did.”

“It looks good! —Smells good too,” You smile, taking a deep whiff of the air that nearly sends you into a coughing fit, your breath hitching. You feel another sharp pain in your stomach and reach down to clutch it, your hand hitting the table in front of you before you can.

Both men turn to you, confused, but you can hardly make their faces out with the tears stinging at your eyes from the coughing.

“Sorry,” You say hoarsely, taking a sip of water, “I’m just really hungry I guess.”

Your dad rushes over too fast for a simple coughing fit, wrapping his arms around you tightly and pressing you into the crook of his neck. Overprotective much? But that’s just how he is, isn’t it…? “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’ve got you, baby.” He soothes.

It briefly crosses your mind that it’s strange for him to be this affectionate with you, but before you can consider it for longer than a second Carl rounds the corner of the kitchen and walks over to you with a wide smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He coos lovingly, taking his hat off of his head and pulling it down over your eyes.

“Hey, I was just about to— Woah!” He suddenly reaches out and pulls you by the arm to try and force you out of the room, but you catch the doorframe in time to stop him, shooting a glance at your dad and Rick where they’re hovering over the table.

Your dad looks over his shoulder, mixing something in a large teal bowl with a whisk. “Hang in there, kiddo.”

You’re pretty sure it’s meant to be a joke, but his tone is all wrong for it.

Carl tries tugging you with more force, digging his heels into the floor, but you curl your fingers around the doorframe to stay in place. “Aren’t we going to eat with them?”

“Nope, we’re going upstairs to play with Judith,” He says, pulling you again, “Plus, we aren’t cooks. You know we don’t belong in the kitchen…!” He jokes, then laughs for an uncomfortable amount of time, tipping his head back from the way it erupts out of him.

You give him a skeptical look, loosening your grip. “Do we have to leave?”

“Eventually.”

Your fingers slip from the frame and you feel your skin split open, the warm blood running down from your fingers to your palm and then curling around the bend of your elbow as you hold it up to your face to watch.

“Carl, I cut my hand. Bad.” You say, looking up at him.

He keeps smiling, cocking his head. “Did you?”

What’s going on with him?

“Yeah, I—” You pause as he pulls your hand back up to your face and you see the clean skin of your arm. No cuts, no damage, no blood, not even the slightest hint of the irritation your skin felt a few moments ago. “Wait, no… I could’ve sworn I just cut my hand on the doorframe. There was blood all over the place.”

You want to ask him what the hell is going on but before you can he says, “You’re acting kind of strange, are you feeling okay?” Slinking a hand around your waist as he leads you up the stairs.

You suddenly feel embarrassed by your own behavior, both in the kitchen and now with him. Everything you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you, just perfect, and you’re worried about NOT being injured?

“I guess I’m just tired,” You dismiss, starting to take the lead up to Judith’s room.

He still manages to get past you and reaches for the door handle, shooting you one last loving smile, his eyes squinting. “You know, you’ve always been safe here with me, right? I would never let anything happen to you.”

“Come on, baby… I need you, you hear me? I need you.” Your father shouts from downstairs, a few pans clattering.

You try to turn your head in the direction of the stairs, but Carl catches your chin in a light grip and guides you back to face him. “Ignore him.”

“But he’s calling me, he needs help with—”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says quietly, his grip on your chin shifting to cradle your cheek as he plants a kiss on your forehead. “Just… pay attention to me for now. Going down there is only going to get you hurt…” He pauses, seeing that you’re not totally convinced. “We’re not chefs, remember?”

“I guess not, but…” You bite into your lower lip, “It feels wrong to just ignore him.”

“You’re not ignoring him,” He says, lowering himself to level his blue eyes with yours, bringing his other hand up to rest on your other cheek. “You’ll have all the time in the world to talk to him, get smothered by all his affection, and get to do everything you want… You just need to hold out for a little while longer. —Sometimes it’s better to wait for things. Sometimes it’s not safe.”

You’re about to respond to him again, the words dying on your tongue when at this level you realize something is horribly wrong. You do a double take, once, then again, eventually resorting to brushing his fringe aside just to be sure of what you’re seeing, your eyebrows raising.

Two eyes? Two beautiful, blue eyes that look at you like you’re the whole world? —Instead of the one you’re used to, the orb perfectly shining like a gem in contrast to the empty socket on the other side of his face, a crater marking his survival of what was truly the worst of the world.

It feels wrong for you to wish that your boyfriend would only have one eye, but here you are doing it.

You pull away, his hands slipping down to his sides as you start slowly backing away from him and towards the stairs. “I…” You want to make an excuse, tell him that you’re going downstairs to see what your dad needs, but you can’t manage to get the words out.

He blinks a few times as he stands up straight, cocking his head, eyes flicking over your form innocently. “What’s the matter? We’re going to play with Judith, aren’t we?”

You shake your head. “No… I don’t— What the hell is going on?”

This isn’t like the other times you’ve let yourself sink into an old skin of yours, let it envelope you so you don't have to face reality, this isn’t a memory. This is something completely made up, and you don’t like it.

You don’t like it at all.

The smile he’s been wearing this entire time falls to a softer expression, his hands held out with their palms up in a plea. “I just… don’t want you to hurt, that’s all,” He pauses, “Like I said, sometimes it’s not safe. I know you know that, that’s why I’m here.”

“No,” You say with a slight shake of your head, holding a hand out defensively to keep him from getting any closer. —But when you do this, you feel a slight pressure on your head like you’re hanging, the blood from when you cut your hand coming into focus.

“So you’d rather be awake?” He asks with a worried frown, stepping forward to match your step backward, “You’d rather feel every second of your life draining as you bleed out?”

You blink, or at least you think you do, but you find that when you close your eyes they exertingly open somewhere else. —A lush forest, rain seeping into the broken cracks of your body, your stomach pain causing your breath to hitch, the person carrying you over their shoulder adjusting their grasp as you strain against them for a split second.

The change nearly makes you vomit, the agony that shoots through your limbs nearly makes you collapse, but you open your eyes back to the house. To this cartoonish version of Carl.

You look down at your hands, flipping them over to inspect the clean, untouched skin. “Am I dying?”

He opens his mouth to say something in response, his eyes glancing at the stairs with a heavy look in them as they glaze over, but you interrupt him.

“Are you dead too?” You ask, and strikes you like a slap to the face that you can’t remember how you got here, or how your dad ended up downstairs with Rick of all people, sharing a meal like nothing was ever wrong. “And them?”

He turns his attention back to you, the sadness never leaving his eyes. “I only know what you know.”

“Because you’re not real.” You deadpan, staring him down.

“Do you want ‘real’?”

“Yes. I need to know what I’m dealing with, even if…” You shake your head, glaring at him. “That’s another reason I know you’re not him. He would know that’s how we do things in Alexandria, that we take what we have and we figure out a way to make it work. I need to know if I’m dead, or… dying.”

He takes a cautious step forward, watching you to make sure you won’t take another step away from him— but really, he probably already knew you wouldn’t because he ‘knows what you know’, maybe it’s a courtesy, your mind giving you one last pitiful chance to protect itself from what’s happened.

His hands come up to catch your face, gently stroking underneath your eyes with his thumbs as he gives you a loving look, just about the only thing this imposter is able to imitate correctly.

“All you have to do is open your eyes,” He claims, running his fingers from where they rest on your jaw to in front of your eyes, the light of the house disappearing as the slats of his fingers close.

It’s another heavy, ruthless blink, where it seems as though you close your eyes on the world, except this time you know that this side is where true consciousness lies. The forest, with cold water running down your back and limbs from the rain, the sun starting to slip from where it once proudly stood at mid-day.

Your vision is dark and bleary, partially from what feels like your entire body freezing, and partially because of the tears in your eyes from forcing them open. The person who’s carrying you has their shoulder digging into the open wound you feel on your abdomen, each limping step adding a painful stab to the mixture of agony you’re experiencing.

You try to speak but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper, your arm stretched out and searching for something to ground you and stop them from taking you wherever they are. —That must be how you cut your hand open before, not on a doorframe, but on a sharp, thorny plant you'd clung to while they tugged you along.

The person stops, moving their arms from your hips to your waist and pulling you down to rest on their side so you can see their face. “You're okay,” Negan says, swiping a hand at the blood streaking down your face from your nose. “Get some rest.”

But you can't. You don't want to go back there, even though you know it wasn't real.

“I'm scared, dad,” You say weakly, your voice heightening to a whine. “It feels like I'm going to die every time I close my eyes.”

His grip on you tightens protectively, but he knows better than to argue with you. “Okay.” He says softly, too afraid to make a promise he can't keep. “Don't be scared, baby, I'm right here.”

He wonders if saying that will even comfort you considering he’d been the one to do this to you in a moment of desperation. —How could you ever trust him to protect you again, when he can’t even protect you from himself?

You sniffle softly, “Where are we going?”

With all the pain and confusion you’d forgotten to ask the last time you’d woken up, but now that you understand what’s going on to some degree, it’s one of the only questions on your mind.

He hesitates to answer for a fraction of a second before offering the truth, “I don’t know yet, or I didn’t until—”

You cock your head, having to lean it up against his shoulder for support to keep your head up when leaning makes you dizzy.

He stares down at your face, your cheek smashed against the lapel of his jacket and those big eyes staring up at him expectantly just like they always had. —Him doing this hasn’t changed the way you look at him at all, a quiet, nostalgic sadness spread across your features and in the deepest parts of you, ingrained within the person you’ve become. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

“Until you told me,” He says, rubbing circles in your shoulder. “You said you wanted to go home, so I’m getting you there.”

***

“I don’t understand…” Rick says, setting a hand on his forehead as he stares down at the tracks in the mud. —They double back, again, but this time they go further towards Alexandria than before.

Carl sticks out two fingers, curling some of the mud from one of the footprints into his hand and squeezing it.

His hair is soaked and sticking to his forehead, much like Rick’s, but unlike his dad he has a silent grimace on his face, not bothering to make any attempts to protect himself from the weather or otherwise as he tactlessly hunts through the woods.

“It’s not her, so it’s him,” He says with a soft laugh, looking at the single set of tracks, large men’s shoes. “She’s dead.”

The hopeful expression Rick had been wearing this entire time to keep his son’s morale up falls with the words, images of the little girl leaving the barn long-gone flashing behind his eyes and forcing him to swallow his emotions to keep it up.

“She might not be,” He comforts, then his tone turns lecturing, “Carl, you know better than anyone else that we have to keep lookin’. It’s still the first fourty-eight hours.”

Carl shoots him a sharp glare, gearing up to say something about how Rick’s last search effort had gone, when images of you lying in bed next to him, smiling as he went on for hours about what feels like useless nonsense now hit him like a punch to the gut and the words wilt.

He hangs his head with guilt, eye falling back on the footprints before him.

It’s all his fault.

You were doing so well, so well together, and then he went and ruined everything by bringing up that stupid necklace and offering to take you with him.

He never should have trusted Negan, let alone trusted him not to hurt you when he saw him do it so much before. —No one means anything to that man.

“I’m going to kill him.”

He raises his head to look back up at his dad, who is staring down at him like he can’t comprehend what his gentle boy is saying, so he repeats it.

“When we find him… I’m going to be the one to kill him.”

With that, he cocks his gun and stands up to keep walking ahead of them, only sparing Michonne a small glance to warn her that he’s deadly serious.

***

It’s only once you see the familiar sight of E.R.+C.G. carved into a tree with newly added angel wings and a halo that you realize your dad isn’t taking you back to The Sanctuary.

He leaves the woods with you, taking a deep breath as he makes his way over to a car sitting just on the edge of the road, completely destroyed to the point there’s no way anybody could drive it, the hood popped open and rusted out, the floor of the car missing and overgrown with plant life.

“Dad?” You let the question hang in the air as he suddenly sets you on your feet, feet and legs that you can’t feel, before helping you lean against the door of the car.

He’s silent and methodical, only offering a small stroke to your cheek and chin before continuing what he’s doing, walking over to the back of the car and slamming his foot against it until a piece of the bumper comes off with a loud thud.

“Dad, the walkers are going to hear you, you have to—! Eugh!” You clutch your stomach and tip your head back, the tension of straining yourself silencing you.

“Trust me, I know,” He says, picking up the hunk of metal with one of his feet still placed on it, snapping it in half, before dragging it over to you and wrapping your un-injured hand around it. Your hand remains limp, so he adds, “Hold it.”

A tear slips out of your closed eyes, your head still slammed back against the car as you pour your strength into holding up the hunk of metal. “I can’t do it. —I can’t fight right now,” You admit with a choked cry, lightly banging your head against the car, “Please don’t make me do this again.”

You expect him to be disappointed in you for fucking everything up, but he isn’t. He looks sad.

“You aren’t going to, just relax, save your energy.”

He slides a hand underneath your head to stop the banging and abruptly wraps his arms around you, pulling you as close as he can and taking a deep breath, memorizing the feeling.

You're too shocked to do anything for a moment, almost letting your hand go slack around the metal before you come back to yourself and lean into the hug as much as you can. “O-Okay?”

“Man, I don’t know when I’ll be able to do this again,” He sighs with a laugh— or was it a sob?

It feels all too much like when Dwight decided to leave, and you want to ask him if he’s going to abandon you when all of a sudden he falls to his knees in front of you, never taking his eyes off of yours.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyes wide at the sight of your father, Negan, on his knees.

He guides your hand, the sharp edge of the bumper by extension, to the cut on his leg, coating the metal with his blood before shoving it upward and forcing you to lean forwards to catch yourself.

“Eli?”

You turn at the sound of your own name, the metal clattering down beside your dad as you see Carl start sprinting his way over, quickly followed by Rick and Michonne.

***

“You don’t need to do this, Carl,” Michonne tries to reason, tugging at the hem of his shirt as he keeps following the tracks, “Let us do it for you. You’re right, it needs to be done, but you shouldn’t let your personal emotions affect the way we handle him. He’s a monster. There are so many other people who want justice, it wouldn’t be fair for you to—”

He abruptly stops at the edge of the woods, Michonne bumping into his back as he lowers his gun, eye blown wide.

“Is that…” He says under his breath, seeing you in the road.

You’re bloody, just about every part of your usually clean body soaked in a deep red color, your head turned down at the man below you on his knees with your hair stuck to your face and neck with a mixture of sweat and blood. —You look fucking insane, but Carl’s never been more glad to see anybody like that, because it’s you, and you’re alive.

He feels stupid now for doubting you.

A relieved smile spreads across his face as he gets ready to step out and greet you when you raise your hands above your head in one sharp movement, your sneakers slipping on the pavement, looking ready to bring it down on Negan’s head like he’d done to so many others before.

“Eli?”

You turn to face him, the metal dropped at the sound of his voice calling out to you, your face shifting to something soft and desperate, reaching out for him with a pitiful cry. Carl rushes over to you without another moment to spare and throws his arms around you, squeezing until he feels the rush of liquid on his fingers and realizes the blood all over you is your own.

The two adults walk past you with a quick once over glance, and start working to restrain Negan, who doesn’t fight them in the slightest, still not removing his eyes from yours once. It’s almost like he’s waiting to make sure you’re not afraid before he does anything else.

Carl stares down at his palms, hearing the strange way your breathing is rattling and finally noticing how pale your skin is, his heart starting to race again.

“It’s hers,” He says in a panic, taking his hands away like he burned you, guilt evident on his face.

They stop at this, Michonne dropping the arm of Negan’s she’d put behind his back, eyes widening when she sees the way Carl’s hands are absolutely painted red from only touching you once.

“‘S you? It’s really you?” You ask in a slurred tone, bloodied hands wrapping around his cheeks and brushing his fringe aside to inspect the bandage over his right eye.

Rick reluctantly leaves Michonne to handle Negan, reminding himself he’s only a few feet away as he walks over to you and kneels down, hands on your rib cage as he turns you towards him, seeing that you aren’t going to move yourself. The worst of the blood is around your stomach, so he puts his focus there.

“You mind?” He asks, hand hovering over the end of your shirt.

Your eyes that were once on Carl suddenly turn to meet his, blinking slowly. “Huh?”

“Can I take a look?” He rephrases, but you still don’t give a coherent answer.

“I think she might be delirious,” Rick announces, deciding to take a look at the wound without your permission. He tugs your shirt up, but only the amount necessary to see what’s going on, not wanting to risk exposing you to the rain while you’re already so cold.

You flinch away at the air suddenly hitting the sensitive skin, except for what’s hidden by a strip of dripping red fabric. “No, it’s cold. I need this,” You refuse, reaching down to tug it back into place, which he of course easily lifts back up.

“Sorry. Hang in there, deputy, I need to see what we’re dealing with.”

You start shooting Negan a helpless look, his gaze softening when you give him watery puppy eyes and reach out in his direction even though he’s too far to touch. “Dad, it’s cold—”

“She’s definitely fuckin’ delirious, been talking like that for a while,” Negan suddenly adds to the conversation, feigning annoyance. “—Rambling.”

Negan knows he needs to tell them exactly what’s going on with you without leaving out any details, otherwise they might overlook something, putting you at risk, and he can’t have that. It’s already risky enough for you to be in this state knowing what you know, but now unable to filter any of what comes out of your mouth, like calling him dad with Rick right there.

Carl gives him a murderous look.

“Cover his goddamn mouth,” Rick snaps, and Michonne does so eagerly.

Rick pulls back the fabric covering the wound and sees the brutal gash dug so deep into your torso he thinks for a moment that it may have gone all the way through you, at least until he runs his fingers down your back and feels that it’s solid skin.

He gives Negan a warning glance, unable to comprehend how the man could do something like this to someone who was once one of his own. “You… You did this?”

The other man just stares for a moment, taking in the sight of your wound for the first time since he wrapped it and seeing how bad it really is. He hadn’t stabbed you but once. —The wound on the other hand certainly tells a different story, the flesh frayed and damaged like he’d gone at it over and over again, trying to hurt you, maybe because he kept driving the knife in further.

He can’t speak, gagged with his own signature red bandana, but even if he could he makes sure to communicate with his eyes that he wouldn’t, and the lack of a response is response enough to Rick.

Rick’s nostrils flare, his hand reaching out and picking up Lucille, putting the bat underneath the other man’s chin.

He takes a second to really feel the position, basking in the way the role reversal makes him feel before finding that it makes him sick. —Not here, not like this, and not in front of his family, his impressionable son who’s already been through enough.

“If I had any semblance of mercy for you left, I would bash your skull in right now so you wouldn’t have to pay for this. —So you wouldn’t have to go on waiting and hoping, and being crushed every single time like we did,” He spits, “But you don’t deserve my mercy. You’re going to rot.”

“Dad—!” You try to rush forward once Rick has backed away from the man, but Rick scoops you up and starts carrying you, motioning for Carl to follow.

“No, wait! H-He’s coming home with us, right? He has to!” You plead, fighting his grip to get back to the other man where he kneels on the ground.

Michonne pulls Negan to his feet, her katana resting at his back as she guides him on the other side of Carl where he can’t look at you anymore. “Don’t worry, he definitely is coming back with us.” She says with slight amusement, “You did a good job today, catching him like that and waiting for us.”

You shake your head, nuzzling your face into Rick’s shoulder with shame.

Carl reaches out and laces his fingers with yours, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “It’s gonna be okay, honey, just rest up until we get home.”

You’re going to refuse again when you catch a glimpse of Negan nodding from behind Carl, mouthing for you to comply.

“I’ll be fine,” you catch between tired blinks, your eyes drifting shut.

***

He was wrong.

Almost as soon as they got back to Alexandria multiple people tried and succeeded in taking swings at him as they entered, Rick and Michonne watching from the sidelines as people cursed him for what he did to them. It was better for them to get it all out now, and for them to see who had high emotions and would be a potential threat if they spared Negan.

Aaron, Daryl and Gabriel rushed over to see what was happening as the crowd grew larger, Aaron offering to take you to the infirmary, and once people calmed down they put Negan in a jail cell and held a meeting to discuss what to do with him. —Which was hard to do, considering they had no idea what happened because Negan wouldn’t say, and you couldn’t.

You were lucky, all things considered, but all your miraculous recoveries finally caught up with you. When Negan stabbed you, he managed to get the knife so deep into you and at such an angle that he actually punctured your pancreas.

With all the blood loss you almost had a complete organ failure, unfortunately gaining Anemia. —Lucky for you, Negan was a bounty people were willing to pay you back for, both in blood and medicine.

You stayed in bed for four weeks, happy to do so considering Carl was always at your side, other people visiting you on multiple occasions, like Dwight, who brought you more flowers and candy, but you were even happier when you could start walking around again.

Because that meant you could finally talk to Negan in the cell.

When you open the door, the air is dusty and smells like sweat, all too familiar from the time you spent locked in here. —He doesn’t look up at the sound of the door opening, his eyes trained on the wall, mind as far as your’s had been.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” You ask, and finally his head snaps up and he stands, walking as far as he can before he reaches the bars.

“Baby girl,” He says hoarsely, voice cracking from the time it spent in silence, but he seems to quickly recover. “You look like shit, are you okay? —They told me I pierced one of your organs, but they wouldn’t say how you were doing. I-Is it… Are you…?” He looks down at the spot he stabbed you beneath your clothes.

You can’t help but look too as you answer him, the spot only partially satiated by the heavy pain medication they’re using on you. “Well, there were a few complications, but nothing that’ll… y’know.”

This is so unbelievably awkward that it’s killing you.

“Even in chains, you dictate my life.” You joke, but it falls dead on the floor between you, a dark reminder of what your relationship has twisted into.

“I’m sorry,” He admits softly, his hands held out in front of you like when he had carried you through the woods.

“That’s not how I—”

“But it should be,” He cuts off, his eyes gleaming in the dim lighting, “I’ve been thinking about you nonstop, everything I did to you and how every single time I knew I’d done something wrong I just handed over whatever you wanted, which was usually something I was choosing to deprive you of. —My attention, my affection, education.”

You avert your eyes, rubbing the back of your hands. “Well, you were busy running an entire community and I wanted to be with you…” You excuse.

“Eli, that’s not fuckin’ normal, kid. I can’t let you walk away thinking that it is, because I meant what I said,” He says, raising his voice to get your attention back on him. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too… I know everything that happened wasn’t normal, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be accepted,” You take a step closer to the bars and he backs away, “Because I meant what I said, I still think you can be changed, and I don’t care if that makes me an idiot. I don’t care if it takes me coming back down to this musty room for years. —I won’t stop trying to change people until the day I die because you taught me that everyone is worth something.”

He reaches out to hug you, hands hitting metal before backs away with surprise, sitting back down, holding his face in his hands.

“Shit, I’m trapped now, aren’t I?” He laments with a small chuckle, looking around the cell with wide eyes, “It was worth it, though. —You’re still standing.”

He wouldn’t change this outcome for the world considering what he’d done, the only thing he still regrets is making it happen in the first place. —His wish, to go back and undo all of this, can never come true. His day of reckoning finally came, and now he’s jailed for his crimes.

You step close enough to wrap your fingers around the bars, clenching them tightly. “This was always how it was going to be.”

It’s not a question and he knows it, but he answers it anyway, giving you the approval you’ve always craved from him.

“Yes. It was.”

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who stuck around until the end, and even those who didn't but checked out this fic!

There was a lot of extra content I cut down on for time because I saw how long this fic was going on for and I wanted the ending to be sooner rather than later, but it's finally done!

For those who are curious: The biggest plot differences are mostly that there was a lot more content with Carl and Reader in The Sanctuary, just showing the brutality and effort it takes to survive there on the daily, and that when the two of them were supposed to get in touch with Maggie instead of Rick by walkie. This would have led them to escape and head to Hilltop, meeting up with Enid, where there would have been some massive ranting dialogue between Carl and Reader, then they would be dragged back to The Sanctuary, before Negan realizes he needs to abandon you. (After that the plot is basically the same until the end, where you were supposed to be mad at and hate Negan).

I can’t wait to write more!