Lost to the Lost Boys

by gemjam

Summary:

After the prison, Carl ends up alone until he's found by the Saviors and taken under Negan's wing.

Notes:

Creative license has been taken liberally with time and locations so around a year passes between the prison falling and the line-up in the clearing and all of the locations are a lot closer together to make Carl ending up with the Saviors possible.

Chapter 1

Carl’s whole body is vibrating with adrenaline and anticipation. This has been a long time coming. He looks at Negan across the table from him in the RV. He’s calm and still, but Carl knows he feels it too. Justice is about to be served. Justice, and maybe a little bit of revenge.

He looks towards the window, the lights of the cars outside, desperate to take a look. He examines the inside of the RV instead, trying to distract himself.

“We had an RV,” he says. “At the beginning.”

“You lived in one of these?” Negan asks.

Carl shrugs. “We travelled in it. It wasn’t ours.” He looks up at Negan, smirking. “Do you want to check out the bed?”

Negan gives him a disapproving look. “They’ll be ready soon.”

“I know but…”

“Be patient,” Negan tells him, his voice firm.

Carl sighs, sagging in his seat. “It’s been so long already.”

“It’s coming,” Negan says.

He lifts his foot, rubbing it against Carl’s ankle while he holds his gaze, eyes dark and sexual and violent. Carl shudders, doesn’t even try to hide it. He’d give Negan anything, he owes him his life, owes him so much more.

“You want to take the lead?” Negan offers, nodding down at Lucille on the table between them. “I think you might be ready with those big boy words, and I know this one’s personal.”

Carl shakes his head. “I love watching you.” He slides his own foot around Negan’s ankle. “Besides, they need to know you. This isn’t some misdemeanour bullshit. They’re murderers. They’re going to pay.”

“Yes they are,” Negan agrees, a mixture of pride and anticipation.

There’s movement outside, voices, and Carl turns towards the window. “I think they’re nearly ready.” He makes a move to get up, try and take a peek, but Negan grabs his arm.

“Simon will let us know when it’s time.”

Carl nods, settling himself back down. He looks at Negan’s hand still on his arm. “How many of them can we kill?”

“That depends how good they are,” Negan says.

Carl looks up at him. “We should just exterminate them.”

Negan shakes his head. “That’s not how we do things. They’ve got skills. We’re going to use them. They’re going to belong to us.”

There’s a knock at the door and Carl feels his stomach flip over, a surge of adrenaline making him sit up taller, his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Showtime,” Negan says, sliding his hand from Carl’s arm to grip Lucille.

Carl follows him out into the cold night air of the clearing.

“Are we pissing our pants yet?”

Carl smiles, standing by the RV, his eye following Negan as he paces. He loves this, loves the confidence, how Negan can own a room, own anything he desires. It’s aspirational to Carl, making his heart swell.

Negan steps up to the leader and Carl’s eye follows. The first thing he sees is a sheriff’s hat and it gives him an unsettling feeling of déjà vu. It’s been such a long time since he’s seen a hat like that. The man has his head ducked down, Carl can’t see his face. He takes a step closer, trying to make sense of it in the dark.

The man lifts his head and Carl feels like he’s been punched in the gut, all the air sucked out of him. The adrenaline goes sour, no longer fuelled by excitement but fear. It’s a ghost. He’s looking at a ghost.

He turns away, eye sliding over the other people knelt on the ground around Negan as he continues to talk, but he can’t focus on any of them, his mind rushing like there’s an avalanche inside his head, white and deafening. He stares at the ground, feels the world start to tilt. He’s mistaken. His mind is playing tricks on him. The lighting out here sucks, all bright spots and shadows. It’s the hat that puts the idea in his head.

He swallows, forces himself to take a couple of breaths, and then he looks back up. He stares, tilts his head, squinting his eye. This man is still wearing his father’s face. Older, more ragged, more broken, but still his father’s face. It can’t be anyone else.

The man looks up, catches Carl’s eye, and Carl looks away, can’t stand to see whatever might play out there. It’s a trick of the light. He’s going insane. There’s no way he can possibly be seeing what he’s seeing. He squeezes his eye shut, counts to ten, tries to make it all go away.

“Hey, Rick,” Negan says sharply, the name making Carl wince. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Carl opens his eye, looking over to see Rick still staring at him, looking exactly how Carl feels. Negan catches on, turning to follow Rick’s gaze and finding Carl shaking and taking gasping little breaths, frozen in terror.

“Carl.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t feel like he has any control over his body or his mind or what monsters might greet him next.

“Carl,” Negan says firmly. “Look at me.”

His voice is kind but commanding in the way that makes Carl want to fall irresistibly into him. He obeys, meeting Negan’s gaze.

“You’re safe here,” Negan tells him. “Nothing is going to happen to you here.”

Carl nods, but he thinks it might be the first time that he doesn’t truly believe it.

“Do you know him?” Negan asks.

Carl’s gaze falls back down to Rick, Rick who is scared and hopeful and pleading, and Carl clenches his jaw. Carl’s not going to save him. He’s not going to be his redemption. There’s no favours to return here. He nods his head, looking back up at Negan.

Negan studies him for a moment, taking in the shaken-up state of him, and then he glances at Rick. “Is this the guy who took the prison?” he asks. “Is he the one who hurt you? Who killed your friends?”

Carl looks at Rick, the events of that day running through his head. “Yeah,” he says. It’s not really the answer to Negan’s question, but it feels like a fair response. The prison was destroyed because of Rick. He got hurt because of Rick. They’re all dead because of Rick.

“Carl,” Rick says, his voice cracking.

Carl turns away, refuses to feel pity. His eye slides over the other people, Rick’s people, and suddenly he realises what he’s looking at. Who he’s looking at. It’s not just Rick. It’s much more than just Rick.

Glenn. Daryl. Michonne. Maggie. Sasha.

He studies every face in front of him and it dawns on him just what life after the prison has looked like for everyone else. The absurdity of it makes him feel giddy, like he’s about to fall from a great height, and he laughs, laughs manically into the night, his body convulsing with it.

“Want to share the joke?” Negan asks.

Carl continues to laugh, gesturing towards Rick. “That’s my dad,” he says, before swinging his arm out over the group. “These are my dead friends. But they’re not dead. They’re all alive and they’re together but they left me there to die.” He stops laughing as the reality of it sinks in. “They just left me there.”

“No,” Rick insists.

“Did anyone say you could fucking talk?” Negan asks, turning on him.

“Kill him,” Carl says, his voice numb. “Just kill him.”

“We’re not killing him,” Negan says. “We’re keeping him. I get a feeling the payoff’s gonna be big with this one.” He turns to Carl, greeting his glare with a smile. “Don’t worry. They still have to pay. We’re not nearly done yet.” He turns back to Rick. “Now we’re going to beat the holy hell outta one of you,” he says joyously. “Are you ready? This is going to be awesome.”

Carl feels himself calm as Negan begins to chant, pacing up and down the line, the children’s rhyme settling something inside him. He doesn’t think about who that bat’s going to land on, he can’t. He knows what needs to be done. These are not good people. If they were, Carl wouldn’t even be here having to make this choice.

“You.”

Carl looks up, Negan pointing Lucille at someone Carl doesn’t know. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t feel relief. If he’s relieved, that means he still cares about these people and not one of them deserves it.

Negan holds out the bat, staring down the redhead who’s twice the size of Carl. “You want this one?” he asks, the words directed at Carl.

“Yes, please,” Carl responds, moving forward to accept Lucille. As Negan steps away, Carl takes his spot.

“No,” Rick says brokenly.

“You can breathe,” Negan says.

Carl squares up to the redhead, and he may be smaller, but not with this guy on his knees.

“You can blink.”

Carl stares into the man’s eyes, the defiance he sees fuelling him on. He’s going to fucking break him.

“You can cry.”

Carl smirks, that familiar sensation making him feel empowered, unstoppable. He adjusts his hold on Lucille, gripping her just like Negan taught him.

“Hell, you’re all gonna be doing that.”

Carl swings Lucille, landing her hard on the top of the man’s head, the familiar sensation of tissue compressing, bone cracking, jarring up his arms. It’s exhilarating. Negan hollers behind him, enjoying the show, and Carl grins, swinging the bat down again, feeling his skull giving way. He doesn’t lift his head again. Carl beats him and beats him, watches it all turn to pulp, spilling out towards his boots. He can hear Negan’s joy, his encouragement, his pride. Carl likes making him proud. It’s what he lives for.

When he finally stops, his chest heaving from exertion, he swings around to face Negan, blood splattering from the bat, and he grins at him, knowing he did good. Negan gives him a little nod, the fatherly approval that Carl craves from him.

“I am so glad I found you,” Negan says. “These fuckers, they don’t know what they lost. I would never let that happen to you. I’d never abandon you like they did. I’d never treat you with so much fucking disrespect. Do you think they ever really gave a shit about you?”

The words fuel Carl’s indignation, the fact that they could all so easily carry on without him. They never treated him like a part of the group. They didn’t trust him. Just some dumb kid. He’s worth more than they’ll ever know.

Suddenly Daryl is up and lunging for Negan, punching him in the jaw. Carl takes an instinctive step back, his mind reeling, wanting to remove himself from the situation. He should take Daryl down, but this isn’t a fight he wants to be in the middle of. As he watches Daryl tackled to the ground he knows that he can’t waver. He didn’t choose this; they chose it for him when they left him there. He’s loyal to Negan. He belongs to Negan. He’s going to fight to the death for him.

He moves over, holding Lucille above Daryl’s head that’s pressed into the dirt, ready to swing. He looks at Negan, waiting for an instruction, but Negan seems to calm once he sees him there.

“No,” he says. “No, we don’t kill that. Not until you try a little.”

Carl gives him a questioning look but he steps back, watches Daryl be pulled back into line.

“Anyway,” Negan says, turning back to the group. “That’s not how it works.”

Carl moves to the side, watching Negan lecture the group, knowing where this is heading, what comes next. He doesn’t look at any of them, tunes out Negan’s words until he can feel him winding up, knows he has to look for his cue. They’re not done here yet. They weren’t good. Lessons need to be learned.

“So,” Negan says. He crosses the clearing, passing by Carl and taking hold of Lucille. Carl lets her go easily. “Back to it.”

He turns, bringing Lucille down on Glenn’s head. The sound ricochets right through Carl, making him feel like he’s going to throw up. He’s never felt that way. Not even the first time. He turns away. These aren’t his friends. These people killed his friends.

He can hear Negan taunting them. Can hear Maggie sobbing. It makes him want to cry too. His lip starts to shake, his teeth chattering together. He wants this to be over. They deserve it, Carl knows they deserve it, but he wants it to be over now.

“Lucille is thirsty,” Negan calls out, the words followed by that chuckle that Carl knows vibrates right through his chest. “She is a vampire bat.”

Carl turns back to face him, offering him a smile. He keeps his eyes off the ground, refusing to look at Glenn’s body, but he can still see the gore hanging from Lucille. He usually likes the evidence of a job well done. Right now he just focuses on breathing and not looking as devastated as he feels. That would be a betrayal.

Negan walks towards him, slow, deliberate steps, swinging his hips. There’s a smirk on his face, that look in his eyes that never fails to make Carl feel like the centre of the universe. It’s primal, protective, full of lust that’s both sexual and violent at once. It makes Carl stand up a little taller.

“What do you think, baby boy?” Negan asks, getting into Carl’s personal space. “Is that enough blood for you? Or do you want to go again?”

“Please,” Rick croaks. “Please, don’t make him do that.”

Carl looks over at Rick, a snivelling mess of tears and snot, and he feels his rage flair. He pulls his gun from his holster and strides towards Rick, holding it up to his face. “Shut up,” he yells. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t tell him what to do.”

His eyes flick up to the hat and he doesn’t understand how Rick can have it, but he’s taken everything else from Carl, why shouldn’t he take that back too? He lifts his gun, knocking it off, aiming back at his face.

“Carl,” Rick says brokenly. “Please.”

“You lost your right to ask anything of me a long time ago,” Carl tells him. “This is how it is now. Negan is in charge. What he says goes. He owns you.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Rick tells him. “He can’t make you.”

“He’s not making me,” Carl insists. “This is what I want. This is who I am.”

“No,” Rick says, shaking his head. “That’s not true.”

Carl puts his finger on the trigger, his hand shaking, but Rick just keeps staring at him with those big wet, heartbroken eyes.

“Not him,” Negan says matter-of-factly. He’s letting Carl off the hook.

Carl takes his finger off the trigger, letting a scream of frustration out into the night.

“Good boy,” Negan says, suddenly right behind him. Carl didn’t even hear him move. He looks up at Negan, trying to tell if he’s done good, and Negan gives him a smile so full of affection that he really can’t doubt it.

Carl moves over to him, pressing himself into Negan’s chest, one hand clinging to the lapel of Negan’s leather jacket, the other holding his gun limply by his side. Negan wraps his arms around him, holding him tight, and Carl surrenders, resting all his weight against Negan, letting him hold him up. He feels a tear slide down his cheek and he presses it against Negan’s jacket, trying to get rid of it. He has to be brave. Just for a little while longer.

Negan rests his cheek down against the top of Carl’s head and Carl loves being smaller than him, loves fitting into his arms like this, loves being looked after. He makes an appreciative little noise, closing his eye, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

The words are hushed but Carl hears them loud and clear. Rick.

Negan shifts, forcing Carl to take a little of his own weight as he leans down, placing a kiss on the top of Carl’s head. He holds Carl’s shoulders as he moves away, Carl taking a step to steady himself, feeling disorientated. The headlights are too bright. He turns away, looking at the RV. He wants to go back in there.

He hears Negan moving across the clearing, feet crunching on the earth. “What?” he asks, his voice as much a whisper as Rick’s was. “I didn’t quite catch that, you’re going to have to speak up.”

Carl stares at the RV and he remembers Dale, how he was like a grandfather to him. He remembers how he was torn apart. He remembers how it was his fault.

“Not today,” Rick says, his voice wrecked. “Not tomorrow. But I’m gonna kill you.”

Carl squeezes his eye shut, feeling the hate twist within him. He hears Negan sucking air in through his teeth and he knows instinctively what’s coming, moving away from the door to the RV. He knows all of Negan’s plays. He knows that Rick needs some personal attention if he’s going to be taught. Carl feels embarrassed to be related to someone so stubborn and stupid.

The silence stretches on, tension building, and Carl wants Rick to relent, he needs him to, he just wants to go home.

“I’ll be right back,” Negan says gruffly, exertion clear in his voice as he drags Rick across the ground. “Maybe Rick will be with me.”

The door to the RV slams shut and Carl flinches. It seems to take forever for the engine to get going, the RV heading out of the clearing. Carl feels himself relax a little now that Rick isn’t here looking at him, judging him, as though he has any fucking right.

“Carl.”

Carl tenses at the sound of Michonne’s voice, soft and imploring. Motherly.

“Simon,” he says. “If any of them talk to me, shoot them in the head.”

“Understood,” Simon says.

Carl moves over to one of the cars, sitting down on the hood, his feet on the bumper, and he waits.

Chapter 2

One year earlier

Carl’s ears are still ringing from the explosions, dulled only by the sound of his own heartbeat, blood rushing around his body like it’s looking for a way out. There’s smoke everywhere, sunlight in his eyes, and in the frenzied panic around him it’s impossible to find his bearings. All he sees is walkers and enemies and death.

He tries keeping track of everyone, Maggie and Beth covering each other, trying to get people on the bus, Sasha and Bob taking defence positions, Daryl on the attack. Carl tries to make it down to the field, to Rick, but he can’t get through. He turns, looking for someone to cover him, and sees the bus pulling away from the prison yard. He stares after it, fighting the sinking feeling in his gut. He looks desperately around, certain there must be someone left. They wouldn’t just leave him here, there has to be a back-up plan.

There are still explosions going off somewhere, the constant sound of gunfire, and Carl knows he needs to get to whoever is still fighting. If the battle hasn’t stopped then that means some of his people are still alive, still here.

He runs back through the yard, dodging the walkers, not wanting to waste any ammo on them. He doesn’t know what he’ll still have to face. As he gets near the building he sees Judith’s car seat laying alone on the ground. He stops, steeling himself up. He can’t hear her crying. If she were there, in the middle of all this, she’d be crying. The terror claws at him but he has to know. If he can still help, he has to get there before anyone else does.

He sprints across the yard. Knowing what he’s going to find doesn’t really prepare him for it. The car seat is empty, drenched in blood, and Carl drops down to his knees, sobbing. He thinks about how little she was, how easy she would have been to tear apart. The thought makes him wail, smashing his fist on the floor until he bleeds. He has to find Rick. He has to find someone.

He gets to his feet, raising up his gun as he faces the walkers between himself and the field. He shoots his way back through, knowing it’s his only option. He can only get as far as the fence though, the gaping hole the tank created that’s inviting every walker inside. There’s too many of them for him to take. He moves to the side, looking frantically for anyone still left behind. The gunfire is dying down now and none of it is on this side of the prison. He’s on his own.

He turns back to the hole in the fence. There’s no way he can make it through those walkers alone but there has to be another way. He looks up at the tank, abandoned, flames leaping out from the top. He climbs up, feeling the intensity of the heat as he gets close, but it gives him the vantage point he needs as he pushes up onto his tiptoes, trying to keep his balance on the edge as he searches the field. He can’t be the only one. There has to be someone left.

A hail of bullets narrowly misses him and he jumps down, taking cover behind the tank. There’s another round of bullets as he cowers, gun ready, but he can’t make himself move. No one out there but walkers, the sound of gunfire turning them into a swarm. He can’t stay here. He can’t fight them on his own, not the walkers, not these people. No one has his back and so he’s left with no choice but to flee, to try and get out while he still has a chance.

He waits for the bullets to cease, the clip running out, and he makes a run for it, knowing he has a few seconds at least while they reload. He has to make them count. He races along the fence, keeping his head down, not stopping for anything until he gets to the gate.

The walkers in the woods don’t pay any attention to him, drawn towards the chaos of the prison. He makes his way up the hill where he has a decent vantage point. If anyone else gets out he’ll see them from here.

There’s nothing to see though, no one is down there. The only thing he sees is the prison burning down, the ruins taken over by the dead. When it starts to get dark he realises he’s in big trouble out here on his own. He should have found shelter but walking away makes it too real. He wanted to believe that everyone else stuck close, that they’d meet up, that they’d wait for it to die down and regroup. No one is coming though. Anyone who got out is long gone. They didn’t wait for him. Carl has no choice but to get to his feet and go too.

The walkers don’t prove to be too much of a problem as he makes his way through the woods, most of them still more interested in the commotion at the prison than stalking him. If he steps quietly it’s easy enough to evade them, but that becomes increasingly difficult as the evening sets in. The thick cover of leaves and branches overhead filters out most of the dying light and by the time it’s properly dark he can’t see a thing.

Just making it from one tree to the next becomes almost impossible. He stumbles over twigs and rocks, falling flat on his face more than once. He feels so stupid. He should have kept moving when he left the prison. He knows how to survive better than this. He knows what it takes. He has to be smarter.

When he eventually makes it to a road he’s flooded with relief at finally being able to see where he’s going, to have an easy path ahead of him. He looks down the road as he catches his breath and it starts to sink in how far he has to go. He can’t stop until he has somewhere safe to rest and he has no idea how long that will take.

He walks, a simple enough task, one foot in front of the other. He tries to keep his pace steady, fighting the urge to rush, wanting so desperately to just find shelter and end this awful day. He knows that he needs to be measured, save his energy for when he really needs it. He might have to keep going through the night. He might not be able to stop for days.

By the time he finally sees the building, his feet are dragging, his whole body feeling wrecked. He draws his gun, approaching cautiously, wondering if he even has enough left in him for a fight. He has to.

He walks all the way around the small building once, peering through windows, listening carefully. There’s no sign of anyone or anything inside. He opens the door, holding his gun up in front of him, swinging it around like he’s seen Rick do. It doesn’t do him much good, he can barely see anything. He shuffles forwards, squinting into the darkness. He knocks into a table and somewhere he hears a walker groan.

He moves backwards, panicking, not stopping until his back hits the wall. His arms shake as he holds the gun up in front of him, listening, waiting. As his eyes slowly adjust he can make out shapes across the room. A barricade. The walker is on the other side. He relaxes slightly, stepping forward, keeping his gun raised, but he lets his arms relax, not locked in terror anymore. The walker reaches out, groping blindly at the air. He’s not a threat, Carl shouldn’t waste the bullet. He takes his knife from his belt, stabbing the walker in the head. Done.

He searches the place, finding some chips and a couple of bottles of water. It’s enough to keep him going for a while. He opens up a storage closet, clearing out the bottom of it and climbing inside, pulling the door closed behind himself. He’ll be safe in here until the sun comes up. He curls up on the floor, so exhausted that he falls asleep as soon as he closes his eyes.

When he wakes up there’s light creeping under the closet door. Carl stares at it. A brand new day. He makes a mental list of everything he has to do. He needs supplies, food and water and weapons. He needs a place that he can stay, somewhere he can secure. And then what? Then he’d have the bare bones of survival, but if he’s all alone, what does it really count for? He can’t live like that, he won’t make it on his own.

It’s easier just to stare at that strip of sunlight like maybe everything’s okay on the other side of the door. He tries to think of the road the bus might have taken out of there but for all he knows it’s the road he’s already on. Either way, he won’t catch up with it on foot. But maybe there are others. They won’t find him if he’s hiding in here.

He forces himself up, cracking open the door and squinting into the blinding light. He searches the place again now that he can see what he’s doing but there’s not really anything else worth taking. He sits on the porch and eats some chips, keeping an eye on the road. The salt stings his hand and he pulls it out of the bag, looking at his busted knuckles. He thinks of Judith, gruesome images flashing through his mind, and he clenches his hand into a fist. It hurts but it feels deserved. He failed her. They all failed her.

He smashes his hand against the floor, opening up the wounds. Blood trickles down the back of his hand, over his wrist. It’s not his fault. It’s Rick’s fault. Rick was the one who wanted to become a farmer. Rick was the one who buried his head in the sand and ignored what was really out there. They knew the Governor was still alive and Rick did nothing. They should have hunted him down. They should have protected themselves. Instead they let this happen because Rick was weak. Carl won’t make those same mistakes.

He packs up the remaining chips and water, fuelled on by his anger. Rick deserved what he got and he’s not going to shed a tear for him. He brought this all on himself and he took the rest of them down with him. As he walks down the road, Carl flexes and unflexes his hand, refusing to let the wounds on his knuckles scab over. The pain spurs him on, makes him walk a little faster, reminds him that he’s still alive, that he wants to stay that way.

The road stretches on for hours and every new corner gives him hope that he might find something around it. He fantasises about catching up with someone from the prison, a happy reunion, but he’s starting to wonder if any of them would really be pleased to see him. None of them stuck by his side. None of them made sure he got out.

He thinks again of how they should have had emergency procedures in place. They all knew this was coming sooner or later. They should have had a plan. He flexes his knuckles and picks up his pace. His story isn’t ending with someone else’s mistakes. He will prevail.

When the street turns residential, Carl feels his hope start to pick up. It’s a nice little neighbourhood, a chance for him to find supplies and regroup. He enters the first house, gun drawn, banging on the wall.

“Hey, asshole!” he shouts. “Hey, shitface!”

It feels good, yelling out those words, letting himself put the feeling behind them. It takes the edge off his mood, buoyed further by the fact that the house is empty. It’s all his.

He throws himself down on the couch, trying to remember the last time he was in a real house. He thinks back to the farmhouse, a real family home, but it just brings up the image of Hershel, knelt on the ground, the sword swinging at his neck. He was part of the problem, convincing Rick they could build their little utopia, as though any of them really had the option to be farmers. They’re warriors or they’re nothing. This world doesn’t have space for people who aren’t willing to fight for everything they have.

He leaves his meagre supplies behind and closes the door behind him. This one is his house. Now he needs to check out the rest. He returns to the street, considering the neighbourhood. Middle class families. People like that are scared of home invasions and worried about protecting their kids. That means being armed. If he’s lucky then some of them left in a rush, or never got the chance to leave at all.

He goes into the nearest house, the downstairs empty, poking around in cupboards, searching the kitchen for supplies. Right on top of the cabinets he sees not what he’s looking for, but maybe what he’s been dreaming of. A 112 ounce can of chocolate pudding. He climbs up onto the counter, reaching upwards to grab it, cradling it to himself as he smiles. He misses pudding. It makes him feel at home.

He jumps down, placing it on the counter with the rest of his loot. Whoever was here didn’t leave prepared. That gives him hope that they’ve left other things behind. He climbs the stairs, peering into rooms, looking for a master bedroom or a study. As he opens a door he finds a walker lumbering out at him with grabbing hands. He steps back, grabs his gun and fires a shot but it misses. When he squeezes the trigger again, the gun clicks. His last bullet. Gone.

He pushes the walker back but it grabs hold of him and they grapple, falling to the floor. Carl moves backwards, trying to make it to the door, but the walker grabs his legs with both arms, holding on. Carl kicks and kicks but he can’t loosen the grip. As its mouth edges closer to Carl’s leg he surges desperately backwards, managing to get free, his boot coming off his foot in the process. He rushes for the landing, slamming the door closed on the walker before it can get back up again.

He can feel himself shaking and he knows he’s screwed now. No more bullets. No more safety net. No more anything. He didn’t even make the last one count. He walks down the stairs, trying to hold it all together, heading out to the street and back to the first house he cleared. He goes upstairs and he locks himself in the bathroom, sitting on the floor and crying. He knows he doesn’t have to hide, there’s no one there to see him. Maybe no one will ever see him again.

Once he’s out of tears, exhausted and drained, he wipes at his wet cheeks with his hand, stopping to look at his bloodied knuckles. He’s still alive. It’s the one thing he has. He flexes them, feels the pain, and gets to his feet. He can’t be weak. He can’t be small and scared. Not if he’s going to make it.

He goes back to the house with the walker and he retrieves his chocolate pudding, going upstairs and climbing out onto the roof. He doesn’t pay any attention to the walker he’s taunting just by being there. He’s not going to be scared. Instead he stares out over the neighbourhood, his neighbourhood, his kingdom. If there’s a chance anyone is still looking for him, he’ll see them coming. If not, then this is really all his and he’s going to make the most of it.

When he climbs back inside, passing through the landing, he considers the closed door. It was a close call but he’s still alive, bruised but not beaten, missing a shoe but walking away. He sees a piece of chalk on the floor and bends down to grab it, writing on the door.

Walker inside, got my shoe, didn’t get me.

He smiles to himself, dropping the chalk to the floor and heading outside.

He stands on the street, looking over the houses, and he knows that he needs to get serious about this. No more stupid mistakes. He needs to gather up all of the food and take stock of what he has. He needs things that will help him survive out there when he inevitably has to move on. He needs guns and ammo. He looks down at his socked foot on the tarmac of the road. He needs a shoe.

He works systematically, house by house, room by room, gathering together everything useful and pooling it on the porches. It’s too much for him to move all in one go and that gives him hope that he can stay here for a while. He has shelter, he’s not too far from the prison. He just hopes that anyone who turns up isn’t someone who wants to hurt him. Some of his people might have survived, but some of the Governor’s might have as well.

He’s halfway down the block, the last house he intends to tackle that day, when he pulls open the slightly ajar closet of a master bedroom and finds just what he’s been hoping for. He knows exactly what the metal box is, his dad had one. A gun safe. He looks at the electronic keypad on the front and he knows that he can crack this. He has the time.

He goes down to the kitchen, taking the calendar off the wall and bringing it upstairs with him. He types in every birthday marked down on the calendar, the wedding anniversary noted in June, and then he just tries any date that has writing on it, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Nothing works and it’s starting to get dark so he brings all his loot from the day into the house with the safe and settles in for the night. It could be a completely random number of course, but those are difficult to remember. Carl feels like the answer is somewhere in this house and he’s going to find it.

The next day he completes the rest of the houses, clearing them out of anything useful and gathering it all together in his new base. He rations out the food, trying to work out how long he can make it last. He soon finds that boredom is the worst thing he has to battle though. There’s no one to talk to, nothing to do, and he feels like he might go insane. He reads comics that he finds in kids’ bedrooms, plays solitaire, tries out a crossword book but he can never get to the end of a puzzle.

The missing answers feel like they relate to people he’s lost, always able to think of the person who would be able to help him solve the clue. That just makes him feel more lonely than ever so he tosses the book out of the window and that at least feels somewhat therapeutic. He wants to throw more things. He wants to trash these houses. He wants someone or something to pay for the situation he’s found himself in.

He thinks of Rick, hurt out in that field, probably eaten by walkers, and there’s a mixture of emotions that churn in his gut. He holds onto the hate the tightest. It feels useful to him. Mourning isn’t going to do him any good. He’s not going to break down. He’s going to win.

He fills in the rest of his days with clearing out the occasional walker that passes through and searching the house for anything that might give him the combination to the code. He eats a couple of times a day but he’s always hungry, not daring to eat his fill because he doesn’t want to have to leave to find more. He’s scared of what’s out there. He knows there’s no way he can move on anyway, not until he gets into that safe.

He doesn’t let himself settle on the thought that it might be empty, already cleared out by the owners before they left town. He can’t think about that. This chunk of metal and little electronic lock are all he has. It’s the only thing that might help him survive.

When he estimates he only has three day’s food left, he tears the house apart. He empties every drawer, goes through the pages of every book, opens anything that will open. Finally, at the back of the woman’s closet, behind the rack of expensive looking shoes, he finds a box containing what are clearly important documents. He drags it out, panting from the effort of the frantic search, feeling like this has to be it. It has to be. He doesn’t think he has any options left.

He tried the date of the anniversary before but he can add in the year of the wedding too. It comes up empty. He tries fragments of their social security numbers and account numbers but no combination seems to match. He finds the daughter’s birth certificate and this time, instead of 0207 that he got from the calendar, he tries 2705. The lock clicks open. Carl grabs it, barely able to believe his luck. Kayleigh May Hanson has just saved his life. Carl hopes that karma means she made it too.

He pulls open the safe, giddy with anticipation, some small part of him still preparing himself for it to be empty. Inside he finds a pistol and a hunting rifle, as well as a couple of boxes of ammo. He grins to himself.

“Jackpot.”

He takes the night to rest, knowing it might be a long time before he ever sees a bed again. In the morning he rises early, packing up, realising that most of the things he scavenged aren’t essential and will only weigh him down. He needs food, water, weapons, layers. Everything else is a luxury.

He looks down at his feet. He never found another pair of suitable shoes that fit him, not sturdy boots like he needs. The best thing he’s come up with is a pair of flimsy sneakers, two sizes too big. He could wear them. He’ll grow into them if he lives long enough. He thinks about going back into that room, killing the walker and taking his boot back, but he can’t risk that, can’t use up any of his ammo on something that’s not an emergency. Everything is finite. It has to last as long as he does.

And so he leaves the little neighbourhood that’s offered him safe haven with odd shoes and a sense of loss. Leaving means giving up. Leaving means no one is coming for him. Leaving means this is it now, he’s all he has.

He flexes his knuckles but they’re mostly healed now, just some dried scabs. It doesn’t hurt like he needs it to. He can’t find shelter before night falls and he feels so hopeless. He can’t even make it 24 hours. He steps off the road, making the most of the trees there for cover. He eats some of his food, already feeling like every bite is just taking him closer to his inevitable starvation.

As he settles in for the night, he sits with his back against a sturdy tree, the rifle clutched in his hands, knowing that he can’t close his eyes with no one here to keep watch. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll see a rabbit or a squirrel or something, catch himself a decent breakfast. He looks through the darkness around him and knows that he’d never get a decent shot in. The only thing he can hope for is that he slows down anything that wants to kill him long enough to be able to gain the upper hand.

He wakes with a start to the sun streaming through the trees and curses himself. Sleep could get him killed. He can’t let his guard down. Then he realises what woke him up. Snapping branches. Moans. This is more than just a single walker.

He scrambles to his feet, looking through the trees to see a group of the dead heading towards him. He lifts the rifle, firing off a shot. It misses. The walkers turn to him, picking up their speed, more determined to get to him now. He tries to stop his racing mind, to stop the panic taking over. He knows how to do this, he can fire a gun, he can get a kill shot. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he steadies the rifle against himself.

Bang bang bang. He takes out the front of the group, a couple of others stumbling over them, losing their footing. It buys him some time. He grabs his bag, swinging it onto his back, heading for the road. He’ll have space to manoeuvre there, surer footing. Let them come to him.

He stands ready, rifle pointed into the line of trees, picking them off as they emerge. He starts to get confident, everything Rick taught him, everything he wanted him to forget. Carl didn’t forget, he held it all inside him, and now that he needs it he knows that he was the smarter one. Rick is torn into a million pieces, in the guts of who knows how many walkers. Carl is winning. They’re not going to take him down.

When all the walkers are laid out dead in front of him he allows himself a smile, pride radiating from him. He’s going to make it. He relaxes, lowering the rifle, letting it hang limply from his hand as he catches his breath. Sleep is still clinging to him and he feels a little dizzy, the adrenaline dying down and making him feel washed out. He wonders if he should rest a while longer. Maybe he just needs to eat something, drink a little water.

As he contemplates his options he finds himself grabbed from the side, a couple of walkers sneaking up on him down the empty road, doubtless attracted by the gunfire. He pushes them back, losing the rifle in the scuffle, moving backwards away from them. He takes out the pistol, cocking it, hitting the first one between the eyes. It drops, but the other one keeps coming. With the sun in his eyes he feels another rush of dizziness. He shakes his head, trying to focus, knowing that he just needs to get this one shot and it’s over. Easy.

He aims, the walker lunging at the last second, and the bullet flies past, ricocheting off a road sign and right back at Carl, hitting him in the eye. Carl drops to the ground, blood gushing down his cheek, and the shock hits him so hard that he can’t move his body, can’t even seem to breathe. The walker falls down with him, on top of him, and Carl cries out, everything red and hot and excruciating. He can hear the walker’s teeth gnashing and this isn’t how it’s going to end. He lifts up his gun, finding the walker’s head and firing into it again and again until there’s nothing but the clicking of an empty chamber.

He sobs, pushing the walker off him, trying to sit up, but all he can see is blood, so much blood, covering him and the ground. He stares down at it, can’t quite equate it with himself. He has some bandaids in his bag and the thought is so absurd that he wants to laugh but instead he just slumps into the dirt that’s soaked with his own blood, blackness closing in around him.

“No, I think he’s breathing.”

The voices rouse Carl, making him crack open his eye, but all he can see is white light and he squeezes it shut again.

“You really think he’s going to make it back?” another voice asks. “You really think he’s going to be worth anything if he does?”

Carl tries to open his eye again. Against the bright sky he can make out three figures standing over him.

“We take him,” the first voice says. “We take him and we see.”

Carl can feel the panic rise within him. He doesn’t know what these people want with him but he has a very bad feeling about it. Maybe they’re the Governor’s people. Maybe they’re somebody worse. He’s not going to take that chance.

He reaches out, gropes at the earth until he finds the pistol, holding it up in front of him. By the time he has his arms extended upwards, two of the men already have their own guns trained on him. The third one in the middle simply chuckles.

“Really, kid?” he asks incredulously. “You’re going to shoot me? Then we both die by the side of the road. I’m trying to help you.”

Carl’s arms shake and he can feel unconsciousness threatening to swallow him up again. The man reaches forwards, taking the gun out of his limp grasp. He inspects it and then shoves it in his waistband.

“It’s not even loaded.” He turns to the men by his sides. “Load him up. If you put pressure on that he should make it back to the satellite outpost. We’ll see what they can do for him.”

Carl feels himself hoisted up and it’s humiliating that he can’t do anything about it, can’t even support his own head. They lay him in the back of the truck and one of them leans over him, pressing down with some kind of fabric on his face. The pain is too much to bear, making him cry out before he slips back out of consciousness.

He finds it hard to fit together the pieces of the following days, maybe weeks. He knows that he’s somewhere safe, he feels it every time he’s aware of his surroundings. People are taking care of him. The relief of that after the hopelessness of being alone is more than a little overwhelming.

When he lifts his hand up, feeling the edge of the bandage wrapped over half of his face, he watches the doctor watching him.

“Is it gone?” he asks.

The doctor nods. “But you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Carl agrees. A little piece of him is missing, but what’s another missing piece? “Thank you.”

“Get some rest.”

He feels like he does nothing but rest. As time goes on, he finds himself a little more alert every day, the heaviness that drags him down lessening until he almost feels like he could sit up by himself. Almost.

He wakes up one day and sees a new face by his bed. He stares at them, the leather jacket and the grey speckled beard and the eyes that light up as he grins.

“Rise and shine, kid.”

“Hi,” Carl says. He looks around the room but there’s no one else here.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are my men were out on that route?” the man asks. “Simon told me if he’d been ten minutes later, he would have been putting down one of those dead sons of bitches.”

Carl nods. “I’m grateful.”

“I’m sure you are,” the man agrees. “Have they been looking after you alright here?” he asks. “Have your needs been met?”

“Yeah,” Carl responds, unsure where this is going. “They’ve been great.”

The man nods. “Good,” he says, the word drawn out in a way that’s almost threatening. “You got a name, kid?”

“Carl Grimes.”

“Well, Carl Grimes, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man states. “I’m Negan.”

Negan. Carl has heard that name, people use it in hushed conversations a lot. He must be the leader.

Negan leans back in his chair, considering Carl. “You were out there all alone?”

“Yeah,” Carl says.

“How long for?” Negan asks.

Carl thinks about his pathetic misadventures of the last week. If these people are going to take him in, he has to seem like more of an asset than a burden. “A few months,” he says. “I’ve been moving around. It’s hard to keep track of time.”

“Right,” Negan says, still looking at Carl like it’s more than his answers that interest him. “How’d you end up on your own?”

“I was with a group,” Carl says. “We had a place. But we got attacked and I don’t know what happened to everyone. I tried to find them. I waited for them. I thought they’d wait for me. Either they left me or they’re dead.”

“That’s a hell of a tough break, kid,” Negan says. He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Leaving a kid out there to die. We’re better than that here. You’re one of us now.”

Carl still isn’t sure what being a part of this entails, but he knows it’s got to be better than being out there on his own. People need people to survive.

“What happened to you?” Negan asks. “The eye.”

“I…” Carl begins, but there’s no good lie for this one. He’s not willing to tell the truth, not about this. If anyone ever finds out, he’ll never be taken seriously. He shakes his head, trying to push it all away. This is more than he’s had to think since he woke up in this place and his brain doesn’t feel up to it.

“Some bad shit, huh?” Negan comments, watching him.

“Yeah,” Carl agrees. It’s the truth, if only a sliver of it.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Negan says. “And I do want to talk about it, Carl. I want to know all about you.”

Carl swallows uncomfortably, still not sure how to read Negan, whether his interest is friendly or threatening. He nods his head in vague agreement.

“Are you ready to go home?” Negan asks.

Carl frowns. “Where’s home?”

Negan smiles at him, slow and deliberate. “The Sanctuary.”

Carl gets dressed in clothes that don’t belong to him, wondering what happened to his own. He remembers the blood, everything drenched in it, and he figures they probably threw them out. He puts on his odd shoes, embarrassed by them now that people can see him, judge him. He can make up whatever story he wants, one look at him and it’s obvious that he’s alive by sheer luck alone.

As he gathers up his things he realises his hat, the sheriff’s hat, is missing. He searches the room, looking under cabinets in case it’s fallen onto the floor, but it’s nowhere. He heads out to the hall, hesitating when he sees Negan talking to someone. He finally turns to face him.

“You ready?”

“Do you know where my hat is?” Carl asks.

“Your hat?”

“My dad gave it to me,” Carl tells him. “It’s special.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Negan responds. “All your shit’s in there as far as I know.”

“It’s not there,” Carl says.

“Then it’s not there,” Negan responds.

Carl nods his head, trying to hold it together, but he feels so weak and it takes everything he has just to keep standing.

“I’ll get them to look for it,” Negan says. “Send it over if they find it.”

“Thank you,” Carl responds in a small voice.

Negan smiles at him. “I got you a room all set up at the Sanctuary,” he says, moving closer to him. “Do you like video games?”

“Video games?” Carl asks.

“I got you a couple of consoles,” Negan tells him. “They’re pretty old school but it’s something. We’ll see what else we can get you.”

“You have video games?” Carl asks.

“You have video games,” Negan tells him. “And anything else your heart desires.”

Carl can’t quite process this information. He was just happy to be alive, his only goal was survival, he can’t work out what he’s done to deserve this. As Negan turns, he swings a baseball bat up onto his shoulder, the end of it wrapped in barbed wire. Negan sees Carl staring at it.

“This is Lucille,” he says. “And you know what? I think she likes you.” He nods his head towards the entrance. “Let’s go, kid.”

Carl follows him out, squinting in the sunlight, feeling dizzy. Negan helps him up into the cab of a truck, climbing in after him, and as they start to move, Carl closes his eye against the light. Once he gets used to the sunlight he’ll open it again. The movement of the truck lulls him off to sleep before that ever happens.

Negan nudges him awake he doesn’t know how long later and Carl lifts his head to find himself drooling on Negan’s shoulder. He wipes at his mouth, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, forcing himself to sit up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Negan dismisses, looking at him with amusement. “I know they’ve got you on an awesome cocktail of drugs.” He nods through the front windshield. “We’re here.”

Carl looks up as they pass by an angel statue to see a huge building looming over them. There are walkers everywhere and Carl is worried until he realises they’re attached to the fences. He tries to take it all in but the light still hurts his eye and he can’t quite focus.

They pull up outside and he clambers out after Negan, steadying himself on the truck while he tries to get his bearings. The sound of the walkers drowns out everything else, making him feel incredibly uneasy. No matter how much security they might offer, it doesn’t seem worth the risk to keep them here. It seems like something that could so easily end in disaster.

Negan moves in close to him. “Let’s get you set up,” he says. “Follow me.”

Carl nods, his feet dragging slightly as he moves across the yard, trailing behind Negan as he walks into the building. Inside, everything is hard edges and concrete but Carl is just so glad to be somewhere with people where he might be able to let his guard down, where he might be able to do more than just survive.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” Negan says, gesturing up the staircase. “Think you can manage it?”

“Yeah,” Carl says, even though he would quite like to lie down on the cold floor right here and go to sleep.

Negan motions him forwards and Carl holds onto the banister, hauling himself up step after step. He hasn’t moved for he doesn’t know how long, lying in that bed while people tended to him, and it’s a real effort to keep himself moving. Negan steps up closer to him, placing a firm hand on the small of his back, guiding him up. Carl feels so secure, knowing he’s not going to fall, knowing that someone literally has his back. He lets Negan steady him, so grateful for the kindness. This is a good man, he thinks. This is someone he’s going to be safe with.

“This is it,” Negan says as they reach another landing. Carl has lost count of how many flights they’ve climbed. “I’m just down the hall,” Negan says, gesturing to a set of double doors. “And you are right here.”

He opens the door, ushering Carl inside. There’s a double bed, a big flat screen TV, an armchair, a stereo. Carl struggles to take it all in. There’s windows along one side, smoky and stained, but they let in a soft light that makes Carl feel calm.

“This is all mine?” he asks cautiously.

Negan grins at him, looking pleased. “Welcome home.”

Carl looks around again, unable to believe it. “And this works?” he asks, gesturing to the TV.

“Everything is fully functional,” Negan assures him. “And if it’s not, I’m sure we’ve got a man that can fix it.”

“This is amazing,” Carl says. “Thank you so much.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Negan says. “You deserve it.”

Carl looks away, trying not to let the emotions weigh him down. He’s going to be okay here. He’s going to make it.

“You want to try out those video games?” Negan asks.

“I might just lie down for a minute,” Carl says apologetically. “If that’s okay?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Negan assures him. “I want you to be happy here. Can I get you something to eat?”

Carl nods. “Thanks.”

“What do you want?” Negan asks.

“Uh, whatever you have,” Carl shrugs. “Whatever you can spare.”

Negan grins, moving closer to him, hips swaying with the motion. “Kid, we’ve got everything. What do you want?”

Carl doesn’t know what to do with the option of anything. His already spinning mind ties itself up in knots. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” he asks.

“That I can do,” Negan says. “You get some rest, I’ll come check on you later.”

“Thank you,” Carl says again.

“Thank you is something we do around here, not something we say,” Negan responds. “I’ll make sure that PB&J gets to you.”

As Negan closes the door behind himself, Carl climbs onto the bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. His stupid odd shoes. He settles down into the pillow, closing his eye, feeling that familiar heaviness settle over him. He’s not sure what the drugs are that they have him on but they make him sleep long and hard and he’s grateful.

As he starts to slip under again he wonders idly just what he’s going to be expected to do to pay these people back for their kindness. He doesn’t care. He’ll do it. It can’t be any worse than being out there alone.

Chapter 3

When Carl wakes from his nap, the light is starting to fade. He props himself up, rubbing at his eye, and sees a PB&J sandwich by the side of his bed along with a glass of milk. He smiles to himself, sitting up properly and grabbing it.

The bread is rustic looking but it tastes delicious. The fillings are different too, definitely not store bought, but they taste really good. He washes it down with the milk, wondering what kind of operation they’re running here to have access to all these things. He’s definitely landed on his feet, even if they’re in mismatched shoes.

He gets up, inspecting the room. He has his own fridge and he opens it up to find the remainder of a bottle of milk inside. On the counter is the rest of the loaf from the sandwich as well as jars with the peanut butter and jelly in them. He opens up the peanut butter, dipping his finger in and licking it off. He was never allowed to do that at home but this jar, he assumes, is his.

He looks through the stack of games by the TV for the two different consoles, already excited to play them. He thinks about trying them out but the thought of the light from the TV makes him wince. His vision has been so sensitive lately. He’s not sure whether it’s the drugs or his body overcompensating. He looks through the books on the shelf, the CDs and tapes by the stereo. It’s all so much more exciting than anything he found in those houses because he can stay here, he can get a chance to use it.

There’s a knock on the door and he places the tape he’s looking at back down, turning towards it. “Come in.”

Negan enters, followed by a man in a white coat, carrying a doctor’s bag. “This is Dr. Mitchell,” Negan tells him. “He’ll be taking over your care, I wanted to let him get a look at you now.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees, moving closer to them. He watches as Dr. Mitchell opens his bag, organising his things.

“Come and take a seat,” he invites. Carl sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Dr Mitchell moves towards him, holding a thermometer. “Open.”

Carl does as he’s told, allowing Mitchell to place a thermometer under his tongue. He holds it there as Mitchell reaches up, starting to unwrap the bandage. He notices Negan moving in closer as the bandage comes free, the gauze removed from his socket.

“Holy shit,” Negan says with fascinated wonder, making Carl look up at him. “They said it was bad, but holy shit. Have you seen this thing yet? Have they shown you?”

Carl shakes his head, suddenly self-conscious. He shrinks away.

“Well, it is disgusting,” Negan tells him. “I’ve seen my fair share of fucked up shit by now but that is something else. I can see your socket. That is gross as hell.”

Carl was just so focused on being alive that it hadn’t even occurred to him what he might look like, what he might be inflicting on other people. He looks down, breaths coming faster, feeling small and scared and fucked up all over again. He’s broken. He broke himself.

“Hell, now I want to touch it,” Negan says. “Can I touch it?”

“No,” Mitchell responds, taking the thermometer from Carl’s mouth and reading it.

“Well I wasn’t asking you,” Negan tells him.

“You don’t have a temperature,” Mitchell says, continuing on with his examination. “And the wound looks clean, it’s starting to heal over.” He takes out a fresh piece of gauze and a bandage, starting to wrap him back up. “How’s the medication working for you? Any side effects?”

“I’m tired all the time,” Carl says. “Really tired. I sleep most of the day.”

“Yeah, they can knock you out,” Mitchell agrees. “And they had you on some pretty heavy sedatives over there to give your body the best chance to heal, you’re probably still working those out of your system.” He carefully secures the bandage in place. “How’s your pain?” he asks. “On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain at all, ten being excruciating agony.”

“Four?” Carl says. “I don’t know, it’s not pain, it just feels... I can’t describe it. It feels like someone took my brain out and put it back in.”

“We can try changing your pain meds, but I think that’s just the trauma, it should settle down on its own if you can live with it,” Mitchell tells him.

Carl nods. “I’m okay.”

Mitchell reaches into his bag, taking out some bottles of pills. “This is what they had you on, painkillers, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories.”

“Thanks,” Carl says, taking them off him.

“You’re overdue on the pain meds,” Mitchell tells him. “I’d take a couple of those now.”

Carl juggles the bottles of pills, trying to figure out which are the right ones. He lets the others slip from his hands onto the bed beside him as he tries to open the pain pills. They have a childproof lid and Carl’s muddled brain can’t work it out. It’s so embarrassing.

Negan leans forward, taking them from his hands and flipping the lid off with ease, pouring a couple into Carl’s waiting hand. He walks around the bed, opening the fridge and pouring Carl a glass of milk, handing it over to him. Carl takes it gratefully, knocking back the pills. He smiles at Negan, wanting to say thank you, but he remembers his words from earlier. Thank you is something we do.

Mitchell packs up and leaves and Carl looks at the labels on his pills, trying to work out when he’s supposed to take them all. He looks around the room. He doesn’t even have a clock.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Negan asks.

Carl looks up at him. “What?”

“When I told you how gross that shit on your face was,” Negan says. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Carl shakes his head, still not sure what he feels about it. He’s not sure what he feels about anything, the drugs lending an element of unrealness to everything he sees.

“Wear it with pride,” Negan tells him. “Own it. No one is going to mess with you looking like that. It’s an asset, use it. Know your strengths.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees, storing the words away for when he might be able to properly unravel them.

Negan sits down in the armchair, looking over at Carl. “You’re a badass. Do you know that?”

Carl gives a little half-shrug at the words, feeling his cheeks flush.

“Don’t be fucking modest with me,” Negan says, like they’re old friends teasing each other. “I have seen men twice your size take injuries half as bad as that and sob like little bitches about it.”

Carl thinks back to the side of the road. He doesn’t think he sobbed. He didn’t get a chance before he passed out.

“But you are taking it in your stride,” Negan goes on. “Look at how brave you are. I’m serious, kid, you are strong as hell.”

Carl’s lips quirk into a little smile. He can feel the words boosting him up.

“You’re going to fit right in here,” Negan tells him. He nods his head, giving Carl a smile. “Let me tell you about who we are.”

“Okay,” Carl says. He sits up a little straighter. He wants Negan to know he’s taking this seriously.

“We’re the Saviors,” Negan says. “I’ll give you a tour of this place when you’re feeling up to it, you’ll get the idea, but our tendrils go much deeper and further than that. We find communities, survivors, who are struggling and we save them. We protect them. In exchange, they provide for us. Everybody wins.”

Carl nods. A network of survivors. A group of communities. That’s the kind of thing his dad would never have dared try to build. Negan makes it sound so easy. It all makes perfect sense.

“There are rules,” Negan continues. “There have to be rules. If people break the rules, there are punishments. It keeps everybody on the same page. Motivates them. Then there are the people who enforce the rules. Strong people. Brave people. People who don’t fold like little bitches.”

He grins at Carl, the message clear. If he proves himself, he could have a place here, not as a follower, but as an enforcer. As a savior.

Negan gets to his feet, his face suddenly neutral again as he approaches the bed. He scoops up the pill bottles, heading towards the door.

“But first,” he says, “We have to get you back on your feet. Follow me.”

They walk to the end of the corridor to a set of open double doors. Carl’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Negan steps through into a lavishly decorated room, long drapes framing the windows, decadent looking couches with fancy throw cushions, a kitted out bar. It’s incredible and looks completely out of place in the stark concrete of the factory.

“These are my wives,” Negan says grandly, throwing his arms out as if to show them off.

Carl looks at the women sitting around the room, all dressed in similar little black dresses like it’s a uniform. That alone looks hopelessly impractical, not to mention the high heels they’re all wearing.

“Ladies, this is Carl,” Negan says as he turns to face them. “He is in need of a little TLC. You’re going to make sure he’s comfortable and well taken care of.” He drops the bottles of pills down onto one of the couches. “These are his meds. You are now responsible for him taking what he needs, when he needs it. I suggest one of you go down to Dr. Mitchell and figure that out. If it is time for Carl’s pills and you do not see Carl, it is your responsibility to find him and make sure he takes those pills. It will displease me if Carl does not get his pills in a prompt and proper manner. And I am certain you ladies do not want me… displeased.”

He emphasises the last word with an edge to his voice that even chills Carl.

“We got it, Negan,” the redhead assures him in a polite voice.

“Good,” Negan says. “Tanya, make him whatever he wants for dinner.”

“Sure thing, Negan,” Tanya responds.

Negan gives a wink and a nod to the women before turning back to the door. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, kid. They’ll take care of you.”

“Are, uh…” Carl begins. Negan stares at him. “They’re all your wives?”

“Sure are,” Negan agrees with a grin. “And I get it. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen women as fine as this. You’re going to want to stare at their titties. I won’t mind, they won’t mind, knock yourself out.”

He pats Carl on the shoulder before exiting the room. Carl feels his cheek flush with embarrassment, not wanting to even look at the women anymore in case they think he’s checking them out.

“Don’t mind him,” the redhead says. “He thinks everyone’s brain is as disgusting as his. Come sit down.”

Carl moves over, sitting obediently on the edge of the couch.

“I’m Frankie,” she says. “You look like you’ve been through the wars.”

“Something like that,” Carl says, clasping his hands together on his lap.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Frankie dismisses. “We’ll take care of you.”

A woman with long hair comes over to the couch, picking up the pill bottles and looking them over. “I’m going down to talk to Mitchell,” she says. “We do not want to fuck this up.”

“Good call,” Tanya says.

“Do you know how to play backgammon?” Frankie asks Carl.

Carl shakes his head. “No.”

Frankie smiles at him. “We’ll teach you.”

Carl does not pick up the rules easily. He wants to tell them that he’s not stupid, it’s his head injury and the drugs and the fact that his hand doesn’t even seem to go where he wants it to go. Everything looks different now. They’re kind and patient with him though and his defensiveness falls away. He can tell why Negan left him with them while he’s healing.

He’s introduced to them all. There’s Frankie the redhead, Tanya who’s a professional chef, Adriana who figured out Carl’s meds for him and Joy who ends up playing most of Carl’s backgammon turns when it becomes obvious he can’t do it for himself. He doesn’t even make it to the end of the game, his eye stinging and his whole body exhausted. This is more than he’s done since he woke up at the satellite outpost however long ago that was now.

“Wait,” Adriana says as he stands up to leave. She looks through the pills, pouring a couple out from two different bottles. “You need these before you go to sleep.”

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the pills and a bottle of water, swallowing them down.

“I’m supposed to make you dinner,” Tanya says. “It’s early, I can bring it to your room. Whatever you want.”

“I just want to sleep,” Carl says. “And I have the stuff for PB&J if I get hungry.”

Tanya seems to consider this for a moment. “I’ll make you breakfast. That should be close enough to the instruction to keep me in Negan’s good graces. How do you like your eggs?”

“Eggs?” Carl asks. He can’t remember the last time he had eggs. “Uh, sunny side up?”

“Great, then I will see you bright and early,” Tanya responds.

“With your meds,” Adriana adds.

“Thank you,” Carl says earnestly. “All of you.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Frankie beams.

Carl walks back down the corridor, feeling so unbelievably grateful to have ended up here. The Sanctuary. It’s a fitting name. Carl knows just how bad things are out there. But not in here. In here he feels safe. He feels protected. Negan gets things done. Carl wants to be a part of that.

The next morning, Tanya wakes him up with breakfast in bed and directs him which pills to take. It’s like having a mom again. Or several actually. He gets dressed, wondering if he should go to the lounge again to hang out with them, when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it up to find Negan standing in front of him, Lucille propped up on his shoulder, a charming smile on his face.

“Hey, kid,” he says. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m good,” Carl responds with a little nod.

“Of course you are,” Negan says warmly. “You’re a goddamn champ.”

Carl smiles, ducking his head at the praise.

“How about we go to my room?” Negan suggests. “It’s comfortable and we can talk.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees, stepping forward. He has to admit, he likes it when Negan’s attention is focused on him.

“I want to know all about you, Carl,” Negan says, starting to lead the way.

At the opposite end of the corridor to the lounge is another set of double doors. Inside is an imposing four poster bed to the left, impeccably made like housekeeping have just left. To the right is a seating area, a large leather couch and a couple of chairs with a coffee table in between that looks like a work of art. There are shelves and surfaces that exist only for art to sit on. It feels more like a home than anywhere Carl has been in a long, long time.

“Nice, right?” Negan says smugly as Carl takes it all in.

“Yeah,” Carl says, not trying to hide how impressed he is. “The last place I lived was literally a jail cell.”

“I want to hear about that,” Negan says, going to sit down on the couch. He leans back into the plush cushions, spreading his legs decadently. He looks like he owns the place. Carl guesses he does. “But let’s start from the beginning.”

Carl moves over, going to sit in one of the chairs opposite him. “The beginning?”

“I want to know your story, Carl,” Negan says. “Tell me where you were when the world went to shit.”

“We were trying to get to Atlanta to start with,” Carl says. It’s been so long since he thought about those early days.

“We?” Negan asks.

“Me and my mom and Shane,” Carl says. “He was my dad’s best friend. My dad was in the hospital. They never really used to tell me what was going on, but I remember them talking about a camp. The roads were gridlocked though. Nothing was moving. We were still stuck there when we watched them bomb Atlanta.” He can feel all the hairs on his arms raise up at the thought of it. “It was so unreal, like something out of a movie, but it’s scarier when it’s not in slow motion, when you can feel the vibrations.”

“That sounds pretty fucked up,” Negan agrees. “Those early days were something else, huh?”

“Yeah,” Carl says quietly. He’s not sure he wants to tell this story anymore.

“So Atlanta was blown to hell,” Negan says. “Where did you go?”

“We made a camp,” Carl says. “A few of us who were stuck on that road. We had tents. It was kind of fun for a while.” He sighs. He’s held onto parts of his story to protect people but they’re all dead now. He doesn’t want to keep their secrets. What does it matter if tells Negan now? “Shane started fucking my mom.”

Negan sits up a little straighter, raising his eyebrows. “Well that is a plot twist.”

Carl shrugs. He can’t deny that he enjoys Negan’s reaction. “The camp wasn’t really anything. It didn’t last long. But my dad found us there. Then my mom had to stop fucking Shane and the two of them pretended like it never happened and neither of them knew that I knew even though they did it right next to me in the tent. All the time.”

“Well isn’t this story just a salacious little romp,” Negan says. “Holy shit. I mean, you probably missed sex ed at school, but at least you got the practical version.”

Carl snorts a laugh. His mind wanders to Negan’s wives, what he does with them. It’s heavily implied that it’s sexual, but that just sounds exhausting to Carl.

“So once everyone was done fucking everyone, what happened next?” Negan asks.

Carl tries to get back on track but his head is filled with short skirts and Negan’s hands, that beard against soft skin. He blinks, trying to focus.

“We went to the CDC,” he says. “A scientist let us in. He told us all about Wildfire.”

Negan leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Oh really?” he asks, clearly intrigued. “I bet you learnt some shit there. Some shit that not a lot of people know.”

“I don’t know if I remember that much,” Carl admits.

“Well I am for sure going to find you the right person to talk to about that,” Negan says. “I like when my people know more shit than other people’s people. That is one of my favourite things.”

His slow smile radiates pride at Carl and he can’t help but smile back. He hopes that he remembers something useful, or at least something interesting.

“Keep going,” Negan says, sitting back in his seat. “This tale is already full of twists and turns and I get the feeling we’re just getting started. I knew you were going to fascinate me, Carl.”

Carl can feel himself blush. He takes a breath, forcing himself to think back. “After that, we lost someone,” he says. “Sophia. She was a kid. Like me. But she got scared and she hid or ran off. I don’t know. We spent days looking for her.”

Negan nods. “Takes a special kind of someone to survive in this world.”

“Yeah,” Carl says. He tries to sort through his memories. They’re not a neat narrative like he’s trying to create. They come to him in pieces. “She was still missing when I was shot.”

Negan looks at him. “Where?”

“My stomach,” Carl says. “Buckshot. Messy.”

“Show me,” Negan says, drawing forward. Carl hesitates before lifting up his shirt. Negan tilts his head, taking it in. “You really are one of the biggest badasses I have ever met,” he says in wonder. “It’s like you were built for this world.”

Carl lets go of his shirt, sitting up a little taller. He’s survived so much. He survived what no one else did.

“That’s how we found the farm,” he says. “We made it safe for a while. But it went to shit. Everything always goes to shit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Negan says. Carl wants to know his story. He wonders if he’s allowed to ask. “Tell me about the farm,” Negan says matter of factly. Carl guesses his own curiosity will have to wait.

“It was safe there,” Carl says. “It was isolated. There were swamps that the walkers couldn’t cross. It could have been perfect. Except my dad was trying too hard to be polite and Shane was trying too hard to be a badass. And my mom was pregnant and everyone knew it was Shane’s but we all pretended it was my dad’s. Sophia was still missing. The swamps froze. My dad killed Shane but he didn’t do it right and I had to put him down as a walker. That was my first kill. I don’t know if that’s why it stuck with me or just because it was Shane. Even though it wasn’t. Not anymore. But I did what had to be done. What my dad didn’t. And while all this was going on, the walkers were crossing the frozen swamps and it wasn’t safe anymore. We were overrun. We had to go. And Sophia had been dead the whole time.”

“You really are something else, kid,” Negan says appreciatively. “You stepped the hell up.”

Carl looks down at the floor, thinking about Dale, how he didn’t save him, how he’s responsible for the walker that tore him apart. He doesn’t want to tell that part of the story though. Not when Negan is so impressed by him. Not when he’s looking at him with pride like that.

“We were on the road for a few months,” he continues. “It was tough. It made us a real team though. A family.”

“Those who slay together, stay together,” Negan says. Carl wishes that was true. But if he hadn’t ended up on his own, he wouldn’t have ended up here.

“That’s when we found the prison,” he says. “We cleared it out, took it for ourselves. We made a community. But then my dad wanted to grow things. He thought we could just be farmers, like the world wasn’t a living hell anymore. Like we didn’t have to still fight for it every day. He let his guard down. My mom had the baby but we had to cut it out of her. I held her open.” He remembers the feel of it, everything slick with blood. “I shot her in the head before she could come back.”

“That is a damn shame,” Negan says sincerely.

The words somehow make Carl feel the loss even more keenly, as though Negan is giving him permission. Carl is a badass, but sometimes a thing just sucks. Like having to shoot his mom. He’s not weak for feeling that.

“That’s the kind of shit that breaks a person,” Negan says.

Carl looks up at him, staring him dead in the eye. “I didn’t break.”

Negan’s eyes scan appreciatively up and down him. “I can see that.”

Carl nods, his eyes falling down again. Negan doesn’t set that angry, defensive spark in him alight.

“We made the prison safe from walkers,” he continues. “But not from people who wanted to take it from us. We could have kept it. We had the weapons and we had the means but none of them had the will to do what needed to be done. And then they gave me shit for making the only smart choice.”

Negan considers him for a moment. “What choice?”

“I killed a kid who was with the enemy,” Carl says. “I told him to put his gun down and he kept edging towards me. And I saw how my dad killed Shane. Creeping. Pretending to hand over his gun right before he stabbed him in the gut. That wasn’t going to be me. If it wasn’t a play to kill me then he was going to give our position away. He was going to help them take that place from us. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Negan nods. “That does sound like a smart choice. They gave you shit for that? Defending yourself? Defending your home?”

“They made it sound like I killed an innocent person in cold blood,” Carl says. “That’s not how it works. I know that’s not how it works. I couldn’t take the chance. Not anymore.”

“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable response to me,” Negan says. “If someone’s not with you in this world, they’re better off out of it than in your way.”

“Right,” Carl says, feeling vindicated.

“They don’t know how lucky they were to have you,” Negan says. Carl takes a breath, puffing out his chest. Negan gets it.

“We kept the prison that day,” Carl says. “But the enemy was still out there. He still wanted to take it from us. And everybody knew that, my dad knew that, and they just pretended everything was fine. They built something, knowing that he could take it away at any moment. My dad was the worst. He was their leader, they trusted him, and he let them buy into this fantasy.” He shakes his head, lip curling in disgust. “And he treated me like I was a child. He wouldn’t let me do the things I was capable of.”

“It sounds like you were wasted on him,” Negan comments.

Carl shrugs. He can feel the fight going out of him as he nears the conclusion of his story. “The bad guy came back,” Carl says. “And we weren’t ready. We had hunters, we had trackers, we could have found him and killed him. But my dad let him regroup and build a new army and get a goddamn tank. And then he blew it all to hell and in the chaos…” He stares down at the floor, trying to distance himself from it. He doesn’t want to go back there. The yard, the walkers, the gunfire and rubble and smoke. “I got out. I never found anyone else who got out, so I guess… I guess they didn’t. It was just me.”

“I am so sorry they let you down like that,” Negan says, leaning forward in his chair. “And I am so glad that my men were the ones to find you so that we could get you patched up and bring you here where you belong.”

Carl looks up at him. He knows his eye is shining with unshed tears. That’s okay, isn’t it? “Thank you.”

Negan smiles at him. Thank you is something we do. The words echo in Carl’s head. He’ll do anything.

“You look tired,” Negan says.

Carl’s body feels incredibly heavy all of a sudden, a bone deep exhaustion that seems to go further than his injury and the pills. It’s like he can finally relax from the weight he’s had to carry. Negan is looking at him like he’s more than willing to help him with the burden and so Carl feels himself surrender.

“Nap time?” Negan suggests.

“Maybe,” Carl allows.

“I’ll let you get back to your room,” Negan says, grabbing a notebook from the table between them and sitting back on the couch with it. “I have some work to take care of anyway.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees. He gets to his feet.

“Oh, and Carl,” Negan says. Carl stops, turning back to face him. “Your potential will not be wasted here. I intend to personally ensure that.”

Carl smiles, giving him a little nod. He can’t wait to get his strength back so that he can really prove himself to Negan. He won’t let him regret his kindness. Negan turns his attention to his notebook and Carl leaves him to his work.

He sleeps for a couple of hours on his bed and then makes himself a PB&J sandwich with his supplies. Such simple things that he took completely for granted back in the before times. He knows how special they are now. He didn’t think he’d ever see comforts like this again.

He goes through to the lounge afterwards, sitting with the wives and watching them play backgammon. Maybe he’ll pick it up better that way. He likes their company. They’re kind to him. Maybe only because Negan told them to.

When Negan comes in later that afternoon, the atmosphere in the room changes. It’s not fear, Carl knows what that looks and smells like, but they’re cautious of him. They want to stay on his good side. Carl wonders what happens if they don’t. Maybe they lose some of their privileges. Carl still doesn’t really understand the dynamic between them all, doesn’t know how this set up works. He wonders if it’s okay to ask.

Negan strolls into the centre of the room, Lucille balanced on his shoulder. He never seems to be without the bat. He looks slowly around the room, considering them all before he walks over to the backgammon game.

“Who’s winning, kid?”

“I don’t really know,” Carl admits. “I’m learning.”

Negan gives a chuckle. “You are adorable. Do you know that?”

Carl feels his cheeks flush.

“Tanya,” Negan says. “Keep him fed. I’ll show him the ropes tomorrow, but you’re his personal chef until then.”

“You got it,” Tanya agrees.

Negan crosses the room to where Joy is sitting on one of the couches. Carl watches as Negan stands right in front of her, his eyes scanning shamelessly up and down her. She shifts slightly under his gaze, waiting. He reaches out slowly with his free hand, holding it palm up to her in offering.

“Want to play how many times can Negan make me come before he has to go sit in a boring ass meeting full of assholes he can barely stand?” Negan asks.

Joy places her hand in his. “Yes, please.”

Negan yanks her to her feet a little too hard, pulling her body tight into his. “Well let’s get started then.”

Carl watches as he leads her from the room, a funny feeling low down in his stomach. He turns back to the other wives. “Does that bother you?”

Tanya gives a sigh. “I do not have the energy or the inclination to try and have multiple orgasms right now,” she says. “Or fake them.”

Carl frowns at her. He wishes he never asked. This whole conversation is making him feel squirmy.

“We don’t get jealous of each other,” Frankie says. “But alternative relationships can be confusing. Especially to someone your age.”

“I’m not that young,” Carl insists, even though he’s pretty sure he’s pouting.

“It’s okay,” Frankie tells him. “If you pretend to know everything, no one is going to explain it to you and then you’ll never get it. This is a safe space. That’s our one rule in here. Until Negan walks in.”

Carl considers this for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t get it,” he admits.

Frankie smiles at him. “So I guess you know a relationship as being between two people, but that’s not what any of us signed up for. We went into this knowing what it was, that he intends to have as many wives and he feels like, and we agreed to that. It’s not cheating. There’s no hard feelings.”

“Besides,” Tanya says. “Negan can be a lot. I would not want to be his only wife.”

They go back to playing their game and Carl watches, but his mind is elsewhere. He thinks about Joy laid out by Negan on that four poster bed. He thinks about Negan being a lot. It’s inappropriate and probably disrespectful, but his mind is stuck on it. It’s just because it’s new, he tells himself. Everything around here is new and not at all what he had ever considered could be possible anymore.

Chapter 4

Negan leans in Carl’s doorway, his fingers wrapped around Lucille who sits in her familiar spot on Negan’s shoulder. His hips are tilted at an angle that draws Carl’s eye to them.

“You ready for the grand tour?” he asks.

Carl nods, lifting his gaze. He’s been waiting for this.

“I’ll show you how it all works,” Negan says, leading him out of the room. “This is your formal introduction. You’ll be able to take care of yourself and your own needs with the resources I give you today. But to be clear, you are still more than welcome to go see my wives if you need anything. They are under strict instructions to make you welcome.” He stops walking suddenly, spinning around and slipping Lucille off his shoulder to point her at Carl’s chest. “But you cannot fuck them.”

Carl blinks at him. “Understood.”

Negan breaks out in a grin like what he said was really funny, his whole posture changing as he bends his knees, placing Lucille back on his shoulder. “Have you ever fucked anyone?”

Carl shakes his head, feeling his cheeks burn. “No.”

Negan nods, still grinning. He starts walking again. “Well, you know where to find them. And you know where to find me. I’ll be either in my quarters where we were yesterday or in this meeting room here,” he says, gesturing towards a door as they pass by. “You’re going to want to knock on either one before entering though. Never know what you might be walking into.”

He gives Carl a wink as they turn towards the stairs. Carl holds onto the bannister, feeling uncertain of his footing.

“The important people are all up here,” Negan says. Carl notes that his own room is up here. Does that mean he’s important? “But the heart of this place, where you can find just about anything you desire, is down on the factory floor. Let me show you.”

Carl tries to keep pace with Negan but he doesn’t trust his depth perception on the stairs, the next step never quite where he thinks it should be. It’s so disorientating. Maybe he should practice this more. He guesses he’s going to have to get used to it.

Once they reach the first landing, Negan starts to match Carl’s steady descent, walking alongside him, and it makes Carl feel steadier on his feet. It makes him feel safer. He’d forgotten just how many stairs they’d climbed to get up there and by the time they reach the bottom, he feels dizzy. He braces himself on the railing for a moment.

“You doing okay?” Negan asks, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Carl nods, standing up taller.

“You really do impress the hell out of me,” Negan says appreciatively.

Carl’s lips quirk into a little smile. He doesn’t want to look smug, but he likes the way the words make him feel. His dad would probably be treating him like he was broken right now, but Negan only sees his strength.

“Ready?” Negan asks.

“Yeah,” Carl agrees.

“Right this way,” Negan tells him.

They enter a huge open marketplace area. The second they step inside, everybody in the room drops down onto one knee, the place going silent. It gives Carl goosebumps. Negan stands for a moment, as if soaking it in, and then he raises a hand up into the air and it’s as though time restarts, everyone going back to what they were doing. Negan looks to Carl, grinning.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Carl doesn’t know what to say, just gives him an incredulous look. Negan’s leadership is impressive and his people give him such unquestioning respect. He’s clearly put in the time and dedication to prove himself.

“We have a lot of makers down here,” Negan says, beginning to pace slowly through the different stalls, giving Carl a chance to get a good look at everything. “And some fixers. They’re incredibly helpful and most will take requests. It can get pricey, but that’s not going to be a problem for you.”

Carl gives him a questioning look.

“We use points here,” Negan explains. “It’s like our currency. The more you provide or contribute to this place, the more points you get, the more privileges you get and the more you can afford to treat yourself. You work hard and you make yourself an asset, you’re going to have a very comfortable life here.”

Carl nods. It sounds like a great way to motivate people into caring about their community. Accountability. No freeloaders. “I like that.”

Negan smiles at him. “I like that too. But you don’t need to worry. People who live on the top floor don’t need points. They have more than earned their keep, they get first pick of the spoils and whatever little luxuries they want.”

“Why?” Carl asks.

Negan stops walking, turning to fully face Carl. “Excuse me?”

“No, I mean, why me?” Carl asks. “Why am I on the top floor? I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t earned it.”

“Yet,” Negan agrees. “But as soon as I heard about you, the kid out there on his own who survived a gunshot to the head. You’re going to earn your keep one way or another, I’m sure of that. When you’re well enough, which is your priority right now. Then you’re either going to prove that you belong there, or we find you a spot that fits you better.”

“I’ll prove it,” Carl insists.

“I’m sure you will,” Negan agrees with a slow grin. He starts walking again. “For now, you want anything, you just sign your name. Word’s out there, take whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Carl says, remembering too late that proving himself worthy of this treatment is the way he’s going to thank Negan. He likes this system already.

“I’ll tell you what you do need,” Negan says, steering Carl in a certain direction. “New boots.”

Carl looks down at his feet, feeling himself flush in humiliation. He looks like an idiot. He’d almost forgotten.

Negan takes him over to a stall with various clothes, bags and footwear. They find some sturdy boots that fit and Negan has him pick out a couple of outfits as well. He shows Carl how to sign for them and then has one of his men run them up to Carl’s room for him.

They do another lap of the marketplace but Carl doesn’t feel comfortable taking anything else yet. He doesn’t need anything and he wants to feel like he deserves it. Motivation. That’s what Negan is giving people. Carl wants to be a part of that.

Negan shows him the mess hall next, explains how mealtimes work. Everything is so well thought out and implemented. Everybody contributes and has their place. It gives them a sense of ownership and loyalty over it. Carl has learned more about how to be a leader in the last few days here at the Sanctuary than he ever did with Rick.

He’s worn out by the time he gets back up to his room. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to wait for Negan to leave, not wanting to appear rude or weak. Negan just watches him like he’s waiting for him to give though.

“It’s alright,” Negan finally says. “You should rest.”

Carl nods, folding down onto his bed. It feels so good to be horizontal. He closes his eye with a sigh, revelling in the sudden lack of stimulation.

He hears Negan’s feet on the floor and then his hand is brushing through Carl’s hair, moving his bangs away from his bandage. “Strongest little fucker I ever met,” Negan says softly. “But we don’t wear shoes on the bed. We’re not fucking savages.”

Carl feels Negan tug at his shoelaces, taking off his odd shoes and tossing them to the floor. Carl makes a little noise of appreciation, wriggling his now free toes in his socks. He doesn’t hear Negan leaving. Maybe he falls asleep before it happens. Either way, he drifts peacefully off, feeling more content than he has in a long time.

He spends the next couple of weeks putting everything he has into his rehabilitation. The doctor gives him some exercises to try out and Negan’s wives help him navigate the marketplace to find what he needs. The desk in his room looks like it belongs to a much younger kid, a puzzle with embarrassingly few pieces and a peg board with little coloured pegs and a wordsearch book. It’s degrading but it all helps him work on his fine motor skills and hand-eye coordination. If he’s going to live up to Negan’s idea of him, he’s going to have to perfect this stuff with monocular vision. That’s a term he wishes he never needed to learn.

He practices bouncing a ball against the wall and playing darts, trying to work on his aim. It’s so much harder than he feels like it should be and he ends more than one session in frustrated tears. He refuses to give up though. He won’t be weak. He can’t be weak. He can’t let this beat him.

His determination, mixed with the spite he feels towards being in this situation, work together to get him through it and he starts to improve. His body and brain can compensate for this if he just sticks with it. He doesn’t let himself think about how far he has to go. Every tiny improvement is a victory to be celebrated. It’s all about frame of mind. He’s landed on his feet here. He’s not going to lose his place on the top floor.

He bounces his tennis ball against the wall and it takes more concentration than he’d like but he catches every bounce. He’s so focused that the knock on his door startles him.

“Come in.”

Negan opens the door, looking at the ball in Carl’s hand as he steps inside. “That’s really fucking annoying.”

“Oh, sorry,” Carl says, instinctively hiding the ball behind his back as if that makes up for it. “It’s part of my physical therapy. Hand-eye coordination and reaction time. I should probably do it somewhere else though.”

“You probably should,” Negan agrees. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Carl tosses the ball onto the bed, distancing himself from it, before he looks back up at Negan whose eyes are on his dartboard, or more accurately, the holes in the wall beside the dartboard. He hasn’t figured that one out yet. Carl wants the ground to open up and swallow him.

Negan turns to face him, his expression warmer as he reaches behind himself, pulling a gun out from the back of his waistband. Carl’s gun. He holds it out in offering. “I thought maybe we could do something a little more productive.”

Carl takes the gun from him, instinctively checking to see if it’s loaded, making sure the safety is on. Negan gives him a smile as he watches him. Carl holds it by his side, finger away from the trigger, waiting.

“You feel up to reclaiming some of those badass ways instead throwing a fucking tennis ball around and giving everyone a headache?” Negan asks.

Carl nods. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Alright, then,” Negan grins. “Let’s go.”

The stairs aren’t quite as exhausting as they used to be. Carl feels like he’s a little stronger, a little more himself, every day. Negan takes him to an outside area, fenced in from the rest of the Sanctuary. There’s no one else around but Carl can hear the groans of walkers on the outer fence, mixing together to make a disturbing kind of white noise.

At the end of the fenced in area are three more walkers, chained to the fence facing them. Their placement is clearly deliberate. Target practice. Carl feels a little thrill, even as his guts twist in anxiety. What if he can’t live up to this? What if he doesn’t have it in him anymore?

“You’re unlikely to have to play in a darts tournament to save your life,” Negan says, hip cocked, Lucille up on his shoulder. “But being able to get a shot in, that’s life or death.”

Carl nods his head in agreement, taking the gun out of his waistband and readying it. He breathes in deep, forcing his hands not to shake. As he lifts the gun in his right hand just like he always has, he realises he can’t see it. That eye isn’t there. He swaps it to his left hand, trying to make it look seamless, but he’s sure the lack of confidence must be screaming from him. He drops his arm down to his side, turning to face Negan.

“I haven’t done this since I lost my eye.”

“I know,” Negan says, his voice sounding kind. “That’s why we’re practicing. Just me and you.”

“Okay,” Carl says, turning back to the walkers. They snarl at him, limbs flailing in the few inches of movement they’re allowed. “Okay,” Carl says again, raising up the gun.

He adjusts his stance, lines it up, pulls the trigger. He misses. He tries not to get emotional. He tries not to let the self-doubt eat him up. He has excellent technique. He just needs to compensate. He moves the gun to the right a little, takes a breath, tries again. Another miss.

He makes a noise of frustration, looking over at Negan. “I’m better than this.”

“Then be better,” Negan says simply. It’s not meant to be belittling. It’s encouragement. Reach your potential.

Carl turns back to his target, standing up a little straighter. He controls his breathing, levelling his gaze at the walker, pulling his arm further across to the right than feels natural. If his vision is lining up wrong, then the correct aim is going to look off to him. He just needs to figure out the angle of correction. Once he gets it, he’s confident he can keep getting it.

He pulls the trigger and the head of the walker sprays bone shards and brains into the air as it slumps forward on its chains. Carl grins as Negan whoops in excitement beside him.

“That’s my boy.”

Carl beams, looking over at him.

“I knew that’s who you were,” Negan says. “I appreciate you proving me right.” He nods towards the remaining two walkers. “Keep going.”

Carl turns back to the walkers, feeling the pride radiating through him. It doesn’t help his next shot be on target. He glances at Negan, feeling like he’s let him down, but Negan doesn’t look disappointed. He looks patient. Curious.

Carl regroups, lines it up, corrects and tries again. It’s close. There’s some blood. He blinks, his eye already feeling fatigued, not used to the sunlight or the distance or the focus. He adjusts the aim, forcing himself to be steady, and the third one hits perfectly on target. One in three shots successful on both tries. It’s not bad. It’s maybe even impressive. He’s not sure it makes him top floor worthy though when he’s up against able-bodied people who can get the job done in half the time.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tanya says, coming out into the fenced in yard. Her high heels look ridiculous against the dusty ground. “It’s time for Carl’s meds.”

She walks over to him, Carl putting the gun back in his waistband as he accepts the pills and drink from her.

“Good girl,” Negan praises, his voice so smooth and flirtatious. He puts out an arm as she goes to pass him out of the yard, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her in instead. “So conscientious.”

He leans in, kissing her deep and dirty, Tanya responding in kind. Carl flicks his eye away, offering them some semblance of privacy, but he can’t help but look back. Negan wants him to look, he’s pretty certain of that. As they kiss, Negan’s hand slips down from her waist, cupping her ass and giving a squeeze.

“Negan,” Tanya says in a scandalised whisper. “Carl’s right there.”

“And?” Negan responds, kissing her again.

Carl watches, mesmerised, as Negan’s fingers move against the soft fabric of her dress, slowly bunching it up until the fabric of her lace panties beneath are revealed. She pulls out of the kiss, reaching behind herself to tug her dress down and cover herself.

“He’s just a kid,” she says, giving him a look.

Negan meets Carl’s gaze. “He’s not just a kid.”

Tanya wriggles out of his grasp. “You two look busy. We can catch up later.”

“To be continued,” Negan promises, turning and watching her leave. He gives a chuckle, turning back to Carl as he pulls a large hunting knife out of the sheath on his belt, holding it up. It glistens in the sunlight. “Why don’t you get up close and personal for the last one,” he suggests. “You have to work on those close up, fine motor skills too, right?”

“Yeah,” Carl agrees, still feeling off balance from the little interlude.

Negan grins at him. “Did you like her panties?”

Carl feels his face flame red. “I, uh…”

“It’s perfectly natural, Carl,” Negan tells him. “The most natural thing there is. We were built for fucking.”

Carl shrugs. “I guess.” It’s how babies are made after all.

Negan looks amused. He holds up the knife again. “Go take care of that thing for me.”

“Sure,” Carl agrees, taking the knife. It’s heavy. He likes the feel of it in his hand.

He walks across the yard and there’s no real danger in this. The walker can’t get to him. He still takes the threat seriously though, doesn’t let his guard down. For all he knows, he’s a few inches closer than he thinks he is. He keeps the walker on his good side as he lines up the knife, plunging it in just where he intends to. It’s sharp, the blade going in like butter.

“This is nice,” Carl says as he walks back towards Negan, looking at the knife appreciatively.

“I know, right?” Negan agrees, accepting it from him. “We’re going to get you some real nice things, don’t you worry.” He wipes the blade off on a rag and puts it back in the sheath, looking at Carl with sparkling eyes. “Now comes the real fun part. How’s your swing?”

Carl frowns. “My what?”

Negan smiles, pulling Lucille down from his shoulder and offering her out. “Your swing. You ever play baseball? Little league?”

“I did some softball,” Carl says, feeling embarrassed by the inadequacy.

“That’ll do,” Negan says, holding Lucille out more insistently.

Carl takes her, knowing how special she is to Negan. She has pronouns. Inanimate objects don’t usually have pronouns. He wraps both hands around the base of the bat, looking around. “What am I supposed to hit?”

“You’re not hitting anything,” Negan says. “It’s about the swing.”

Carl steps into a space, considering Lucille in his hands. He was never the athletic type. He lifts her up and back, imagining how he would hit a ball coming towards him, swinging the bat through the air. The trajectory feels off. His arms fold where he feels they shouldn’t.

“Alright, come here,” Negan says, slightly strained patience in his voice.

Carl moves towards him and as soon as he’s within touching distance, Negan puts his hands on him and spins him around. He leans over him, pressing against Carl’s back, both arms going around him, to take one of Carl’s hands in each of his own. Carl feels immediately too hot.

“You need to relax your grip,” Negan says. “We’re not trying to force her. We want to work with her.”

He tugs Carl’s bottom hand further towards the base of the bat, peeling his fingers up one at a time and rewrapping them a little lighter.

“No palming,” Negan says. “You’re not jerking off. This is about precision.”

He pulls Carl’s second hand into position, Carl going easily with him. It feels incredibly intimate.

“Now you have flow, you have transfer of power,” Negan says. “Then you’re going to wind up.”

He guides Carl’s arms up and back, Carl focusing on the way his muscles move, trying to memorise it. He knows the power of muscle memory. He knows good habits can save your life.

“And you swing right through.”

Carl surrenders his movement to Negan, his arms swinging through the air under Negan’s control, Lucille moving with them.

“But you’re going to lead with your hips.”

Negan’s hands slide away from Carl’s hands and onto his hips, a firm pressure that makes Carl shift on his feet. He’s reminded of the way that Negan had grabbed Tanya’s ass earlier, but this is nothing like that and it feels dirty to even think it. He refocuses on Negan’s hands that rotate his hips, pushing them out.

“Give it a go,” Negan says, stepping back, suddenly out of Carl’s personal space.

Carl feels unsteady on his feet all of a sudden without Negan pressed against his back. He takes a breath, lifting Lucille how Negan showed him, tilting his hips. Wind up. Swing through. Lead with your hips. He can do this. He swings the bat hard through the air, his whole body moving with it, feeling exhilarated.

“Yes!” Negan yells enthusiastically. “That is what I’m talking about!”

Carl grins at him, his heart beating faster in his chest.

“You are a hell of a quick study,” Negan says, moving closer to him. “Let me tell you, if I had a kid, I would want them to be just like you.”

Carl’s eye falls down, overwhelmed by the praise. Negan reaches out, taking hold of Lucille, and Carl lets her go easily.

“Your daddy ever play catch with you?” Negan asks. “With a baseball and a mitt?”

Carl shakes his head. “No.”

“We should do that,” Negan says, starting to lead the way back inside. “I think everyone would appreciate it if you'd stop banging that goddamn tennis ball. And it could be fun. Take a time out, get some fresh air. Good for the soul.”

“Yeah,” Carl agrees, walking through the door that Negan holds open for him. “And sorry about the tennis ball.”

They head up the stairs and while they’re easier than before, Carl still really wants to have a sit down by the time they get to the top. He eyes his door as another man comes to join them.

“Well, if it isn’t the one-eyed bandit.”

Carl frowns at him. He’s pretty sure they’ve never met. He would remember that mustache.

“Simon,” Negan greets. “What’s the report?”

Simon turns his attention to him with a weary look. “A whole lot of fuck all is what. We got inside the farm but there’s nothing of value. The prison could be a strong base but it’s overrun with the goddamn dead, I really can’t see it being worth our while.” He turns to Carl. “Every place he sent us was a bust.”

“I didn’t send you anywhere,” Carl says defensively.

Simon turns back to Negan. “Whatever tips he gave you were a bust. All of them. We’ve been out there for a week, living rough, with nothing to show for it.”

Negan narrows his eyes at Simon. “If going out there and doing your job is getting uncomfortable due to the luxuries this place affords you, maybe we need to look at your privileges.” His voice is dark and threatening, a clear warning.

Emotions war over Simon’s face before he forces it into a neutral mask. “I just need a shower,” he says carefully. “Then we’re all good.”

“You really do,” Negan agrees, pulling an exaggerated face of disgust as he takes a step away from him. “And you watch how you talk to Carl. I sent you out there. He didn’t give me any reason to believe it wouldn’t be a bust. I was curious.”

Simon’s eyes flick to Carl. “I’m the one who picked you up off the side of the road,” he says. “You paid me back by pointing a gun at me and I still saved your life.”

Negan takes a step closer to Carl. It feels like a protective move. Simon does the smallest movement with his eyes that looks like an aborted eye roll. Carl doesn’t trust this guy. He’s grateful Simon stopped to save him, but fawning to this guy feels like it would leave him open to all kinds of shit.

“Take your shower,” Negan tells Simon. “Then we’ll regroup.”

Simon gives a nod, eyeing Carl one more time before heading down the hall. Carl watches him go, feeling uneasy.

“Looks like I have work to do,” Negan says.

Carl looks at him. “Why did you send…”

“Curious,” Negan cuts in, not even letting him ask the question. He smiles at Carl as though drawing a line under it. “I had fun today. I’ll dig out the mitts, we’ll play that game of catch.”

“Okay,” Carl responds. “I’d like that.”

Negan reaches out, landing a hand on Carl’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. “You did great out there, kid. I’ll catch you later.”

Negan walks off towards the end of the hall where his quarters are, his hips moving in that hypnotising way, and Carl stares a little too long before he breaks himself out of his reverie, letting himself into his room.

Chapter 5

When Negan comes to visit him the following morning, it’s not with a baseball mitt but with a man laden down with an armful of books following after him. Carl frowns, standing up from his desk.

“I’ve figured out a schedule for you,” Negan announces.

Carl hadn’t even realised that was a concern. He supposes it’s true that he’s not pulling his weight. Maybe not yet has run out.

“This is Jason,” Negan introduces, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the man stood somewhat awkwardly behind him. “He’s your tutor.”

“Hi,” Jason says with a nod.

“Hi,” Carl responds reflexively. He looks at Negan. “My tutor?”

“You, Carl, are the future,” Negan says grandly, moving closer to him. “We have to get you ready for that. Building a new world, that’s a lot of moving parts to balance. So Jason here is going to give you the knowledge to succeed. Mornings are for learning.”

“Uh, okay,” Carl says, looking to Jason and then back to Negan. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful…”

“Then don’t be,” Negan responds, a clear warning in his tone.

Carl nods, trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “I haven’t done any school stuff since… before.”

“I know,” Negan says. “We’ve established how every adult in your life failed you and squandered your potential. We also established that I wasn’t going to do that. So mornings are for learning.”

Carl likes the protectiveness in Negan’s voice. It makes him feel warm and safe. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Negan gives him a little nod and a smile, a sign of his approval. “Then, if you’re a good boy for Jason, me and you are going to carve out some time together. We can play catch, we can work on your swing, we can do target practice. I’ll try and make it a daily thing but I can’t promise that. When shit happens around here, it fucking happens. Either way, I’ll make sure you have chance to work on your skills. And I’ll check in. You report directly to me. Understood?”

“Understood,” Carl says, puffing out his chest. The thought of Negan’s personal attention is a very strong motivator.

“Good,” Negan says. “Enjoy your first class then.”

He closes the door behind himself and Jason’s stoic demeanor immediately changes, placing his armful of books down on the bed.

“Wow, that guy really likes to monologue,” he says with a breath of laughter.

Carl stares at him. He’s not about to start shit talking Negan behind his back.

“Right,” Jason says, sobering himself up. “Well, anyway, I used to be a high school teacher but I never had to figure out a syllabus like this. Building a new world. I figure some sociology, some psychology, some history. We’ll start there.”

Carl gives a shrug. “Sure.”

It feels kind of belittling, having to do schoolwork while everyone else is doing what needs to be done to survive. He remembers when his dad had made him go to storytime at the prison, had tried to get him to spend time with people his own age, as though being young meant anything anymore. The only thing acting like a child will get him is killed. His dad was too stupid to see that though. He asked them all to make themselves vulnerable, let their guard down, and then he failed to save them. All that blood is on his hands.

Carl got himself out though. Carl got himself here. And Negan is nothing like his dad. He’s not making Carl weak. He’s giving him strengths that would never even occur to Rick. Negan has what it takes to win in this world. And, for whatever reason, he’s setting up Carl to follow in his footsteps. If I had a kid, I would want him to be just like you.

So Carl listens to what Jason has to teach him, takes part in the discussion, answers the comprehension questions, doesn’t argue about the reading he wants Carl to do for tomorrow. If this is Negan’s plan for him, Carl trusts him. He’ll do what he asks. He’ll make him proud.

After lunch, Negan comes to him with two baseball mitts and a ball. Carl smiles at him, not bothering to hide his excitement as he stands up from his desk.

“Jason said you did good this morning,” Negan says.

Of course Negan checked up on him. Carl preens a little at the fact that he seems pleased though.

“I appreciate you putting the effort in and taking on board what I said, Carl,” Negan tells him.

Carl nods, ducking his head, but then he lifts it up again, meeting Negan’s eyes. He shouldn’t be embarrassed to be praised. He should soak it in. Maybe he’s just so unused to it.

“What did you think of Jason?” Negan asks.

“He’s a good teacher,” Carl responds honestly. “I like him. He makes things interesting.”

“Nothing worse than a boring teacher,” Negan says. He holds out one of the mitts to Carl. “You ready to go play catch?”

“Yes, please,” Carl says, reaching out to take the mitt.

“You are such a good boy,” Negan says warmly.

Carl feels the pride radiating from within him. He’s never been so happy to be good.

They go out to the yard and spend some time throwing the ball back and forth. It takes all of Carl’s concentration, even though Negan is doing most of the heavy lifting. He throws the ball right into Carl’s waiting glove every time, not making him move for it, and when the aim of Carl’s throw is off then Negan easily has the skill to compensate for it.

The momentum, the two and fro, the tracking, it all helps Carl to strengthen the skills he needs to work on, that’s the main purpose of this. When Negan smiles at him the whole time though, putting real effort into his throws and looking like he’s having genuine fun, that’s the part that Carl appreciates the most.

As the days pass, Carl settles into his routine, the schedule that Negan has arranged for him, and he feels more productive than he has in a long time. Maybe ever. Since the world went to shit, Carl has found that there’s been so much waiting. Waiting for help, waiting for news, waiting until you’re so hungry you could gnaw your own arm off before you touched the rations. Waiting for the next bend in the road to bring safety or walkers or, as time went on, people who wanted to hurt them and steal from them. Waiting for crops to grow and pigs to grow fat. Waiting for the Governor to return. Waiting on the side of the road to die.

But now, every day is filled with purpose. He has schoolwork, he has physical therapy, he has training with Negan. He has the wives who continue to look out for him and keep him company and his computer games that he doesn’t feel guilty about taking advantage of now. He has the bustling Sanctuary and all the things it produces. He’s never at a loose end.

Sometimes he wonders if that’s why he doesn’t think about them more. His dad. The others. Everyone who was lost. None of them made sure he was safe though. None of them prepared him for what they all knew was coming. It’s their fault he shot his own eye out. Negan would never have let that happen to him. Negan saved him. And Negan is still saving him, every day, by getting him ready for what comes next.

He’s in the lounge one day, reading his psychology textbook, when one of Negan’s men appears at the door.

“Ladies,” he says. His eyes falter on Carl for a moment but he doesn’t bother to correct himself. “Negan wants everyone downstairs. Time for the iron.”

“Oh god,” Joy complains.

Carl sits up straighter, looking around. “What’s going on?”

Frankie comes to sit beside him, putting her hand on his arm. “It’s a punishment. It’s pretty horrible. Negan is big on everyone seeing the consequences though. He doesn’t like it when you look away, but… I suggest you look away.”

Carl frowns as he closes his book, watching them all get ready.

“You can stand with us,” Tanya says. “Come on.”

Carl gets to his feet, following them in silence all the way down to the factory floor. He’s seen the big furnace before but he’s never really thought about its purpose. Now, everyone is gathered around it, standing in a circle around a man tied to a chair. There’s an atmosphere in the room that makes all the hairs on Carl’s arms stand up on end. It’s electric.

There’s a bang above them and Carl flinches, looking up to see Negan hit the metal railing with Lucille. Everyone drops down onto one knee and Frankie and Tanya, standing either side of Carl, tug him down to follow suit.

Somehow Carl has never taken a knee for Negan before. Usually when he’s with Negan, it’s just the two of them or they’re upstairs where that particular show of respect isn’t demanded in the same way. Kneeling here now, his knee pressed into the cold, hard floor, it’s like something settles inside him. He’s dedicated to Negan, he’s a part of this group, and he trusts that what Negan asks of him is reasonable. He’d shout it from the rooftops, but joining in with this tradition feels like a pretty good way to show his devotion too.

“What’s about to happen is going to be hard to watch,” Negan says, standing above them all on the catwalk, Lucille resting on his shoulder. “I don’t want to do it. I wish I could just ignore the rules and let it slide, but I can’t. Why?”

“The rules keep us alive.”

The echoed words chanted by everyone in the vast space gives Carl chills.

“That is exactly right,” Negan says. “Rules are what make it all work. I know it’s not easy, but there is always work, there is always a cost. Here, if you try to skirt it,” he continues, his voice rising with obvious disdain, “if you try to take what you haven’t earned…” He breaks off with a chuckle, Carl mesmerised by it. “Then it is the iron for you.”

He makes a motion with his hand and then everyone is getting to their feet, Frankie and Tanya once again tugging at Carl to move with them. Carl doesn’t take his eyes off Negan as he makes his way down the stairs to the factory floor. He exudes power and confidence and in return he demands respect. This is what a real leader looks like.

As Negan makes his way across the concrete floor, he meets Carl’s gaze, his lips curving up in a smile as he takes Lucille down from his shoulder, holding her out to Carl.

“Hold onto Lucille for me, kid?”

“Sure,” Carl says, keeping his eyes locked on Negan’s as his fingers close around the familiar wood.

Carl’s getting pretty good at swinging her. He has the urge to balance her on his shoulder like Negan does, but he hasn’t earned that yet. Still, it feels good to be entrusted with her when there are so many other options in the room. Carl preens a little as Negan walks away from him, hoping everyone else notices what a privileged position he has.

Negan walks towards the furnace, pulling on some kind of long gauntlet. He gives a nod to one of his men who lifts an iron out of the burning interior, the surface of it glowing red hot. Negan wraps his gloved fingers around the handle, turning to look at the man secured to the chair. The corners of Negan’s mouth twitch as the man tries to flinch away before Negan has even moved.

“This isn’t for me, Roddy,” Negan says, his voice careful and measured, just like his steps as he closes the space between them. “This is for the person you were caught stealing from. And all the other people who you made feel unsafe. They deserve better than having a lowlife thief taking away what is rightfully theirs because he didn’t want to have to earn the points for it.”

He stops in front of Roddy, the iron hovering close to his face. Roddy shakes, hyperventilating, wild eyes fixed on the iron.

“This is your chance to learn a lesson,” Negan tells him. “You don’t get a second one.”

He pushes the iron forward, pressing it against the side of Roddy's face. Carl can see the people around him wince but he just watches, enthralled. Roddy screams, a primal sound, as smoke rises and the sizzle of burning flesh is first heard and then smelt. It’s sickening. But it’s necessary. There have to be consequences or all of this building and sharing and surviving is for nothing. Carl understands that now. If Rick had lived, maybe he would have understood it too.

When Roddy passes out from the pain, slumping in the chair, Negan lifts the iron away, a chunk of Roddy’s skin coming with it. Negan considers the iron for a moment, a look of dark amusement in his eyes as he stamps his foot on the floor. He hands the iron off to the man at the furnace and looks at the people surrounding him.

“It’s settled, we’re square, everything is cool” Negan says, his voice lighter now. “Let’s just hope that he and everyone else took that lesson on board because I don’t want to ever have to do that again.” He steps away, moving back towards the stairs. “Doc, do your thing,” he calls over his shoulder almost as an aside.

Carl tracks Negan with his eyes as he approaches, meeting Carl’s gaze as he steps up in front of him. He holds out a hand and Carl lifts Lucille, passing her back over. Negan smiles at him, slow and pleased.

“Good boy.”

Frankie clings more firmly to Carl’s arm in a way that feels protective. Carl doesn’t understand it.

Negan heads back up the stairs and it’s like there’s a collective sigh of relief. Carl looks over at Roddy, still unconscious, his wounds being tended to. They don’t know how lucky they are. If Rick had made the prisoners face consequences then maybe his mom would still be alive. If he’d made the Governor face consequences, maybe they’d all be alive.

The next day, when Carl is having his check-up with Dr Mitchell, he’s tempted to ask about Roddy’s face. How long does something like that take to heal? What’s the aftermath? He’s fascinated. It doesn’t seem an entirely appropriate topic of conversation though.

Mitchell gives him the all clear on his eye, tells him it’s healing well, even hands him a mirror. Carl stares at himself. Calling it an eye is generous. It’s a gaping hole with ragged scarring around the edge that extends down onto his soft cheek. It’s hideous. It makes his stomach turn. He guesses this is how Roddy is going to feel the next time he gets to look in a mirror. Carl tips his head forward, making his hair fall into his eyes. Eye. Scar. He frowns and asks for a bandage.

“You shouldn’t need one,” Mitchell tells him.

“I didn’t ask if I needed one,” Carl says, giving him a dark look. “I asked you to pass me one.”

Mitchell relents and Carl wraps his face back up. He’s gotten used to it. He wonders if he deserves this hollow feeling like Roddy deserved the iron. But all Carl did was walk away. All Carl did was survive. He tried to do it with his dad, with Judith, with anyone else, but none of them were there for him. His anger twists into something new though. He’s fine. He made it. He’s got it better than ever. Now he just feels something like guilt that they didn’t.

Mitchell also informs him that he doesn’t need any of the medication anymore either. He’s out of the woods. Carl is glad, they make everything fuzzy around the edges and he wants to be sharp, wants to be lethal and worthy. He wants to be useful to Negan. He wants to make him proud.

The part that he will miss is having Negan’s wives forced to check in with him three times a day like clockwork. It’s selfish, but it was nice to be cared for. They were only following orders, doing what Negan told them, but they always made Carl feel like they had his back. It was that kind of maternal attention that had been missing in his life, even if they were faking it.

For now, he still seems to be getting at least some of Negan’s undivided attention each day though, and that’s what he craves the most. He swings Lucille through the air, feeling the power behind it, grinning when he sees Negan looking pleased.

Getting his eye signed off on means that his recovery is nearing completion, and then maybe he gets to prove himself as one of the enforcers of Negan’s rules. The thought makes him tingle all over. Negan has made it clear he’s setting Carl up for something. Carl wants so desperately to get a chance to live up to it. He wants to be one of the reasons that this place works as well as it does.

“Mitchell said you’re officially discharged,” Negan says as though reading his mind. Or this is just as big a deal to Negan as it is to Carl. That possibility makes Carl flush.

“Yeah,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“He told me you don’t need the bandage,” Negan goes on.

Carl gives a shrug, lifting Lucille again and turning away. He swings her, feeling that rush.

“Look at me,” Negan says. He’s not angry, but his tone leaves no room for negotiation.

Carl lowers Lucille and turns to face him, meeting his gaze.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Negan asks.

“You told me to own it,” Carl responds.

“Yes I did,” Negan agrees, stepping towards him. He lifts a hand, touching the edge of the bandage. “So why are you still wrapped up like a birthday present?”

Carl feels his face burning with shame. “It will make people uncomfortable.”

“Well that sounds like their problem,” Negan says.

The words make Carl a tiny bit braver. He gives a nod; an acknowledgement, not an agreement. He wonders if Negan can tell the difference.

Negan steps away from him again, looking him up and down for an extended moment. “You know we’re not practicing to hit a homerun out here, right?”

Carl’s eye flicks to Lucille. The barbed wire glints in the sun. She’s fierce. “I know.”

“In a perfect world they’re on their knees,” Negan says. “I’ll show you how to get them there.”

Carl nods, his gaze falling to hip level, imagining someone knelt before him. The enemy. Someone who wants to disrupt their way of life. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This is power. This is respect. And Negan is really going to teach him. He trusts him with this.

“Let’s practice swinging down,” Negan says. “A couple of hits and you can split a skull straight open.”

Carl lifts Lucille, licking his lips, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he swings the bat down.

The corridors are cold and dark and seemingly endless. Carl skims a hand along the rough wall, trying to keep himself oriented. The gurling echoes through the space, in front of him and behind him. It’s like someone choking on blood, but there’s a hunger behind it.

The first snarl startles Carl, making him gasp as he presses his back against the wall. He feels the chill of the concrete right down to his bones. He looks left, looks right, can’t make anything out beyond murky shapes. Staying here isn’t an option, but he doesn’t know which way is out.

He presses on, moving hand over hand along the wall, reaching a corner and finding her there. Her but not her. Her eyes are glazed and unseeing, her jaw slack. Her feet shuffle along the floor, her insides spilling out of the hole they cut in her, dragging along with each step. Carl wants to vomit. He wants to scream. He wants to go to her.

His feet fall over themselves as he tries to backtrack, scrambling along the wall, putting the ninety degrees of the corner between them. He did it wrong. All he had to do was put a bullet through her brain but it didn’t work. And they’ll all blame him. Stupid kid. Can’t do anything right. Psycho wanted the killing shot but he just fucked it up.

He keeps backing away, around the next corner, his ragged breaths caught in the air around him like a cloud, his heartbeat rushing in his ears. He stops, watching the end of the corridor, waiting for her to appear. He should run. He should look for a weapon. It doesn’t occur to him for even a second that he should call for help. Who here would save him? The only person is the one who’s now hunting him down.

A hand lands on his shoulder, dragging fingers, and he cries out, yanking himself away. He turns and she’s there again, right in front of him, jaw snapping in a way that looks totally deranged. He gives her a pleading look but he knows she doesn’t see it. Even if she could, she’d surely be just as disappointed in him. He was supposed to spare her. Now look at what she’s become because of him.

He runs, back around the corner, along the length of empty corridor, rounding the next bend and finding her again, right where he left her. It’s not possible. He backs up, shaking his head, the tears starting to fall. He doesn’t get to escape. There’s no way out. She’s coming for him no matter what he does.

He backs into the empty stretch of corridor, stops between the two corners. She’s around them both. He puts his hands over his ears, sinking down to the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. He whimpers, tears soaking into the knees of his jeans as he listens to her closing in on him. Choking. Dragging. Snarling. Squelching. He curls in on himself tightly, shaking from head to toe, and then he feels himself start to be pulled apart.

Carl sits up in bed, gasping for air, his T-shirt soaking with sweat. He reaches to the side of the bed, flicking on the lamp. He looks around the room, trying to ground himself. The walls are cold and concrete but he’s not there. He’s home. He’s safe.

The terror of the nightmare doesn’t leave him that easily though. He kicks his blankets off, pulling off the drenched T-shirt and grabbing a fresh one from the drawer. Wrapping his arms around himself, he paces the room. He could play a video game, distract himself, but the thought doesn’t comfort him. He wants company. He wants to not have to be alone.

When he was a kid and he had a bad dream, he would crawl into his parents bed, snuggling himself between his mom and dad, and they would murmur words of comfort and tell him everything was okay. They would hold him and surround him and the world would be safe. He doesn’t have that option now, but maybe he has the next best thing.

It’s the middle of the night so Carl isn’t really surprised to find the lounge empty. He stands in the centre of the room, feeling so small as he looks around. Just being here makes him feel a tiny bit better. He tries to hold onto that.

“What are you doing in here?”

Carl jumps at the sound of the voice, turning to see Negan standing in the doorway. He looks softer somehow, without his leather jacket or Lucille, just a white T-shirt and an off-guard posture.

“Sorry,” Carl says automatically.

“Did I say you couldn’t be in here?” Negan responds, stepping into the room and going over to the bar. He flicks on a lamp as he grabs a bottle from the wall. “I just asked what you were doing.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Carl says with a shrug. “Just thought I’d see if anyone was up.”

“I’m up,” Negan says, turning to face him with a drink in his hand. He takes a sip and makes a satisfied noise. “Do you want anything?” he asks, gesturing to the bar.

Carl shakes his head. “No thanks.”

Negan makes a non-committal noise before taking another sip. He considers Carl for a moment. “Bad dream?”

Carl shifts on his feet, ducking his head. “Yeah,” he admits. There doesn’t seem like any point in lying to Negan. He can read him like a book.

Negan nods, dropping himself down onto one of the couches. He pats the space beside him. “Come sit with me.”

Carl goes over, sitting by his side. Negan drinks and Carl just lets himself soak up his presence.

“Was it about irons and baseball bats?” Negan asks.

“Those things aren’t scary,” Carl dismisses with a shake of his head. “It was about my mom.”

“Shit,” Negan says, low and kind of bummed out. “You did what you had to do, kid.”

“I know that,” Carl says. There’s never been any doubt in his mind about that. “I dreamt that I didn’t. That she came back.”

Negan sighs. “That’s some fucked up shit,” he says, taking another measured swallow of his drink. “It’s thanks to you that didn’t happen for real though. Brave little soldier.”

Carl squeezes his eye shut against the churning inside him, dropping his head down. He’s not going to cry. His mind cycles through images, real and imagined, her scream as they cut her open, her guts being pulled by dragged steps, her blood spilling onto his hands, her hands tearing at his flesh, the finality of a bullet through bone and brain before hitting concrete.

He flinches when he feels Negan’s arm drape around him. Carl opens his eye, blinking away the dampness as he looks at Negan’s hand that is resting on his shoulder.

“My wives are better at this shit than me,” Negan says. “I know that’s why you came here, right? A little of that TLC that I prescribed.”

Carl looks up at him. He wonders if that’s still okay.

“I get it,” Negan says. “And they all have a soft spot for you. I say milk it.” He looks down at Carl. “It’s a look don’t touch kind of deal though. Look at those titties all you want. But they belong to me.”

Carl crinkles his brow at him. “I don’t look.”

“You should,” Negan says enthusiastically. “They’re fucking beautiful, Carl. I highly recommend taking it all in.”

Carl feels his face flush at the thought. He honestly doesn’t think of them that way. Negan’s words make him shift uncomfortably in his seat, making Negan’s hand tighten on his shoulder.

“You’re adorable,” Negan says.

Carl’s eyes fall down to his lap. At the very least he’s not thinking about his walker mom eating his flesh anymore. Negan sips at his drink, giving a little tug to Carl so that he's leaning into him. His thumb rubs over Carl’s shoulder, dragging on the fabric of his shirt, and Carl makes a pleased noise, letting his vision go soft. It feels nice. It feels safe. He likes it.

He’s not sure how long they sit there like that but he’s dozing off when Negan leans forward, placing his empty glass onto the table, Carl’s body forced to sway with him. He blinks, looking up at Negan who gives his shoulder a squeeze. He pulls his hand away, fingers dragging across Carl’s back, the ticklish touch making a shiver go through him.

Negan smiles. “C’mon,” he says, voice soft and quiet. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He walks Carl to his room and Carl thinks that will be it, but Negan follows him inside, closing the door behind himself. He folds the blankets back on Carl’s bed, motioning for him to get in. As Carl lies back, Negan pulls the blankets up, tucking them around him. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at him with fondness.

“If you have any more bad dreams, you know where I am,” Negan tells him. “I mean it, Carl.”

“Okay,” Carl says. He believes him.

Negan nods, reaching down to brush Carl’s hair back from his face as Carl lets his eye slip closed.

“How about we play hooky tomorrow?” Negan asks. “No school. I’ll take you on a field trip instead.”

Carl can’t help but smile. He cracks his eye open to look up at Negan. “Sounds good.”

“Alrighty then,” Negan says, standing up from the bed. “Then I will see you in the morning.”

Chapter 6

The next morning, Negan has one of his men summon Carl to his room. Carl pulls on his boots and walks down the corridor, knocking on the big double doors.

“Yeah?” Negan calls.

Carl eases the handle down, pressing the door cautiously forward. He sees Negan standing by his couch, pulling on his leather jacket.

“Come on in, kid,” Negan says. “Close the door.”

Carl steps inside, pulling the door closed behind himself and taking a couple of steps forward.

“This is your shit, right?” Negan says, gesturing to the table beside him.

Carl looks down, seeing his holster, his knife, the guns he was carrying the day he was taken to the Satellite Outpost. It feels like so long already since he’s been out there. All he’s fought are walkers chained to fences in his sessions with Negan. He feels ready for this though. And Negan thinks he’s ready. Carl is so prepared to prove him right.

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead then,” Negan says with a little nod of his head.

Carl moves forward, picking up his holster and wrapping it around his hips, securing it with the clip. It’s a little tighter than it used to be. Clearly he’s been eating better here than he was at the prison. It feels good to not be quite so scrawny. He feels like he’s gotten a little taller too. Maybe it’s just the way he holds himself.

He adjusts the buckle and then leans forward to secure the straps around his thighs. He picks up his gun, the one he had from the prison, doing a quick visual check before slotting it into the holster. He slides his knife into the other side and looks up to find Negan watching him.

“Suits you,” Negan says, appraising him shamelessly.

Carl’s lips quirk into a smile.

Negan takes a step closer. “I’m sure you understand me having to keep hold of these for a little while,” he says. “We’re pretty tight on who can carry weapons around here and I had to make sure you were one of the good guys.”

“I get it,” Carl assures him. “That’s smart.”

“See, you and I are on the same page, kid,” Negan says. “You share my vision. That’s why you get the behind the scenes. You’re perfect for this.”

Carl isn’t one hundred percent sure what this is, but he’s certain he wants to be a part of it. He looks down at himself, remembering when his dad first trusted him to carry his gun daily, when he helped him put this holster on for the first time.

“Do you have my hat?” he asks, looking up at Negan.

“Your hat?” Negan asks, giving him a puzzled look. “Why would I have your hat?”

“It was my dad’s hat,” Carl says. “A sheriff’s hat. If you had this stuff from the Satellite Outpost then I thought maybe you had it. I couldn’t find it there but you said you’d look into it.”

“Right,” Negan says confidently, but Carl is pretty sure he forgot about its existence until this moment. Truth be told, he hadn’t exactly been fretting over it either. “Never heard anything.”

“Okay,” Carl responds, looking down at his holster and adjusting it on his hips. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

“You earned it,” Negan says. Thank you is something we do. This is Negan’s thank you for Carl’s hard work. Carl couldn’t be prouder.

They head outside to where the trucks are getting ready. Negan swaggers up to Gavin who is leaning against one of the trucks, arms crossed over his chest, his mood obvious. Negan just smiles at him, swinging Lucille up onto his shoulder.

“Ezekiel isn’t expecting you,” Gavin says.

“Well won’t that be a fun surprise for him,” Negan responds.

Gavin stands up a little straighter. “He’s going to think you’re trying to pull something. We have a good thing with him.”

“And we will continue to have a good thing with him,” Negan assures him. “I’m not going to cramp your style, Gavin.”

Gavin considers him for a moment. “I want to keep this civil.”

“So do I!” Negan says, gesturing grandly.

Gavin nods, still looking guarded, turning around and climbing up into the truck. Negan rolls his eyes exaggeratedly as he turns to face Carl.

“Some people just don’t know how to loosen up.”

He puts his free arm around Carl’s shoulders, leading him towards one of the other trucks.

“I want you to see how this works, Carl,” Negan says as they pull out of the compound. “I want you to see it in practice. The theory is one thing, the book learning and the training and talk. But this doesn’t work without action, without boots on the ground.”

Carl nods, looking out of the windscreen.

“We get out there to our communities,” Negan goes on. “We check in with them, make sure they’re staying safe and productive out there. We give them the security they need to thrive. Their success is our success.”

Carl looks at him. “The only other time we met another community, they tried to destroy us.” He feels a sinking feeling inside them. “They did destroy us.”

“I wish we would have found you,” Negan says. “We would have protected you. You and your daddy could have farmed to your heart’s content.”

Carl shakes his head. “I didn’t want to farm. That was his thing. I would have been with you.”

Negan smiles wide, looking satisfied. “I would have taken you up on that in a heartbeat.”

Carl looks back out of the windscreen in front of him. It feels good to be on the road. It can be a beautiful thing when the brutality of it isn’t making you suffer. They’re safe, they have somewhere to retreat to. Carl feels like none of this can hurt him. It’s just sunshine and scenery and the rumble of the engine. He feels like he’s free, like he can do anything.

The trucks pull side by side into a parking lot with nothing else around. Carl frowns.

“This is it?”

There’s one car already there, a group of people, but no buildings, no camp, no settlement.

“Ezekiel likes to deal outside his compound,” Negan says. “I guess he thinks it makes him look weak to need to hire muscle for protection. He’s always kept up his side of the bargain, so we let him keep his pride. This isn’t about ego for us. We’re just trying to make the new world work for those who are willing to work for it.”

He climbs out of the truck and Carl follows, staying behind him and following his lead.

“Negan,” a man with long grey dreadlocks says, his voice pompous like he does too much community theatre. Carl guesses this is Ezekiel. “I was not anticipating your presence today.”

“Don’t mind me,” Negan tells him. “I’m just out here showing our latest recruit what being a Savior really means, and you are such a good example of being a team player, Ezekiel.”

“You know I always do my part,” Ezekiel says, but Carl picks up on the tiniest note of warning in his tone.

“I do,” Negan agrees grandly. “And I appreciate it.” He gestures with Lucille. “This is Carl.”

Carl steps forward, his right hand instinctively going to where his gun is on his holster, and it occurs to him in that moment that it’s the wrong hand, the wrong side. When he’s done target practice with Negan, he favours his left side now. He has to. Looks like his weapon setup needs to be adjusted as well as his world view.

Ezekiel gives a nod of acknowledgement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“He’s a great kid,” Negan says. “But you can relate. Look at you, training up child soldiers over here.” He gestures towards a kid about Carl’s age.

Ezekiel’s expression tightens. “We are preparing for the future, as are you.”

“Maybe one day me and you can kick back and have a beer while these two take care of business,” Negan says.

“Perhaps,” Ezekiel agrees, looking over Carl.

Carl doesn’t smile. If he’s going to follow in Negan’s footsteps, he has to be just as fierce as him.

“Anyway, like I said, just pretend I’m not here,” Negan says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You do your thing with Gavin. I know you two have your little system.”

Ezekiel gives a nod as Gavin approaches, checking out the goods in the back of Ezekiel’s car. Negan chuckles turning away and leading Carl towards the edge of the parking lot.

“What’s his problem?” Carl asks.

“Right?!” Negan responds, still looking amused. “It’s like I said, some people just do not know how to loosen up. Luckily you and I do not suffer from such an affliction. Speaking of which, it might be nice to get an invite to play video games some time.” He elbows Carl playfully in the ribs. “I did get you that nice little set up.”

“You would want to play video games?” Carl asks. It doesn’t exactly fit into his world view of Negan.

“I don’t get much time for it nowadays,” Negan admits. “Rebuilding civilisation can be a real time suck. But before the world went to shit, I used to play.”

Carl smiles. His dad always thought video games were a waste of time. “You can come play anytime you want. Open invitation. I’d like that.”

“I would like that too,” Negan says. “Maybe I’ll swing by tonight.”

“Cool,” Carl says.

“Cool,” Negan echoes.

Carl laughs, his cheeks flushing as he ducks his head. He licks his lips, looking over at Ezekiel and Gavin who seem to be finishing up.

“This is how it should always be,” Negan says. “Easy. Respectful. Disciplined. Ezekiel gets it. Not everyone does. But this is what we do, Carl. We make it so that people like Ezekiel won’t be bothered by walkers or bandits. So that they can build. Everybody benefits from the new world order. Some people just take a little more persuading to accept it. That is a totally different kind of field trip though.”

“People fight this?” Carl asks.

“People want something for nothing,” Negan says. “They want what we offer without giving fair compensation. That, to me, is stealing, and you know how I feel about thieves, Carl.”

“Yeah,” Carl says softly, remembering the skin peeling from Roddy’s face.

“That’s another field trip,” Negan says again. “Another lesson.” He claps his hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Back at the Sanctuary, Carl starts to feel like he’s part of the bigger picture. It helps him to appreciate this place more when he knows where things are coming from, how it all fits together. They can’t go back to the way things were before, but this is the closest thing to society that Carl has seen since the fall. If the rules are followed and enforced, Carl really feels like humanity might actually have a chance.

When Negan comes to his room that evening, Carl is curled up in his armchair, reading a fiction book that Jason gave to him. It’s not schoolwork, but it’s an interesting perspective about some of the things they’ve been discussing.

“Am I interrupting?” Negan asks, but he closes the door behind himself anyway.

“No,” Carl dismisses, placing the scrap of paper he’s using as a bookmark in to save his page. “I like it when you come by.”

Negan smiles at him, moving further into the room with a swagger. “Well, it is always nice to be wanted.” He walks over to Carl’s desk, looking over Carl’s project books as he picks up the chair. “How’s school?”

“Okay,” Carl responds, putting the book aside.

Negan places the desk chair beside Carl’s armchair, sliding on to sit backwards on it, looking at Carl. “Is it helpful?” he prompts. “Are you learning?”

“Yeah,” Carl says, trying to make his voice brighter. “I’m learning.”

“Bet you’re going to graduate top of your class,” Negan says, giving him a wink.

Carl laughs, ducking his head. He wants to give an eye roll but he’s stupidly charmed.

“Anyway, hate to lower the tone, but I was hoping we could get a game in,” Negan says, nodding towards the TV.

“Yeah, totally,” Carl agrees, getting to his feet to switch it on. “What do you want to play?”

They settle on a first person shooter they can co-op on. All of these games are from before Carl was born, but he’s just grateful to have anything. He likes being on a team with Negan, and he likes even more the colourful language that Negan uses against the enemy.

“It’s getting late, I should let you get to bed,” Negan says, stretching his arms up over his head with a yawn. His T-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin, a line of dark hair running downwards. “And I have my husbandly duties to attend to.”

Carl snorts a laugh. “Really? Because you look like you’re ready for bed.”

“I still got enough in me to fuck a wife,” Negan assures him. He looks at Carl, considering him for a moment. “Why are we still wasting resources, kid?”

Carl blinks at him, thrown by the sudden change in direction. “What?”

“That bandage,” Negan says. “We don’t use medical supplies for fashion statements.”

“It’s not…” Carl starts, but the argument fades away. He shakes his head. “Sorry. You’re right. I’ll stop.”

Negan leans into him, something lighting up in his eyes. “Can I take it off?”

Carl feels himself blush. He remembers Negan seeing his fresh injury when Carl first arrived at the Sanctuary, the way he’d been disgusted but fascinated. It’s dried up from that now, healed over as much as it probably can. He wonders if that fact will make Negan pleased or disappointed.

“Come on, it’s like it’s my birthday,” Negan coaxes.

Carl shrugs, lifting up his head. “If you want,” he mumbles.

“I most certainly do,” Negan tells him.

He reaches up, Carl closing his good eye as Negan untucks the end of the bandage and starts to unravel it. Carl can feel the layers slip away until the gauze pad is released, falling into his lap. Carl’s hair tickles the sensitive skin that’s usually hidden away, making him give a little shiver.

“So cool,” Negan says, his voice hushed and full of awe.

Carl opens his eye, lifting his gaze to look at Negan. He’s smiling, tongue caught between his teeth, eyes rapt. It’s like he’s looking at a work of art. Carl can’t help but frown.

“Why do you like it?”

“Because it looks rad as hell,” Negan says appreciatively. He gazes at Carl for another moment and then suddenly tosses the bandage at him, getting to his feet. “Right, I’m off to screw one of my beautiful wives. I will see you later.”

“Bye,” Carl says, watching him leave the room. He touches the edge of his scar, trying not to shy away from it. Scars only get the chance to form if you live. It shows that he’s a survivor.

Over the next few days, as he walks around the Sanctuary, he finds himself ducking his head whenever he passes by anybody, encouraging his growing hair into his face. He doesn’t want to inflict the ugliness on people. He doesn’t want to be seen as a monster.

He has to admit that he likes the freedom of not wearing the bandage anymore. The wrapping and unwrapping of his face had started out as a ritual that made him feel safe, protected, held together. Somewhere along the way it turned into a chore, a burden, an expectation that he couldn’t live up to. It gave the illusion of perfection where there was none. The world itself had become a raw and ugly place. He doesn’t see why he should be held to higher standards.

A couple of weeks after he lets Negan take the bandage off, he finds that he doesn’t miss it all that much. The bandage highlighted his weakness. The scar only shows his strength.

And he likes the way that Negan looks at him when he sees him walking around like that. Proud. Impressed. Rapt. Carl thinks there’s not much he wouldn’t put up with to get that look.

He still likes the comfort of hanging out with the wives when he can, and they still seem happy to show him kindness, even though they don’t have to look after him anymore. He doesn’t have as much time for just hanging out with everything Negan has him doing, but he doesn’t want to lose touch with them.

He’s sitting on the couch with Frankie one evening, a backgammon board balanced between them, and he can tell that Negan has entered the room just from the change in atmosphere. Everyone sits up a little bit straighter, their attention shifting, anticipation hanging in the air.

When Carl looks up, he finds Negan looking right back at him, and he thinks for an awful moment that he’s not supposed to be in here anymore, that he’s breaking a rule. Other men aren’t supposed to go near his wives. But Carl isn’t a threat, Negan knows that, he’s a kid. The amusement in his eyes tells Carl he’s not in any real trouble.

Negan moves over to the couch, perching behind Carl and peering over his shoulder. “You figured out how to play yet, kid?”

“Yeah,” Carl says. “I mean, I’m not great.”

“He’s got it,” Frankie says.

“You can go hard on him, you know,” Negan tells Frankie, smirking in Carl’s peripheral vision. “He’s a tough kid.”

“Some of us like to have fun,” Frankie says.

“Don’t you just,” Negan says, practically leering at her over Carl’s shoulder, his chest brushing against Carl’s back.

“It doesn’t always have to be a pissing competition,” Frankie says.

“Hmmm,” Negan considers. He reaches past Carl, taking his turn for him without asking. It’s not the move Carl would have made. It’s probably better. “How about we make it a little more interesting?” Negan asks. He’s pressed up against Carl’s back now, a constant, comforting pressure.

“How so?” Frankie asks.

“Whoever wins gets my undivided attention for the rest of the evening,” Negan says.

Frankie raises an eyebrow at him, her eyes flicking to Carl in question. Carl doesn’t know what she’s asking. Negan chuckles, the sound vibrating through Carl.

“And you say I have a dirty mind,” Negan responds.

Carl looks over his shoulder at Negan and then back at Frankie. They’re staring at each other with an intensity that he’s clearly not a part of. He frowns, looking back down at the board. It’s his turn. He waits, seeing if Negan is going to take his turn again, but he’s clearly preoccupied with his silent conversation.

He makes his move, watching Frankie tap her prettily manicured fingernails on the edge of the wooden board as she contemplates her next move. He likes the feeling of warmth and stability he gets from Negan leaning against him. Touch feels like a luxury to him now. He misses his dad’s hugs. And his mom’s. He misses his mom’s more. He misses the friendly pats on the back and shoulder slaps and high fives he used to get from their friends. He misses Judith’s little hands clutching the front of his shirt, pulling his hair. The thought makes his eye glaze over with unshed tears that he blinks away, leaning further into Negan before he realises what he’s doing.

It’s normal to crave this. Human. As much as Negan has done for him though, he’s never invited this. He’s also not moving away, not telling him off, not making fun of him. Negan isn’t shy about making his feelings, and especially his displeasure, known. But he’s letting Carl lean into him while the game with Frankie continues, not saying a word until he’s asking Tanya to bring him a drink. Because he doesn’t want to move? Because he’s as comfortable here as Carl is?

In the end, Frankie wins the game and Negan moves away from him, but not before he leans in close to Carl’s ear.

“Maybe next time, kid.”

It makes Carl want to shiver. Negan stands, offering a hand down to Frankie who allows herself to be pulled elegantly to her feet.

“You got me,” Negan says, his hand going to the small of her back. “What are you going to do with me?”

Frankie smiles at him. “Maybe it’s time you gave me a massage.”

Negan raises his eyebrows at her, like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged. Full body, of course. You know I don’t cut corners.”

He leans in, joining their mouths together in a dirty little kiss. Carl can see their tongues sliding together. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be looking. He concentrates on tidying the game away instead.

“See you tomorrow, kid,” Negan says. “Goodnight, ladies.”

He leads Frankie out of the room and Carl puts the gameboard back where it belongs before going to his own room.

Chapter 7

Negan doesn’t go so easy on him when they play catch now. He’s challenging Carl, pushing him. No more babying. Carl likes it, thrives on it. He wants to prove himself. He wants to be seen as capable.

So Negan doesn’t throw the ball straight into Carl’s glove anymore. He makes him work for it, move his feet. Carl’s single eye is getting better at tracking, gaining confidence in his coordination and depth perception with each throw. He doesn’t always catch it and he’s grateful that the fence behind him saves him from having too far to go to collect it, but he’s getting better. He’s competent. He’s not broken.

“Negan.”

Negan glances behind himself towards Simon who’s approaching across the yard. He looks back at Carl, throwing the ball.

“We need to talk,” Simon says.

“So talk,” Negan responds. He holds up his glove, giving Carl a little nod to throw the ball back. He does.

Simon looks between the two of them, clearly exasperated. “This might be more of a sit down conversation.”

“If you can’t talk on your feet, you’re no good to me,” Negan says, tossing the ball back to Carl. It’s an easy throw, Carl catches it no problem. “And if you’re worried about the kid, don’t be. Talk.”

Simon gives a heavy sigh. “We might have a problem at the library.”

“Might?” Negan asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds his glove up and Carl throws the ball back.

“I got the feeling they were holding out on us,” Simon says. “So I searched the place. And I found notes, diagrams, plots.”

Negan finally gives his full attention to Simon, turning to face him. “Show me.”

Simon produces some folded papers, holding them out to Negan. Negan tosses the ball back to Carl who wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t ready for it, and it goes sailing past him. Negan doesn’t seem to notice, tucking his glove under his arm and taking the papers from Simon. Carl goes to retrieve the ball.

“Carl,” Negan calls.

Carl looks over as he straightens up, the ball in his hand.

“Come here a minute,” Negan instructs.

Carl goes over to join them, Negan holding the papers where he can see. There’s a hand drawn map with streets and buildings on, arrows and crosses marking various things. Then there’s pages of notes of times and vehicles and routes.

“What do you think?” Negan asks.

Carl looks up at him. “Me?”

“You,” Negan confirms. “What do you make of this?”

Carl shrugs, looking down at it again. Is this a test of his schooling? Of how much he’s been paying attention to the things that Negan has taught him? He’s at a loss until something else clicks into place. Something he’s probably not supposed to be taking life lessons from, but a hunch is a hunch and Negan asked.

“It’s videogame logic,” he says.

Simons gives Negan a look, one of incredulous disbelief. Negan ignores him.

“Go on.”

“When you’re facing a boss, you learn their pathing,” Carl says. “Which way they turn. Which attack they use when. You can beat most classic bosses by learning when to dodge and when to strike.” He nods down at the notes. “You’re being too predictable. You take the same route. They’ve figured out your pathing.”

Negan nods, looking at him with something dark and impressed in his eyes. “So we strike first.”

“Right,” Carl agrees.

Negan looks over to Simon, shoving the notes back into his hands. “Get me a team together. Arrange to roll out tomorrow morning. I’ll show those fuckers.”

“On it,” Simon agrees.

“Good,” Negan says, putting his baseball mitt back on. “I have a game of catch to finish.”

He grins at Carl and Carl can’t help but smile back, bouncing on his feet in anticipation. He hesitates for a moment, looking down at the ball in his hand, turning it over in his fingers.

“Ask,” Negan prompts, knowing he’s on the cusp of it but doesn’t quite dare.

Carl glances over to make sure Simon is gone before looking back at Negan. “Can I come?”

“Of course you’re gonna come,” Negan assures him. “I’ll let Jason know it’s a field trip day tomorrow. If you’re ready to make the calls, you’re ready to see it through. You and I are going to see this one through together.”

Carl takes a breath, standing up taller. “I appreciate it.”

Negan’s eyes shine with something like pride. “You’re getting it, kid.”

The next morning, Carl straps on his holster with a sense of purpose. This is how it’s supposed to be, going out there, finding trouble before it finds you. This is how you survive. His dad was never cut out for this and Carl feels his hands curl into fists just thinking about it. He let them all down. Carl won’t follow in his footsteps. He’s going to be a different kind of man.

Out by the trucks, Negan’s men are doing their final checks, gearing up and checking the vehicles. Carl makes his way towards where Negan is talking to Simon.

“We don’t need you today,” Negan says, patting Simon on the shoulder.

Simon gives a nod. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“More like holding your dick,” Negan responds, stepping away from him.

Carl doesn’t mean for his laugh to be as loud as it is but it bursts out of him, earning him a glare from Simon. Carl presses his lips together, trying to keep a straight face as he moves past Simon to where Negan is.

“You like that?” Negan asks, sounding amused. “See, sense of humour is important. Guys busting each other’s balls, that’s what it’s all about.” He glances over Carl’s shoulder before looking down at him again, a smile on his lips. “You want something fun to play with today?”

Carl watches as Negan intercepts one of the men loading up the trucks, grabbing a machine gun. He looks it over before holding it out to Carl.

“We won’t need it,” Negan says confidently. “But you will look cool as hell holding it.”

Carl’s lips quirk up into a smile as he takes the gun, weighing it up in his hands, checking it over. He hooks the strap over his shoulder, adjusting his stance.

“Yeah,” Negan says, appraising Carl. “That is the kind of gun that has people pissing in their pants. It suits you.”

The only time his dad ever let him use something like this is when they were already under attack. He never seemed to understand that it was too late by then. Negan gets it. And more than that, he trusts Carl to be responsible with something as powerful and deadly as this. No warnings or safety talks. He knows that Carl can handle it.

He rides in the front of one of the trucks with Negan who seems in a jovial mood. He hums to himself, smoothing his hands over Lucille’s wooden handle, picking at imaginary bits of fluff on the barbed wire. It gives Carl the impression of having her looking her best before a night out. For Carl, that just makes the anticipation even greater.

When they get to the library, Negan’s men go in ahead, securing the place before Negan makes his grand entrance. Carl feels like he’s just along for the ride. When they step inside, the group of men are already on the ground, on their knees. It’s such a hopeless position to be in. As he watches Negan walk around them, Lucille resting on his shoulder, he remembers all those times Negan had him swing the bat down. They’ll be on their knees. Carl feels breathless and so ready.

He positions himself behind the kneeling group with the rest of Negan’s men, machine gun at the ready, but he knows that’s not Negan’s plan. It’s intimidation. He watches Negan pacing in front of them, eyeing them all one by one, his steps slow and deliberate. Carl feels the hair stand up on his arms. He’s so powerful, so in control.

“One of you isn’t playing by the rules,” Negan says, stilling in front of the group. “One of you has the bright idea that you can fuck me over, take out my men, gain some kind of upper hand. Now I don’t know just who the fuck you think you’re dealing with, but with me, that shit will not stand. Not one bit.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the notes that Simon had shown him yesterday and dropping them in a screwed up mess onto the floor. Carl can see the men shift. It’s so interesting what they give away with such minute movements. Carl can tell who’s seen those pages before, who hasn’t, who is mad or scared or angry.

“Anyone want to demonstrate some balls and own up to it before Lucille here gets involved?” Negan asks, swinging her down from his shoulder, following through the movement so that she swings inches away from all of their faces.

Carl hears a whimper and then a shaky hand is being raised. Their head is bowed, their body hunched in on themselves. They look pathetic. At least own it.

“Hmm,” Negan considers before he’s looking up over all of their heads. “Carl.”

Carl blinks, meeting Negan’s gaze with a questioning look.

“What do you think?” Negan asks.

Carl takes a step forward, peering down at the man whose hand is still above his head, even as he shivers. “He could be lying.”

“I’m not,” the man pleads, his voice wrecked.

“Did I say you could speak?” Negan demands, leaning down to get right in his face. When the man shies away, Negan straightens up, looking back to Carl with a nod.

“Or he’s not,” Carl says with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not the one you should kill.”

Negan looks interested, bringing Lucille back up to rest on his shoulder. “Explain.”

“Punishing the perpetrator makes martyrs,” Carl says. “He confesses, dies for his beliefs, becomes an inspiration for the others. Or he’s lying, protecting somebody, enabling them to keep coming after you. Punishable in itself, but killing him won’t make a difference. You still have a rat in a cage who wants out.”

Negan nods, running his tongue over his teeth. “So what do you suggest?”

Carl looks at the kneeling people in front of him and remembers Hershel kneeling on the grass outside the prison. Hershel never hurt anyone. That didn’t save him from getting his neck split open. It broke them. It destroyed the prison. It left Carl all alone. It’s how you break people.

“Pick one,” Carl says, looking up to meet Negan’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter which one. Just not him. They don’t get to control our next move. They step out of line, they watch someone die. That’s on them. Don’t break the rules if you’re not willing to sacrifice one of your own for it.”

Negan’s face shifts to a dramatic expression of disbelief and amazement before he laughs, throwing his head back into. “Jesus, kid, you scare the shit out of me,” he says, the words full of joy as he looks back over at Carl, gazing at him with something like adoration. “I am glad you’re on my side.”

Carl feels the pride threatening to burst out of his chest as he stands up taller, owning it.

“Alright,” Negan says, taking Lucille down from his shoulder. “Your way it is.” He points Lucille into the face of the first guy in the line up. “Eeny…” A deliberate step forward to greet the next man with Lucille. “...meeny…” Another step. “...miny…” A jab of Lucille. “...moe.”

Carl wants to bounce on his feet as Negan continues his rhyme, working his way up and down the line. He can feel the nervous energy and excitement bubbling up inside him, wanting to explode. They have the power. They’re winning. They’re getting shit done. Nobody messes with them.

When Negan finally stills, the man he’s pointing Lucille at flinches as though he’s already been hit. He looks to his side, making eye-contact with someone beside him who looks away. Coward. His breath shaking, the man looks up at Negan. He begins to shake his head back and forth, pleading with his eyes.

“This is a lesson,” Negan says, lifting Lucille up over his head. “Make sure you learn it. I do not like repeating myself.”

Lucille connects full force with the man’s head with a crack. Negan hollers and Carl can’t help but grin. His enthusiasm is infectious. He brings Lucille down again and it sounds wetter this time. Blood is pooling, running down the man’s face as he slumps forward. Negan doesn’t let up, bringing Lucille down a third time, gore splashing outwards, hitting the one beside him who had turned away, refusing to give him comfort in his final moments. It feels like poetic justice.

With each hit there’s less substance and more blood and tissue and brains. It all breaks down to red mist and sludge. Carl has smashed through his fair share of brains, but they were usually already dead. It’s different when the blood is still pumping. Messier. More satisfying.

Carl doesn’t wonder at that. He just watches Negan as he finally steps away, looking at Lucille appreciatively as though she did all the hard work. He’s breathless and giddy in a way that makes Carl feel exhilarated too.

“Now we can all move on,” Negan says, as though they worked together towards a solution. “Business as usual. But if I hear that you so much as look at my men like they are anything but the people who saved you, I will be back here, and I will be pissed. Trust me, you do not want that.”

As he walks past the man who confessed, he reaches down, giving him a playful slap in the face and a look that tells him he really fucking lost. Carl follows Negan out of the building like he’s being pulled on a string, leaving Negan’s men to finish this up however something like this is finished.

They step into the sunlight and Negan wraps an arm around Carl’s middle, fingers digging into his waist and pulling him in with so much force that it makes Carl sway into him, losing his footing. He doesn’t mind.

“Kid, that was magnificent,” Negan praises. “Where the hell did that come from? Is this your book learning in action?”

Carl shrugs, even as he feels himself preen. “It’s mostly psychology, I guess a little historical knowledge, and some experience.”

“Well, it was perfection,” Negan enthuses, squeezing his waist again, still holding him tight to his side. “I need to give Jason a bonus, he is doing his job.” He stops as they reach the truck, spinning Carl to face him. “And you. I need to get something special for you too.” He reaches out, holding onto Carl’s jaw as he gazes at him. “You might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He grins, toothy and a tiny bit predatory, gripping Carl’s face tighter as he leans in, placing an exaggerated kiss on his forehead, complete with cliche sound effect. Carl blushes.

“Come on,” Negan says, opening the truck door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Carl feels like he’s on a high for the rest of the day. He can barely stay still. He tries to do some reading or play video games but he has too much unspent energy. He ends up pacing around the marketplace instead, not looking for anything, just wanting a way to keep moving.

When he gets back to his room, Negan is already there, laid out on his bed, eating something. Carl pauses in the doorway before slowly closing the door behind himself.

“Hi,” he says, feeling bemused.

“You took so long I started eating your gift,” Negan tells him through a mouthful. “Come over here.”

Carl climbs onto the bed, sitting with his legs crossed as Negan pushes a tupperware box towards him. Inside are some freshly baked cookies. Carl picks one up, inhaling the scent.

“I had Tanya make them for you,” Negan tells him. “With real chocolate. That is a rare commodity because you are just that special to me, Carl.”

Carl grins at him. “Thank you.”

“What did I tell you about thank you?” Negan asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carl says with a roll of his eye. “I work for it everyday. But sometimes someone gives you a cookie and you say thank you.” He takes a bite. It’s the perfect mixture of crunch and chew.

“So polite,” Negan says. “Such a good boy.”

Carl turns the cookie in his hands, considering Negan. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough that this is actually my second cookie,” Negan admits, tossing the last piece of it into his mouth.

Carl takes another bite of the cookie. There’s something so intimate about Negan being here, in his space, on his bed, waiting for him.

“Where were you?” Negan asks.

“Couldn’t sit still,” Carl says with a shrug.

“Are you proud?” Negan asks. “You should be. I’m proud of you.”

Carl smiles, instinctively ducking his head at the praise. “I’m proud.”

“Oh yeah?” Negan asks. He sits up, nudging Carl. “Lift your head up and say it like you mean it then.”

Carl lifts his head, taking a breath even as he can’t quite meet Negan’s gaze. He sits up taller, letting himself really feel it. “I’m proud,” he states firmly, eye flicking to meet Negan’s at the last second.

“Why?” Negan asks.

“Because I solved a problem,” Carl says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He chews on his lip, really thinking about it. “Because we showed them who we are. And that made me more certain about who I am.”

“And who are you?” Negan asks.

Carl looks at him, not shying away. “I’m Negan.”

Negan smiles at him, giving a little nod of approval. Now Carl definitely feels proud. He feels himself being drawn in closer when Negan flicks his eyes away, breaking the spell.

“How about we boot up the console and have a game?” Negan suggests.

“Yeah,” Carl agrees easily, dropping the rest of his cookie into the box. He can savour them later. He hops off the bed, turning on the console as Negan comes over to join him.

The next day in class, Carl finds he has a new respect for what Jason is teaching him. A lot of it might seem pointless to Carl, and infantilising even though it feels more like college than the elementary school he last attended, but Jason is teaching him critical thinking skills and problem solving. He helps him make links and question motivations. He’s not sure Jason would want anything to do with how Carl used those skills yesterday, but his part in this can’t be dismissed.

“Negan said he was going to give you a bonus,” Carl tells him, even though he’s supposed to be reading this chapter so they can discuss it. His brain isn’t entirely on the task today.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “Apparently I’m a good influence?” He looks at Carl, considering him for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

“Probably not,” Carl smirks.

“Well, I got a home cooked meal and some charming company out of it, so no complaints,” Jason says.

“I got cookies,” Carl states happily.

“Maybe I should give you a quiz to ace so we can both get some more perks,” Jason says with a wink.

Carl frowns. He doesn’t like the thought of someone trying to take advantage of Negan. He’s a fair man, he gives what’s earned, cutting corners is not acceptable.

“That’s some manipulative bullshit,” he says, giving Jason a challenging look.

“It was a joke,” Jason says defensively, holding up his hands.

“It’s not funny,” Carl tells him, looking back down at his textbook. “You wanna be careful who you say shit like that to.”

“Noted,” Jason assures him.

Carl likes the guy, but he sees the cracks show through sometimes. He doesn’t really appreciate what Negan does for them all. He can’t. He’s living the Sanctuary on easy mode. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Negan leads Carl down a corridor in the lower levels of the Sanctuary, long and nondescript. There’s a few of Negan’s men around, all of them looking busy and purposeful with some series of tasks that Carl isn’t privy to. He’s pretty sure he’s been here longer than he was ever at the prison, but he’s still being shown new parts of the compound.

They come to a rolled down shutter beside a heavy metal door. Negan wraps his knuckles on the shutter, making it shake in its housing, echoing down the corridor. A slot opens, a pair of eyes looking out.

“We’re coming in,” Negan states.

The slot closes and then there’s the sound of bolts sliding before the door is opened. Carl follows Negan into what turns out to be an impressive armory. A stockpile really. They could go to war with all this gear. It’s organised by firearm type, everything neatly displayed and ready to go. It sure beats the bins of guns they had at the prison.

“I saw you checking out our guns the other day,” Negan says. “The engraving.” He reaches out and touches the nearest gun, Lucille engraved into the grip. “It’s practical, we like to keep track of what’s ours, but it’s more than that. It’s dedication. It’s belonging. You’re a part of this, Carl. You should have one.”

Carl moves closer, running a finger over the engraving. He had been looking. Admiring. Wanting. He loves that Negan has built this and isn’t afraid to own it. He loves that Lucille has become the symbol that brings them all together. After seeing her in action, he can’t get it out of his mind. He doesn’t want to be othered from the people around him. He doesn’t want to hang on to the misfit parts they gathered together on the road and at the prison. He deserves more than that. He wants to show his devotion. He wants to belong.

“Take your pick,” Negan says, spreading his arms out wide in invitation.

Carl smiles, looking around. He walks the rows, takes it all in, aware of Negan’s eyes following his every move. He doesn’t want to make some naive, childish choice. He wants to prove that he knows what he’s doing. Nothing showy, nothing with cool factor. Practical. Reliable. Deadly. That’s his criteria. He knows this isn’t a game.

He finally settles on a semi-automatic pistol, something he’s used to and knows how to handle, something he’ll feel comfortable carrying day to day in his holster. The exact model he selects has more to do with which carving of Lucille is cleaner and deeper though. He wants her to stand out. He wants to feel her against his skin when he pulls the trigger.

“Nice,” Negan appraises, standing beside him.

Carl can feel his eyes shining with excitement, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reaches for the gun in his holster, offering it to Negan. “I don’t want this one.”

“Woah, hold up,” Negan tells him. “You can have them both.”

Carl shakes his head. “I don’t want it.”

Negan considers him for a moment, looking at him like he’s staring directly into his mind. “Okay,” he finally says, taking the gun and immediately passing it off to one of the armory guards. “Get him some ammo for that,” he says, nodding towards Carl’s new selection.

Carl is handed a magazine that he slots in, the weight instantly feeling better in his hand. He rubs his thumb over the engraving, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t want to look like a kid with a toy.

“You know, it makes me so happy to make you happy,” Negan says fondly, reaching out and squeezing the back of Carl’s neck. “Let’s go give it a test ride.” He tugs Carl in close with the hold he still has on his neck, leaning in to line his mouth up with Carl’s ear. “I had them chain up some walkers in our spot for us.”

Carl does grin then, turning his face to look at Negan who’s still so incredibly close. Negan grins back and it truly feels for a moment like it’s just the two of them against the world.

Chapter 8

“Hey, kid.”

Carl looks up from his backgammon game to see Negan in the doorway to the lounge, a faint smile playing over his lips, something playful in his eyes.

“I know you’re in the middle of a game, but I think you should tap out,” Negan says. “I want you to sit in on this.”

Carl barely acknowledges Tanya or the game as he gets to his feet, crossing the room to join Negan, a little thrill of anticipation lighting up inside him. Negan leads the way down the corridor, and Carl assumes they’re going to Negan’s room, but then Negan is swinging open the door to the meeting room. Carl has never been in here before. Only Negan and his lieutenants use this room. He doesn’t hesitate when Negan ushers him inside though, sitting down in the chair Negan directs him to, literally at his right hand.

“We’re letting children sit in on our meetings now?” Simon asks.

Carl turns to face him, at the far end of the long table, giving him a challenging look. When Negan calls him kid it’s endearing. When Simon calls him a child it’s nothing but condescension.

“You have news?” Negan prompts, his voice tight.

Carl wonders if Negan would mind if Carl punched Simon in his stupid face.

“The walls are up at the Hilltop,” Simon says.

Carl looks to Negan for a reaction. He has no idea if that’s good or bad.

Negan gives a faint smile, nodding his head. “That means they have something worth protecting. We should offer our services.”

“I’d be happy to take a team out there,” Simon says. “Make the deal.”

“I’ll be closing on that myself,” Negan responds. “But we should show a united front. Let them see who we are.”

Simon nods. “I can have a convoy ready to roll out tomorrow.”

“Give them a couple of days,” Negan says. “Let them get comfortable.”

“Alright,” Simon agrees.

“Carl,” Negan says, turning to face him. “You’ll shadow me.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees, fighting at the grin that tries to curl the corners of his mouth up. He couldn’t have hoped for a better proposition.

“I want you to see this in action from the start,” Negan says.

“Should I cancel his daycare for the day?” Simon asks snidely.

Carl turns to glare at him, drawing in a breath to speak.

“Don’t lower yourself to his level,” Negan cuts in.

Carl feels his indignation start to subside. He turns to Negan who is silently communicating something to Simon. Carl does as he’s told. He doesn’t want to be the one causing trouble.

“Dismissed,” Negan says.

Everyone gets up, starting to go about their business. Carl goes to stand but Negan reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Carl’s wrist. Carl stills, waiting as everyone else leaves. Negan’s fingers slip away, leaning back in his chair and looking smug.

“You like sitting at the big boy’s table?”

Carl nods. “Just let me know what you want me to do.”

Negan smiles. “That’s the attitude that’s going to get you a permanent spot here.” He leans in, forearms on the table. “Let me tell you what we know about the Hilltop.”

The Hilltop is a community the Saviors have had their eye on for a while. It started off as a FEMA camp at the beginning of the outbreak, and while quickly abandoned, it held promise. The survivors that gathered there mostly stayed together which means two things. The resources have more than likely stayed in the community, and the people living there haven’t faced half as much hardship as people who had to fight through the shitshow outside to find some semblance of safety.

The walls that Simon mentioned are impressive, made from timber and well put together. The prison had fences, Woodbury had barricades, the Sanctuary has a combination of both with walkers for added protection, but Carl has never seen anything like this. They seem like they have their shit together. Carl knows that walls make people complacent though. They’ll need the Saviors if they want to protect their way of life.

Carl waits in the truck while Negan and Simon go to talk to the guards at the gate. He doesn’t hear what is said, but after some discussion the gates are finally opened up to them. The stately home inside is even more impressive but completely impractical for the world as it is now. The man who comes to greet them at the top of the stairs, framed by the grand entryway, looks like he didn’t notice the world ended at all.

Carl hops out of the truck, making his way towards Negan, his eyes fixed on the well-dressed man. He doesn’t trust anyone until they earn it, and even then, he’s not letting his guard down.

“I’ll handle the negotiations,” Negan tells Simon. “You keep an eye on things out here. And a presence. They’re going to know us.”

Simon gives a nod, a knowing look on his face. Carl has a feeling there’s more to this visit than what he’s privy to from his inclusion in a single meeting. They’ve had their sights set on this place for a while.

Negan turns to Carl. “You’re with me,” he says, something intense in his eyes, and Carl can’t imagine being anywhere else. With a signal to his men, Negan is walking towards the man on the stairs.

“My name is Gregory,” the man introduces. “I’m the boss.”

“I’m Negan,” he responds, accepting the outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake. “We’re the Saviors.”

“Well, that sounds… pleasant,” Gregory says, pulling back his hand and wiping it subtly on his pants.

Negan offers him a tight smile. “There somewhere we can talk, Gregory?”

“Of course, where are my manners?” Gregory says, taking a step back. “Follow me.”

Inside, everything is old wood and things that look like they belong in a museum. They’re led through to an office and Gregory walks around the desk, sitting in an absurdly lavish chair. He gestures towards two further chairs, not as showy as the one he’s occupying. Negan drops down into one, lifting his foot up to place it on his opposite knee, Lucille balanced on his lap. He looks completely at home.

Carl sits in the other seat, forcing his body to relax, wanting to give off the same unbothered vibe that Negan is inhabiting so effortlessly. He ignores the urge to press his knees together, to hold his hands between his thighs, shifting in the seat to splay his legs. He’s not a child anymore. He’s a man who’s going to take up space.

The rest of the men who followed Negan inside stand behind them, weapons visible and ready to go. It gives Carl a thrill to have that kind of backup. He can see Gregory’s eyes scan over them before focussing back on Negan.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Gregory asks.

“I’m going to talk,” Negan says. “You’re going to listen.”

Gregory’s face takes on a strained look of amusement. “Well, I’m happy to…”

“Don’t care,” Negan sing songs. “I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen. And I do not like repeating myself, Gregory.”

Gregory’s mouth presses into a hard line as he gestures for Negan to continue.

“I have a proposition to present you with,” Negan says. “See, we are hardened fighters, shaped by what’s out there, and we know what it takes to survive. We clear out herds of the undead, we fight thieves and bandits and psychopaths who want to take what you have. We keep people safe. We’re going to keep you safe, Gregory. We’re going to save you. As long as you’re working with us, you’re never going to have to worry about anything outside of these cosy walls. My men will take care of that. In exchange, you’re going to give us half of what you have. Today. And then, every week, you’re going to give us half of your new spoils. The more you make the more you keep so you’re going to want to keep your productivity up.”

Gregory leans forward, steepling his hands together in front of him. “I can certainly appreciate what you’re offering, but I think we can all agree that half is a little steep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Negan says jovially. “Did I make it sound like this was a negotiation? My bad.” He shakes his head, giving Gregory a warning look. “The terms have already been set and you are living on our turf. You’re benefiting from what we do out there, whether we choose to help you or not. Now that doesn’t sound fair, does it? We’re cleaning up and you’re living right here in the middle of it like pigs in shit. You’ve gotten that for free for long enough. Half is what we’re taking.”

Gregory stares at him. He doesn’t have a rebuttal, Carl can tell. He doesn’t have anything.

“I think this relationship can certainly be mutually beneficial,” Gregory says carefully.

“Gregory,” Negan says, his tone dripping with disappointment. “You’re not listening.” He lifts up Lucille, turning her so that the barbed wire catches the light, glinting. “I made it very clear that I do not like repeating myself.”

He sighs, sitting up and letting his foot fall down onto the floor with an audible thump. Gregory tenses. Negan wraps both hands around Lucille, giving a swing. Carl can feel her slice through the air. He knows that Gregory feels it too.

“I personally think I’m being pretty fucking generous,” Negan says, eyes still admiring Lucille. “We’re the ones out there, putting our lives on the line, for you. There are a lot more of us than there are of you, Gregory. A lot more. If I need that manpower to get what’s owed to me, I can come back with them. And I’m only asking for half. Don’t be so selfish,” he says with disgust, bringing Lucille back to his lap as he stares unflinchingly at Gregory. “Don’t put them in danger because you want to keep your cup overflowing.”

Gregory licks his lips. He nods, a look of determination on his face. “I can make it happen.”

“You will make it happen,” Negan says. “Quickly. You think these guys look impatient?” he asks, nodding back towards his men. “Think of the ones out there with your people. They won’t leave with empty trucks.”

“I understand,” Gregory assures him.

Negan turns to look at Carl, tilting his head. “What are you thinking?”

“That he’s a spineless piece of shit,” Carl responds without hesitation.

Negan laughs, looking back to Gregory. “Kids say the damnest things, right?” He shakes his head with another chuckle, turning to Carl. “I wasn’t looking for a scathing character study. Give me that book learning.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Carl tells him. “He’s spineless. He can make the deal but he can’t keep it. He doesn’t have control over these people, there’s no way.”

“Excuse me,” Gregory cuts in indignantly.

Negan wheels around to point Lucille at him. “Gregory, you have really got to learn to shut the fuck up. My boy is talking.”

Gregory holds his hands up in surrender. Carl snorts a laugh.

“See. The tiniest bit of pressure and he cracks,” Carl says. “He can’t keep them in line. You think they’re going to like handing half of their stuff over to strangers? And he can’t convince them. So we have to.”

A pleased smirk comes over Negan’s face and Carl realises that was the plan all along, that’s why Simon is outside right now. Divide and conquer. But Negan needed Carl to come to this on his own. He needed Carl’s philosophy to line up with Negan’s methods. He needed Carl to prove himself.

“Then let’s do some convincing,” Negan says, getting to his feet.

“Wait, we’re not done here,” Gregory says desperately. “I’m their leader. They’ll listen to me.”

“Don’t worry, Gregory, it’s out of your hands,” Negan tells him as he heads towards the door, Carl in tow. “It always has been.”

Everything is eerily quiet outside. The sounds of work and productivity have halted and in front of Simon is a kid on his knees, maybe a couple of years older than Carl. Everyone else is held back in a circle at gunpoint. The Hilltop guards have been disarmed and are lying face down in the dirt a little away from the main spectacle. This place belongs to the Saviors now.

Negan whistles, the men parting for him to join Simon in the middle. Carl goes with him. He knows he’s supposed to. He knows it’s where he belongs.

“Gregory couldn’t get it done,” Negan says regrettably. The words are directed at Simon but his voice is projected out for everyone to hear.

“No!” Gregory shouts, trying to get to them, but he’s held back. “We have a deal! You don’t need to do this!”

Negan looks at Carl, such fondness in his eyes, and then he holds out Lucille towards him. Carl looks at her, the smooth surface, the spikes of the barbed wire, the beauty and power she holds. He accepts the offering, wrapping his fingers carefully around her just like Negan taught him. This is it.

“Your leader thinks that he can take advantage of our protection,” Negan grandstands, turning slowly to address the crowd. “I made a promise to keep you safe, but I cannot save you from him.”

He stills, looking down at Carl. Taking a deep breath, Carl adjusts his grip, lifting each finger in turn to make sure he’s not palming it. Negan seems pleased. Carl gives a little nod. Negan and Simon take a step back, leaving Carl in front of the kid.

“Carl,” Negan says, his voice calm and encouraging. “Go ahead.”

Carl lifts Lucille, winding up for the swing, knowing just what muscles he needs to follow through. He tilts his hips, positioning his weight, and in that moment of potential he feels invincible. That exhilarating sensation of Lucille rushing through the air is cut short as he connects with the kid’s head. It’s jarring, the impact shuddering all the way up his arms. He can feel it in his bones. He blinks, feeling like he’s the one struck.

Negan gives a whoop behind him and Carl’s enthusiasm swells again. He lifts Lucille and sees a wound in dark hair, blood trickling through the strands onto pale flesh. He swings again, bringing Lucille down with more determination now that he knows what to expect. The kid drops but Carl knows that’s not how it ends. Not even close.

Carl swings Lucille again and again. He’s not as strong as Negan, not as skilled as Negan, but Negan taught him well, he trusts him with this, and Carl isn’t going to let him down. He’s not going to stop until there’s nothing identifiable left. He’s going to make their point.

Carl notes the bloody tissue coming away from the skull, sees the bone cracking, shattering, breaking in chunks. There’s gushes of blood and grey matter that turns slowly pinker until it’s all just red gore that seeps onto his boots, dripping from Lucille.

He stops, breaths heaving, staring down at what he’s done. His heart is beating so quickly in his chest, his lungs straining with exertion. His arms ache, Lucille hanging limply from numb hands. All of it adds up to a bone deep satisfaction as a smile comes over his face. They win. He made their point. No one is going to fuck with them. Carl can keep them safe.

Negan’s hand lands on his shoulder and Carl wordlessly hands Lucille over. She’s too heavy right now. Negan squeezes his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face for half a second.

“You did good.”

“I know,” Carl says, breathless and euphoric.

He meets Negan’s eyes and he just wants to fall into him with elation. Negan looks away though, resting the bloody, gore-covered Lucille on his shoulder, and turning his attention to what comes next. That’s when Carl registers the sounds of sobbing.

Gregory is on his knees, bent over, his cries wracking his body. Carl thinks for a moment that he’s been put there, that he’s next, but it’s quickly clear that he’s simply collapsed. Pathetic.

“Half of your shit for services rendered,” Negan says, the gravel crunching under his feet as he moves towards Gregory. “And half going forward, every week, no complaints. If you can’t make that happen with a goddamn smile on your face, I’m just going to have to keep killing people until I make myself clear.”

“No!” Gregory says brokenly. “No. It’s perfectly clear. We are more than happy to compensate you for your hard work keeping us safe.”

“Well good,” Negan says. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He turns around. “Gentlemen, get to work.”

The tense stand off suddenly becomes a hive of productivity as Negan’s men spread out, weapons away to search for supplies. Negan’s arm goes around Carl’s shoulders, pulling him away from the kid’s body and back towards their trucks.

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty great,” Carl responds. Nothing feels entirely real right now, but this high is like nothing else.

Negan chuckles. “How the hell did I get lucky enough to find you?” he asks in wonder. “You’re like my own personal little serial killer.”

“They would have fought back,” Carl says. “They need to know who we are.”

“Oh, they know now,” Negan says with amusement. “Thanks to you.”

“Team effort,” Carl dismisses. “You set it up. And Simon did his bit.”

“You and him might be able to play nice together after all,” Negan says.

Carl gets a feeling that would put him in good standing. As much as Negan can bust Simon’s balls, he does trust him to be his second in command. If Carl is going to cement his place as Negan’s protege, he’s going to have to show he can be on the same page as Simon.

When they get back to the Sanctuary, Carl’s head is still in the clouds, his body thrumming with energy. He goes towards his room but Negan wordlessly catches his wrist, guiding him down the hall. Carl doesn’t fight it for a second, following Negan along to his quarters, the heavy doors closing behind them.

Negan pulls Carl down onto the couch with him, his fingers slipping from Carl’s wrist. He turns in his seat to look at Carl, but it’s more like he’s studying him, trying to see something that may or may not be there. Carl just lets him stare because he can’t imagine in that moment how he could possibly be found lacking. Right now, he’s the epitome of everything Negan has ever admired about him, and he’s totally shameless in it.

Negan gives a nod, like he sees whatever it is that he’s searching for. Carl preens. He can’t help himself.

“I have been looking for you for so long,” Negan says.

He lifts a hand up to touch Carl’s cheek, the one with the missing eye. His fingers catch on the rough scar tissue. It makes Carl shiver but it doesn’t make him feel vulnerable. Not anymore. Negan’s eyes go soft, his hand sliding further back, into Carl’s hair, thumb tracing his cheekbone, then the lower edge of his socket. Carl makes a noise, pressing into it.

“Shit,” Negan says softly, reverently. “You have no idea what I mean, do you?”

“Then tell me,” Carl responds.

Negan lifts his other hand, placing it above Carl’s knee, pressing down. It feels nice, solid, reassuring. He gives a squeeze and Carl moves closer to him, chasing the touch, craving more.

“I have my wives,” Negan says. “Whose brains I fuck out on the daily.”

“Uh-huh,” Carl murmurs, feeling something stir inside of him.

“And then I have you,” Negan says, edging his hand higher up Carl’s thigh. “My little protégé.” He lifts his hand so that just a fingertip remains, tracing patterns over Carl’s thigh. He leans in to bridge the gap between them, pressing their foreheads together. “But maybe you could be everything.”

The words are whispered and they tickle some place in Carl’s mind that he’s never been aware of before. “Everything,” he repeats in his own hushed tone.

Negan grins. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“No,” Carl says.

“Want to kiss me?” Negan asks, the words murmured but deep, vibrating through Carl.

“Yes,” Carl says, tilting his head with a little noise in his throat. He feels so needy all of a sudden. He feels like he might come out of his own skin.

Negan’s hold on the side of his face tightens as he presses their lips together. He can feel Negan breathe out through his nose against his cheek, hot and ticklish and insanely intimate. Negan’s fingers thread through his hair, nails raking over his scalp as he moves his lips against Carl’s. They’re dry and a little chapped, catching on Carl’s own, and Carl presses into it with a needy sound, his hands coming up to rest on Negan’s shoulders, not sure what else to do with them.

Negan’s hand slides up Carl’s thigh to his hip, gripping hold and pulling him closer as he parts his lips. He tilts Carl’s head, bottom lip catching on Carl’s upper one, dragging upwards, making Carl’s part ever so slightly. He presses in further, upper lip catching on Carl’s lower, tugging it down until he can suck on it ever so slightly. Carl makes a helpless noise, Negan humming in approval as he scrapes his teeth oh so gently over Carl’s lower lip, taking in a breath against him.

With the tip of his tongue, Negan licks over Carl’s bottom lip, wetting it, and Carl opens up to him, letting his jaw go slack. He can feel Negan smiling against his mouth as he fits their lips together, tongue sliding inside to lick over Carl’s. It’s like nothing Carl has ever felt before, weird and slick, but he instantly wants more. Negan does it again and Carl moves his own tongue to meet him, groaning at the feel of it.

“So good,” Negan whispers against him before his tongue is going even deeper, making Carl tilt his head back, Negan’s hand sliding to cradle the back of his head as he goes to practically devour him. It feels fucking incredible, not just Negan’s tongue, the hot wetness of his mouth, but the way Negan has hold of him, keeping his head in the perfect position, gripping his hip so securely. It makes Carl feel safe and surrounded.

He lifts one of his own hands to Negan’s neck, wrapping his fingers around the back, feeling the bumps of his spine as he holds on tight. Negan tugs him closer with a grunt and Carl can’t help but moan in response, a high noise in his throat. Having an effect on Negan like that with a simple touch, being wanted by him, doing good, it heightens everything.

He melts into Negan, into his firm hands and his insistent kiss. He can feel the sweat prickling up on his body, gathering at the small of his back, on his brow. He feels like he’s burning up in the best possible way and all he wants is to be closer to Negan, to be pressed against him, to be consumed by him. He shifts his hips as Negan pulls at him again and his cock catches on the worn fabric of his jeans. His hard cock. It’s exquisite and he gasps before he’s exhaling a helpless little whimper.

Negan pulls back, just a little, just enough to pause the kiss. Carl hopes it’s a pause. He doesn’t know how to stop now. Negan’s fingers are back on his cheek, stroking, and Carl opens his eye, blinking a few times to make his bleary vision focus. He’s breathing harder than after he was done with Lucille earlier and his body is just as alive. He looks at Negan with his mouth hanging open, Negan gazing back at him with pupils blown and cheeks flushed. It’s so gratifying that he’s not the only one.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Negan asks.

Carl just nods with a surge of arousal that feels like it could actually kill him.

Negan’s lips quirk up into the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m going to need to hear you say it, Carl.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Carl responds, his voice sounding wrecked already.

“Atta boy,” Negan says, and then one arm is slipping beneath Carl’s knees, the other under his arms, and Carl is lifted like he weighs nothing. Negan moves, the room spinning around Carl before he finds himself sat down on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over, Negan stood in front of him.

Carl stares up at him dumbly, having no idea how this transition works, just knowing he wants Negan to be touching him again. Negan reaches down, pushing Carl’s plaid shirt back off his shoulders, Carl moving with him to shrug it off. Carl expects his T-shirt to go next but Negan reaches down instead, grabbing hold of one of his feet by the boot, and lifting it up so that his leg is out straight. Carl has to lean back onto his hand to balance as Negan unlaces his boot, looking up at Carl the whole time like this is some kind of foreplay. He pulls off the boot and drops Carl’s foot, lifting his other one and repeating the process.

When he bends forward, Carl thinks he’s going for his jeans, his dick giving a throb of anticipation, but instead Negan unclips the front of his holster. He trails his hands very deliberately down one of Carl’s thighs, unclipping the leg strap, fingers lingering on his inseam. He moves to the other side, so close to where Carl wants those fingers, unclipping the final strap. Carl lifts himself, letting Negan pull the holster away, discarding it along with his boots.

“The rest of it’s easier,” Negan says, shrugging off his own leather jacket before toeing off his boots. “Go ahead and lie down. Get comfy, baby.”

Carl reaches out for him, craving the way that Negan is walking him through it, step by step. He doesn’t want to move away from him.

“I’m coming,” Negan says, voice amused and just a little bit exasperated. He reaches behind himself, taking his knife from where it sits in his belt and placing it on the bedside table. He unfastens his belt, pulling it from the belt loops and dropping it to the floor.

As he approaches the bed, Carl finally moves, shifting himself backwards until he can lie down, head on the pillows. Negan climbs on beside him, slow and predatory, looking over the length of Carl before he’s moving on top of him. Carl wraps his arms around him, tugging him down with a needy sound. Negan gives a chuckle, pressing his face into Carl’s neck and breathing him in with a satisfied noise.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” Negan tells him as he lifts his head back up, brushing Carl’s hair out of his face. “Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

Carl nods. He’s never felt as safe as when he’s been with Negan. They’re the ones who live. They’re the ones who lead. Everyone else follows or they face the consequences. Negan does what needs doing. He’s never ever let Carl down.

Negan shifts his body, lining up their hips and grinding down hard, staring right into Carl’s eye. Carl whines, the harsh drag of denim punctuated by the pure pleasure of Negan’s hard cock rubbing against his own. Because Negan wants him. Because Negan is turned on by him. Because they’re each other’s everything.

Negan does it again, but this time he doesn’t stop, moving his hips in a rhythm of tight little circles that makes Carl feel like he’s going to lose his mind. His dick throbs and his hips lift from the bed, arching his neck as he throws his head back in a noise of pure overstimulation. He doesn’t know what he wants. He wants this but he wants more and he wants less and he clings to Negan, hands fisted in the back of his shirt.

Negan leans forward, teeth scraping over Carl’s throat, making him practically jump out of his skin. Negan grins against the flesh and then soothes him with kisses, dragging and open-mouthed. He lifts his hands, sliding them up Carl’s sides, under his T-shirt. Carl can’t help but squirm at the sensation, Negan making a pleased noise into his neck before his hands are travelling over Carl’s chest, thumbs catching on his nipples and rubbing.

Carl’s whole body surges upwards without meaning to, sure his knuckles must be white in Negan’s shirt as he grips it as though his life depends on it. Negan keeps touching him, circling his nipples as he thrusts down against him, sucking at his neck now in a way that’s almost painful. Carl whines, even as he tilts his head to give Negan more access.

“You’re okay,” Negan murmurs against him, dragging up the material of his T-shirt until it catches on his underarms. “Lift up.”

The up isn’t a problem, it’s untangling his fingers from Negan’s shirt so that he can do it. He doesn’t know how to release his grip, tugging at his arms until they fall away. He raises them over his head, knuckles knocking against the headboard as Negan drags the shirt up and off.

Carl gazes up at him, chewing on his lip. “You, please.”

Negan laughs. “Me please?” He shakes his head affectionately. “You are just so polite. Such a good boy.” He leans in, brushing their lips together before he sits up. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

Carl half sits up, pushing up the hem of Negan’s shirt as far as he can reach. Negan takes it the rest of the way off, tossing it aside, and Carl runs his hands over the exposed flesh, feeling the hair tickle his fingertips as he follows the trail with his eye.

“Like what you see?” Negan asks smugly.

“Mmmhmm,” Carl says thoughtlessly. It’s so hot and so intimate all at once. Carl wants to keep going, his fingers catching on Negan’s waistband. Negan grabs hold of them, taking Carl’s hands in his own.

“We’ll get there,” Negan promises, pressing Carl back down and laying his hands onto the bed either side of his shoulders. “We gotta walk you through it. Go nice and slow.”

“I’m good,” Carl insists, even though he’s breathless and they’re not even moving right now.

“You’re so good,” Negan agrees, kissing at the point where Carl’s neck curves into his shoulder. “You’re the best.” Another kiss, a drag of lips, a flick of tongue. “But I’m not rushing through this. I am nothing if not conscientious. I’ll take you through every step.”

“Okay,” Carl says as Negan kisses along his collar bone, letting his body melt into the bed. He likes it when Negan takes care of him.

Negan kisses his way across Carl’s chest, slowly, carefully. He alternates little pecks of his lips with open mouthed kisses, wet licks, dragging teeth. Carl can never guess which sensation is coming next as Negan’s mouth moves step by step downwards until he’s a squirming mess, hands fisted in the blankets beneath him because it hadn’t occurred to him that he could move them from where Negan placed them down.

Negan licks along his waistband, tongue catching on denim and skin, Carl moaning as he watches him. The tenting of his jeans looks absolutely absurd and is so uncomfortable, making him shift his hips, wanting both to hide in shame and just get naked already. Negan makes the decision for him and Carl lays back and goes with it as Negan pops open the button on his jeans. Carl feels the vibration of each tooth in the zipper letting go as it’s pulled down, making noises high in his throat like he might come just from this.

Negan’s hands pull the front of his jeans fully open, giving Carl some relief as his cock is constrained only by his underwear, the thin layer feeling like heaven after the unyielding denim. Negan breathes him in with a noise of satisfaction, Carl whimpering at the sight. Negan looks up at him, meeting his eye as he dips his head down, mouthing firmly over Carl’s cock through his underwear. Carl moans brokenly, something inside him turning over, fighting with his hips not to thrust shamelessly into Negan’s face.

As Negan pulls back, he curls his fingers into Carl’s jeans and underwear, tugging them down together. His cock springs free, hitting his stomach, already wet with precome. Negan looks at it as he sits up, dragging Carl’s pants down to mid thigh.

“You like to touch yourself?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Carl says, blushing right down to his chest.

“Sometimes?” Negan asks, looking up at him with amusement. “I like touching myself. It’s natural. Feels good.” He nods down towards Carl’s cock. “Show me how you do it.”

Carl whines, squirming as he grips tighter to the blankets beneath him. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Negan encourages. “Let’s see it, baby. Show me what you like so I can make you feel good.”

He makes it sound so reasonable that Carl is struggling to come up with a decent excuse not to. Besides, he’s so turned on that it actually hurts and if somebody doesn’t touch him soon then he might just explode. He closes his eye and lifts up his right hand, wrapping it loosely around his cock. It jumps at the touch and he grimaces in embarrassment. He bites down on his lip in determination and starts to move his hand, holding on a little tighter as he strokes up and down. It doesn’t take long to get lost in it, instinct taking over, tugging on his dick harder as his hips lift off the bed.

“You ever try this?” Negan asks, and then his hand is on Carl’s around his cock, directing him, guiding his thumb up to the head.

Carl’s eye flies open to look down at the both of them touching him, Negan showing him how to smear the precome with his thumb and massage the head. His whole body lights up at the sensation and he squeezes down hard on his dick to stop himself coming. The visuals alone are so erotic he’s pretty sure he could come from that alone.

He tries to say something, tries to give a warning, but it gets caught in his throat as Negan uses him like a puppet on his own body, twisting his hand as it slides slickly and Carl is crying out, coming over both of their fingers with a sob. He tries to pull his hand away but Negan doesn’t let him, stroking him right through it as Carl closes his eye and tries to stop the sinking feeling from setting in. He’s so ashamed. He’s ruined everything.

When Negan finally stills, letting go of him, Carl wants to roll away, curl up, hide under the bed. He can’t move though, Negan is sitting on his thighs. He makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat, Negan’s hands coming up to run down his arms, stroking rhythmically in a way that comforts and grounds him.

“Shhh,” Negan soothes. “Don’t worry about it. You needed that one.”

“I’m sorry,” Carl says, shaking his head.

“I know what I’m doing, kid,” Negan says, his voice warm and kind. “If I didn’t want you to come, you wouldn’t have come.”

Carl opens his eye, blinking away the unshed tears to look up at Negan who’s looking right back down at him with such affection. It makes Carl feel accepted. “Hold me?”

“Absolutely,” Negan says, and then he’s rolling them, pulling Carl into him and wrapping him up in his arms.

Carl can hear Negan’s heart where his head is pressed into his chest, solid and reliable while Carl’s beats wildly like it’s trying to break free. Negan’s arms are so secure around him that he can’t feel anything but safe. He presses into him and lets it all wash over him, his breathing and his heart evening out like Negan has control of every part of him. Carl could believe that. Sometimes he does.

Negan rubs his back soothingly and as Carl comes back to himself, he realises his pants are halfway down his legs, his ass exposed to the room, come splattered on his stomach. He must look ridiculous. But he’s also giddy at the fact that he maybe just had sex for the first time. Did that count? Negan’s hand was around him so it’s at least a step up from masturbation.

“We okay?” Negan asks gently, the words brushed against Carl’s temple.

Carl lifts his head to look at him. “Yeah,” he says honestly. “I mean, I wanted to do it together.”

“We can still do it together,” Negan says. “I bet you bounce back real fucking quick. Or we can save that for another time. We can just do this. This is nice too.”

This is nice, Carl agrees. And then, after Carl has gone, Negan will go calling for one of his wives and they’ll get to finish what Carl started. That doesn’t seem fair. He has no problem sharing with them, he loves them, but not right now. This is something that’s been building between he and Negan since they left the Hilltop, since long before that if he’s honest with himself. He wants to see it through.

“I want to keep going,” he says. “I want you to fuck me.”

Negan takes a breath, letting it out as a sigh. “Kid, you have no idea what you do to me. No fucking idea.” He smiles, leaning in to brush their lips together. Carl tries to take the initiative, opening his mouth, licking his way into Negan’s. Negan’s smile widens against his mouth before he’s pulling away again. “How about we get rid of these?” Negan says, his hands landing on Carl’s jeans.

“And these,” Carl says, fingers catching on Negan’s belt loops.

“Sure,” Negan says. “Let’s just get rid of it all.”

He rolls them so that Carl is on his back again, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Carl’s jeans and sitting up as he moves to pull them down. He tugs them free, along with his underwear and socks, and Carl is well and truly naked. He shifts self-consciously, not used to being seen like this, but Negan barely seems to spare it a thought. He hops off the bed, dropping Carl’s clothes onto the floor as he goes, unfastening the button on his own pants and tugging down the zipper with little finesse.

Carl stares as Negan shoves his pants and underwear down, kicking them from his legs. His cock is hard, deep in colour, thick and curved upwards. It springs from the patch of unruly curls, Negan’s hips tilted in that familiar stance, everything about it so very shameless. A drop of milky precome runs down the length, hugging a vein as it glistens enticingly, and Carl can’t help the tiny noise that escapes his throat. He wants so many things in that moment that he can’t even comprehend them all.

“I know,” Negan says smugly. “Lucky for you, we’re not playing a game of my dick is bigger than yours.”

Carl’s gaze flicks up to meet Negan’s. He looks so satisfied, so sure of himself. It’s a big turn on. Has been since the day they met.

“Will you show me how you touch yourself?” Carl asks.

Negan looks thrilled at that. “Baby, I would love to.”

The way he wraps his fingers around his cock reminds Carl of the way he wraps them around Lucille. He gives a few pulls, his hips riding up into it, and Carl wonders how he can look so put together standing there naked, jerking himself off. Carl feels like he’s coming apart again already. Negan lifts his thumb, swiping it through the precome that’s gathering at the tip, spilling it over, coating his length with it in smooth, steady strokes.

When his hand falls away, Carl looks up to find Negan looking back at him, watching him. His lips are parted, breathing heavy through his mouth as his eyes shine with excitement.

“Want to see what your hand looks like wrapped around it?” Negan offers.

Carl nods and Negan smirks, climbing back onto the bed. He straddles Carl, sitting back on his thighs again, but this time his naked ass is against Carl’s flesh, pressing into him. Somehow it gets to Carl more than the hard cock that’s practically dangling in front of him. There’s nothing between them, not a single layer. It’s so intimate, so sexual, so all consuming.

Negan is watching him as Carl lifts his hand up, wrapping his fingers around Negan’s cock. His hand looks dainty compared to Negan’s own, slender fingers not able to cover nearly as much of his length. He squeezes, feeling the heat sear into him, stroking up and down through the slickness.

“God, kid,” Negan breathes out. “That is a good look on you.” He reaches down, grabbing Carl by the wrist and pulling his hand away. “We’re going to keep that short and sweet for now though. You make me come with those pretty little hands and it’s probably going to game over for a good, long while.”

He lifts Carl’s hand up to his mouth, brushing a kiss against his knuckles before he’s pushing his wrist into the mattress beside his head, grabbing hold of his other hand as he does so. He shifts his weight forward, straightening his legs out to lie down on top of Carl, twining their fingers together so that he’s holding both of Carl’s hands in his own, pressing them down against the bed.

Carl’s eye slips closed as Negan leans in to kiss him, fitting their mouths together and sucking on Carl’s lower lip as he presses his hard on into Carl’s thigh. It’s wet with precome, just like both of their hands are, just like Negan’s tongue that licks into his mouth. Carl moans, tilting his head back as he holds on tighter to Negan’s hands, Negan taking the opportunity to slide his tongue deeper.

Negan pulls at Carl’s hands, straightening out his arms so that they’re down by his sides, letting Negan shift his weight more firmly into his hips. Each time his tongue surges into Carl’s mouth, he grinds his cock against Carl’s thigh, associating the two movements in his mind. He feels consumed by Negan, surrounded by him, completely at his mercy. He can barely move beneath him, can barely breathe unless Negan pulls away from his mouth to take a breath of his own. It shouldn’t turn him on this much but it really does, pressing his hands into Negan’s grip just to feel him hold him down. All that power that Carl has always admired in Negan and right now it’s all for him, all to make him feel good. He whines, feeling heat coiling inside of him, his body riding helplessly upwards into the feeling.

“There it is,” Negan says, grinning down at him when Carl opens his eye.

He lets one of Carl’s hands go to bring his own hand between them, squeezing Carl’s cock, sending a shock through Carl’s entire body and making him cry out. He doesn’t realise until that moment that he’s hard again. He shudders as Negan strokes him, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he gets Carl fully hard, gets him moaning and squirming beneath him.

“Now we’re back in business,” he says, massaging the head before he pulls his hand away.

He lets go of Carl’s other hand, placing a firm but chaste kiss on Carl’s mouth before he’s shifting over on the bed, reaching for the bedside cabinet. Carl brings his arms up to stop him going too far, wrapping them around his torso as Negan pulls the drawer open, grabbing something from inside. He returns to Carl, holding up a slim bottle.

“Lubricant,” he says. “Lube.”

He reaches behind himself for one of Carl’s hands, flipping open the lid and then squeezing a little dot onto the tip of Carl’s index finger. Carl looks at it and then presses experimentally against his thumb. When he applies pressure, it slides right off. He rubs his thumb and finger together, feeling the complete lack of friction.

“This is what makes me able to get my cock in your ass,” Negan says.

Carl nods in understanding, still playing with the slippery substance on his hand.

“But I’m going to start with my fingers,” Negan says, his hands going down to Carl’s thighs, sliding beneath them, encouraging them apart as he maneuvers himself in between them. “One finger,” he says, pushing Carl’s thighs up and back, making him bend his knees, his feet coming to rest flat on the bed either side of Negan’s thighs. “It feels really good. Sometimes I get my wives to put a finger up there while I’m fucking them. It’s the male G-spot, did you know that?”

“No,” Carl says. He’s not even sure what a G-spot is.

“So I can do it like this,” Negan says, hands running up and down the backs of Carl’s thighs. “Kiss you all breathless while I fuck you open. You seem like you’d like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Carl agrees, impatient and squirmy and way too hot.

“Or we can get you on your knees, face in the pillows,” Negan says. “That lets me get real deep and gives me a fucking amazing view while I do it. Feels pretty damn good for you too, believe me.”

“I like kissing,” Carl says, the words rushed and a tiny bit slurred. The higher functions of his brain have long since switched off. How is Negan still having a fucking conversation right now?

“Roger that,” Negan responds with a raise of his eyebrows.

Carl grabs hold of him as he leans in, making a needy noise as Negan’s mouth brushes against his own. He can feel Negan smile against him. It’s charming and infuriating all at once. He lifts his head from the pillow, kissing Negan deeper as he grips his shoulders, sliding his tongue into his mouth. He feels a little bit aimless but Negan falls into it with him, pressing him back down against the pillow and sliding his own tongue along Carl’s, brushing his hair back from his face before his fingers are tracing the raised scar tissue beneath his socket. He moans, sucking on Carl’s tongue, surging forward with his whole body. Carl doesn’t understand the reaction but he likes it. He really likes it.

As they kiss, Negan reaches down, fingertips running up and down the back of Carl’s thighs. It’s a ticklish sensation that makes him squirm, Negan using it to his advantage to ease Carl’s thighs further apart as he moves restlessly against the bed. Negan hooks his hands behind Carl’s knees, pushing upwards with a firm pressure but not forcing him, letting Carl lift his own hips from the bed. It makes Carl feel so vulnerable and exposed, even though his body is completely covered by Negan’s. He tries to close his legs, his thighs stopped by Negan’s sides, his solid body. Carl wraps his legs around him without really thinking about it, Negan’s hands slipping away, and he feels so much more secure like this.

“That’s the stuff,” Negan encourages.

He reaches for the bottle again, flipping the lid and squirting far more onto his fingers than he put on Carl’s. Carl watches as he rubs his fingers together, spreading the liquid between them. Negan presses his weight into his knees, making a little space between them that he slides his hand into, leaning in to kiss Carl again.

The slick slide of tongues is soon joined by the equally slick feel of a fingertip against his hole. Carl tenses instinctively, hands gripping Negan’s shoulders, but Negan doesn’t try and push it inside, just slides his finger over Carl’s hole, tracing the crack, a rocking motion that is mirrored by the way his tongue moves against Carl’s own. Fuck it feels good. Carl’s hips start to move into it, an instinct that he can’t and doesn’t want to fight.

Negan’s finger stills against him but not where Carl expects. He’s not pressing against his hole but instead at a spot higher up, behind his balls. He adds some pressure, massaging the skin there, and it sends some deep, rolling pleasure right through Carl’s body, making his cock jump and his balls pull up. He rips his mouth away from Negan’s as he cries out, legs tightening around Negan’s body.

“Right?” Negan agrees gleefully, nuzzling at the side of Carl’s face. “I got tricks for days, kid.”

“Fuck,” Carl breathes out.

“Oh, we’re getting there,” Negan says.

He presses down firmly one more time and then his finger slips down to Carl’s hole. Carl’s inhibitions are gone and he pushes up against it with a needy noise. He can feel Negan’s grin against the side of his face as the tip of his finger draws slippery circles around Carl’s hole. They’re light at first, teasing, ticklish. Carl rocks against him, moving his head to try and find Negan’s mouth again. Negan meets him halfway, tracing his hole more firmly as he slides his tongue into his mouth. Carl melts beneath him, jaw going slack, and he barely notices as Negan’s finger finally breaches him, the tip slipping just inside before pulling out and rubbing in circles again.

Carl groans, his body arching. He rocks his hips against Negan’s finger, wanting him to do it again, Negan drawing it out just long enough that the anticipation feels like it might make him crumble before his finger is going inside Carl again, a little deeper this time. It feels more real, a little stretch and resistance before it’s sliding back out, going to play with that spot just behind his balls again.

It’s a constant push and pull, Negan’s finger dipping inside him, finding that point of friction and then easing out, playing with the rim, stimulating that spot that Carl can’t believe he’s never found on his own body. All the while, Negan is kissing him, deep and breathless and all consuming, angling Carl’s face this way and that, and Carl just goes with it, goes with all of it, hands himself over.

It builds so steadily, Carl falling into the rhythm with him, rocking his hips and kissing him back and gripping his shoulders for leverage but also to ground himself. He feels like he might fly away if he doesn’t. The further Negan presses inside him, the more inescapable it becomes. It’s a part of himself that he’s never been aware of but Negan is right there, owning him, giving him a dull feeling in his gut that’s like nothing else he’s ever experienced.

He pulls out of the kiss and just breathes, hips still pushing into the sensation, easing Negan’s finger ever deeper. Negan’s mouth moves down to his neck, kissing and licking and sucking, bathing him in pleasure and attention, almost coveting him. Carl makes noises that he doesn’t recognise, staring at the ceiling as he tries to process everything. He wants to make an inventory of every sensation, wants to learn it and file it away to use later. That always impresses Negan. He likes Carl’s willingness to learn.

As Negan buries his finger inside him as deep as it will go, he reaches his other hand up to wrap around Carl’s cock, giving a single stroke before squeezing it. Carl’s back arches and it feels like a reward, a silent encouragement. Negan just stays there inside him for a moment, letting him feel it while he plays with his dick, and then he starts to move, slipping almost all the way out before pushing back in, doing it over and over until Carl is biting down on his lip with a whine.

Negan, somehow, seems to get the message, releasing Carl’s cock as he keeps fingering him, giving him a tiny bit of respite. That is until he pushes his finger deep and then does some movement inside him that makes Carl feel like his insides have gone molten. It’s that same sensation, the rolling pleasure that spot on the outside elicits, but so much sharper. He gasps, fingers digging into the muscles in Negan’s shoulders, his hips stuttering, unsure whether he’s trying to push into it or away. Negan just keeps pressing his finger there, rubbing in a steady little rhythm until Carl keens, throwing his head back.

“Yeah, that’s the good stuff,” Negan says, lifting his head up to watch Carl coming apart beneath him. “Can you believe some men get prissy about a finger up their ass? That feels magnificent, right? Fucking work of art.”

“Please,” Carl grits out. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

“Yeah, I know,” Negan says, pulling his finger out before pressing back at Carl’s opening with two, using them to massage the rim. He leans down, kissing Carl’s cheek with such tenderness that it feels completely out of place. “You’re doing incredible, kid,” he says, slipping the two fingers just inside him. “Such a good boy. My boy.”

“Yes,” Carl hisses, Negan pressing the fingers a little deeper.

The stretch is undeniable now, but it doesn’t hurt, not really. It’s weird and kind of intrusive but mostly amazing because it’s complemented by Negan’s dragging lips and nipping teeth and ragged breaths. He works his fingers deeper into Carl’s body, the sensation alternating with that spot on the outside and that spot on the inside and his free hand wrapping around Carl’s cock when he needs to refocus him.

It’s all so overwhelming and wonderful that Carl can barely keep up, unsure when two fingers become three. There’s a burn now, not quite painful but not quite pleasant either. It doesn’t stick though, the way Negan is working his body, constantly distracting and redirecting. He’s in complete control of every one of Carl’s senses and just when Carl gives in, surrenders completely, Negan kisses him, covering his mouth with his own, stealing his breath and making his head spin.

Carl isn’t sure which way is even up when Negan eventually pulls away from him, urgent, panting breaths falling over Carl’s damp lips as he twists the three fingers he has buried deep inside Carl.

“Think you’re ready for me?” Negan asks. “Wanna try my cock?”

Carl whines, nodding his head.

“Alright,” Negan nods back, pulling his fingers out and grabbing for the bottle again. He sits up on his knees, knocking Carl’s legs from around him to get some space as he drizzles lube directly onto his cock, giving a few quick strokes to coat it thickly. It glistens like a lollipop.

Negan lifts Carl’s legs, pushing them right back so that he’s practically folding him in half, grabbing hold of his hips and roughly pulling Carl up into his lap, his upper body still sprawled on the bed. Negan bends forward, rubbing his slick cock against Carl’s ass.

“Say it again for me,” he demands, voice low and dripping with sex.

Somehow, despite everything, Carl knows exactly what he wants to hear. “I want you to fuck me.”

Negan grins, reaching down and taking hold of his cock, pressing it firmly against Carl’s hole. “I’m going to need you to relax for me, baby boy,” he says. “And breathe. Keep breathing.”

Carl nods his head, trying to melt into the bed, become molten like his insides feel. Then Negan is pressing forward, slipping inside him, so solid and hot and hard. It’s just the tip at first, the ring of muscle straining around it, and then he’s rocking, loosening Carl up, working him open. He starts to press forward, peppering kisses over Carl’s collarbone, the pressure building up inside Carl so that he feels it all the way up to his skull.

“You’re not breathing,” Negan tells him.

Carl gasps in a deep breath, filling his lungs before letting it out as a sigh. It releases something inside him and Negan slips in a little deeper. So Carl breathes. He closes his eyes and he concentrates on moving the air in and out of his body. His hands start to roam, trailing down Negan’s chest, feeling the tight muscles of his core. They quiver as he eases ever so slightly forward and Carl is touched. Negan wants to slam into him. He wants to fuck him into the bed. He’s holding back though. He’s taking care of Carl. Carl who would also quite like to be fucked into the bed, feeling a hot roll of arousal at the thought, but his body isn’t there yet. It will be. Carl can do anything he puts his mind to, especially with the right incentive.

He feels the tickle of pubic hair against his ass, feels Negan’s heavy balls swing against him. He’s inside. Literally balls deep. Carl’s hands go to his hips, holding him there, his legs falling further open in the most shameless way. The feeling of fullness, of being held open and impaled, is inescapable. There’s nothing in the world that compares to it. It’s so much and yet it’s not enough. It’s a tease of something, even as his body is already reeling from this alone. He wants the push and pull that he had with Negan’s fingers. He wants the burning friction.

“Hey.”

Carl opens his eye, gazing up at Negan who gives him a lopsided smile.

“We did it,” Negan says.

“Yeah,” Carl agrees dumbly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t move,” Negan tells him. “Gonna let you adjust a minute. Also, you feel fucking incredible and if I move right now I’m going to blow my load and we did not just go through all that build up for a 10 second fuck.”

Carl laughs despite himself, feeling giddy and maybe a bit delirious.

“So when you’re ready, you can move that pretty little ass for me and we’ll get to it,” Negan says.

He leans further forward to press their foreheads together and it moves his cock the tiniest amount inside Carl. It makes a noise catch in Carl’s throat as he lifts his hand, touching the side of Negan’s face. He’s clean shaven at the moment. He wants to know what the beard would feel like. He imagines its scratch all over his body, setting him alight.

Negan brushes kisses against his mouth, Carl feeling his jaw working under his fingertips, making a satisfied noise as he lets his eye slip closed again. Everything feels so almost. Negan is almost kissing him, almost fucking him, Carl is almost coming out of his own skin. Everything feels good, really good, but Carl is restless because there’s better. It must be better, even though Carl’s afraid it could split him open and shatter him apart.

He rocks his hips experimentally, accentuating the hardness inside him. Negan lifts his head and as Carl rocks again, Negan moves with him, his dick slipping halfway out before he’s buried to the hilt again. Yes. The friction is definitely better. Carl wraps his legs back around Negan’s waist, hooking his feet together and fucking himself upwards.

“Jesus fuck,” Negan grits out. “You do not get to be that good at this on your first go.”

Carl snorts a laugh, opening his eye as Negan starts to move inside him for real. Any lingering amusement turns into an open mouthed moan, head thrown back as Negan rolls his hips. Carl tries to match his thrusts but he can’t quite keep up. He has to admit that he likes the feeling of Negan slamming into him though, overpowering him. The gentleness of a few moments ago is gone and Negan is using all of that power, those strong muscles and iron will, to work Carl’s body for all its worth.

He places his hands down flat on the bed either side of Carl’s head, forcing Carl’s hips up higher as he drives into him. They’re barely touching now except for where their bodies meet, but Carl has never felt more wanted and adored. He stares up at Negan’s face, the pleasure and determination, eyes dark and glassy in the most beautiful way. Negan knows that Carl can take this, knows that he isn’t going to break. And that’s what really gets Carl, that knowing. How can you possibly know someone more than this?

Negan folds his left arm down onto his elbow, lifting his right hand from the bed and reaching down, arching his own body upwards to afford himself some space. His hips keep moving, a solid rhythm that is so inescapable, his hand wrapping around Carl’s dick and giving a hard squeeze, so hard that it almost hurts, or maybe that’s just the sharpness of the pleasure. He cries out, feeling his cock jump, feeling himself tighten around Negan’s cock, Negan thrusting a little harder with a moan.

Negan’s hand and his hips are both moving rapidly now and it’s almost like he’s chasing his own orgasm, there’s such desperation in the way he touches Carl. The thought is fleeting though, all thoughts are, nothing can keep his attention as sharply as the way Negan massages the head of his cock and then pushes Carl back so firmly with his hips that he finds that spot inside him again, his hard cock nudging at it, and Carl whines, everything in him tightening exquisitely.

“That’s it,” Negan pants. “Come on.”

He does it all again, fucking him, stroking him, finding every part of him inside and out that gives him that reaction. It’s exhausting, Carl teetering on the knife edge, his whole body winding up tight, shaking, and then it’s gone, just white hot pleasure like static running through him, making his toes curl and his legs tighten around Negan as he cries out, coming over Negan’s fingers and his own stomach again.

Negan growls, redoubling his efforts, Carl whimpering as his softening cock slips from Negan’s hand and Negan fucks into him erratically, his hips slamming into Carl’s ass, cock going somehow deeper, touching new parts of him. Negan dips his head down, burying his face in Carl’s neck as his hips stutter, losing their rhythm and rocking deep inside. Carl can feel his dick throbbing, can feel warmth inside him as Negan moans against him, mouthing at his flesh.

He stills, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he slumps onto Carl, making it hard for him to breathe. Carl lets his legs slip apart, lifting a hand to play with the hair at the nape of Negan’s neck, Negan groaning against him. He lifts his head, brushing his lips over the corner of Carl’s mouth.

“You okay?”

“Mmmhmm,” Carl says.

Negan nods, pushing himself up and looking at the place where they’re still joined. “This might suck,” he says, before easing himself backwards, pulling his cock out of Carl as gently as he can.

Carl feels wetness come out with it, lube and maybe more than lube. Being open without the tightness of being filled makes him shift his hips with a disgruntled sound.

“Yeah,” Negan agrees, throwing himself to the side so that he sprawls out on the other side of the bed. “Come here,” he says, manhandling Carl before he can even think about moving, pulling Carl’s back into his chest and wrapping his arms around him. He makes a contented noise, his body going slack.

Carl is too hot, his back sticking to Negan’s chest with sweat, Negan’s slick cock resting against the curve of his sticky ass, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable. Negan’s arms are strong, his body solid, his embrace safe. Carl’s not some kid to be coddled though. He’s a capable young man who Negan believes in and admires. And wants. He proved himself today at the Hilltop, showed that he can be an enforcer, do what needs to be done, and Negan has no doubts about him. This intimacy feels like such a natural next step.

Carl doesn’t know how much time passes before Negan kisses the back of his neck, pulling his arms away. It’s long enough that the sweat on Carl’s skin has started to cool and he feels cold as Negan sits up. He rolls onto his back, looking at him.

“I got shit to do,” Negan says, as though he’s just remembered. “It’s the middle of the fucking day.”

Carl laughs. “Yeah.”

Negan looks down, stroking the hair away from Carl’s face. “And so do you. I told Jason to give you some chapters to read, and to quiz you on them tomorrow to make sure you read them.”

“I know,” Carl says, trying not to sigh.

“We don’t want you falling behind,” Negan says. He leans down, kissing Carl on his temple. “You should go take a shower. Get cleaned up. Then you can hit the books.” He throws his legs over the side of the bed, arching his back in a stretch. “I’m going to get Lucille cleaned up. She was a dirty girl for you today.”

“I can do that,” Carl offers.

“It’s a little ritual she and I have,” Negan responds, looking at him over his shoulder before getting to his feet. He walks around the bed, picking up the T-shirt he was wearing earlier and using it to wipe himself off. He tosses it aside, pulling on his pants. “I’m going to catch up with you later though, okay?”

“Sure,” Carl says.

His eye follows Negan as he goes over to his dresser, pulling out a clean shirt. He tugs it on and returns to the bed for his boots and belt. He grabs his knife from the nightstand and then places a knee on the bed, leaning over Carl to join their mouths together in an open-mouthed kiss, lazy and full of familiarity. He pulls back, looking over Carl one more time before he stands up, tucking the knife into the back of his belt.

“See ya, kid.”

Carl collects his clothes from the floor, dressing in the bare minimum of them and carrying the rest back to his room. He grabs a clean outfit and makes his way to the showers, grateful that they’re empty. He stands under the lukewarm water, scrubbing with his hand at the come that’s dried against his stomach. It doesn’t take much to wash it away.

He hesitates before he reaches a hand behind himself though. That’s new. His hole is tender and swollen. Lube is leaking out, dripping down his inner thighs, thicker than water and reluctant to be washed away. Carl swipes his hand through it, standing with his legs a little further apart. There’s come mixed in with it too, Carl knows, Negan’s come, but he doesn’t look, swilling the water over it the best he can. It feels dirty, but in that good way. That grown up way. That sexy way.

The water starts to go cold and Carl decides to call it a job well done. The thick liquid doesn’t seem to be gathering anymore so he figures he’s got most of it. He shuts off the water and towels himself off, dressing in his clean clothes. When he feels dampness a little later, curled up with his textbook, he tells himself it’s just water. It probably is.

Once he’s done with his studying, Carl heads downstairs to get himself a snack. He figures he’s more than earned his points today. He walks through the marketplace, admiring people’s innovation in making delicious looking things with limited resources, but he misses the kind of baking he used to do with his mom. She made the best cupcakes. Something as simple as sugar isn’t easy to get hold of anymore.

He knows Tanya has access to things, she made him those cookies, but that was at Negan’s request. Carl’s not sure he’s allowed to ask her for things like that. It has nothing to do with points. And he maybe already got his reward from Negan for today.

He doesn’t like thinking of it that way. It cheapens what happened between them. That wasn’t a good job fuck, Carl is certain of that. Negan has genuine affection for him and Carl might have been blind to it at the time, but looking back now he can see the signs, the way Negan looked at him, the way he touched him, the way he would always make time for him. Carl had come to crave those things from Negan, that attention that felt like standing in the sun, bright and sometimes overwhelming but warming him to his core.

As he picks out a treat for himself, not nearly as exciting as he’d like it to be, Carl notices Negan up on the catwalk. He’s leaning on the railing, looking down over his kingdom, Lucille balanced up on his shoulder. Carl can’t tell from here, but he guesses she’s clean now. Negan treats her with such care.

Negan nods down at him, such a simple gesture that makes Carl feel so special. He nods back, knowing that his eyes are shining, and suddenly he’s not interested in anything else. He clutches his snack in his hand, taking the steps two at a time to get to where Negan is.

“Hey.”

“You finish your homework?” Negan asks, turning to face him.

“Yeah,” Carl replies.

Negan smiles. “Good boy.”

Carl smiles back, ducking his head slightly, but he keeps his eye on Negan.

“How are you feeling?” Negan asks. “It’s been quite the day for you.”

“I’m cool with it,” Carl says. “I’m cool with all of it. Best day ever, maybe.”

“Oh really?” Negan asks, taking half a step closer.

They’re in each other’s personal space but not close enough to touch, even though it’s so tempting to bridge that gap. It would take almost nothing.

“And how are we feeling down there?” Negan asks, giving a nod towards Carl’s crotch. “It can be kind of weird the first time.”

“Kind of,” Carl allows, shifting on his feet. He can feel himself blushing. Is that immature?

“You still feel me?” Negan asks. He leans in close, lining up his mouth with Carl’s ear. “I was inside you. How hot is that?”

Carl chews on his bottom lip, face burning now as Negan leans back to appraise him. “Very hot,” he admits.

“Hell yes it is,” Negan agrees.

They stare into each other’s eyes and Carl feels like there’s so much sexual energy between them that it must be radiating from them.

“If I kiss you right now, they’re all going to see, and by the end of the day everyone will know about us,” Negan says.

“They better know about us,” Carl says fiercely.

“Well,” Negan says, raising his eyebrows at him. “And there I was thinking you might be shy. I was being all chivalrous and shit here and asking your permission.” He tilts his head, considering Carl for a moment. “You do know what this is, right? I still have my wives. This doesn’t change that.”

“I know,” Carl agrees. “But they’re your wives. I’m your everything.”

Negan looks impressed, and maybe a little turned on. “I am liking this confidence, kid. Keep it up. But that is what I said and I fucking meant it. You’re my mentee and my spitfire and the only other person I have ever trusted with Lucille. You’re my baby boy.”

Carl nods his head, feeling emboldened by Negan’s words so he lets the question slip from the tip of his tongue where it’s lived for longer than he’d like to admit. “Does that mean you’re my Daddy?”

Negan gapes at him for a moment. “Are you trying to get me to cream my panties up here or something? Fucking Christ, kid.”

Carl can tell that he’s not being made fun of though. There’s something hungry in Negan’s eyes, something that wasn’t even there when he fucked him earlier. Carl can’t get enough of it.

“I’ll be your Daddy,” Negan says. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He surges forward, hand going to the side of Carl’s face as he smashes their mouths together in a fierce kiss. Carl pushes up onto his tiptoes, leaning against Negan’s body to balance himself as Negan kisses him deep and demanding. Carl imagines what they must look like on the catwalk to the people below, kissing slow and dirty, Lucille sitting proudly on Negan’s shoulder for good measure. It feels so cinematic.

As they part, Carl drops his heels back down to the floor but stays close to Negan, his head spinning in the best way. He stares up at him as Negan’s gaze flicks to the marketplace below them.

“Think we got our point across?” Negan asks.

“We could do it again,” Carl shrugs.

Negan smiles at him. “I would love to. We’re still sorting through the Hilltop haul though, I have to get back. Pretty sure I might have a present for you later though. I’ll bring it up when I’m done.”

“Sounds good, Daddy,” Carl says, trying it out.

“Oh, you are going to fucking kill me,” Negan says as those hungry eyes spark up again. He leans back in, giving Carl another quick kiss with just a hint of tongue. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Carl grins, spinning around, the two of them heading in opposite directions on the catwalk.

Up in his room, Carl indulges in his snack laid on his bed. He feels very spoiled today. He’s earned it, he reminds himself. All perks are earned in the Sanctuary. He’s worked hard and he’s pretty sure he’s proved himself indispensable.

He thinks about the kid he killed at the prison, doing what needed to be done to protect them all, and how he was repaid with lectures and accusations. His dad treated him with more suspicion than he did the Governor. Carl was never given the benefit of the doubt. Carl was never trusted or paid attention to when he gave his warnings.

And now look at them. Look at what happened to everything they built because they were all playing at being civilised when civilisation is long gone. Maybe it’s for the best. They wouldn’t have lasted in this world. There’s a reason Carl was the only one to survive.

What happened today at the Hilltop just proves that to him. Another kid, Carl doing what needed to be done, but this time he’s celebrated. He’s rewarded. He’s respected. They’re all on the same page here and they know how it has to be. To keep themselves safe, to keep everybody safe, they have to enforce their world view and protect it from anyone who disagrees. You’re either with the Saviors or you’re against them. There’s no room for middle ground anymore.

Carl moves over to his desk, looking at a puzzle Frankie had picked up for him at the marketplace the other day. He doesn’t need to focus on the hand eye coordination stuff as much as he used to, but he did kind of get into doing the puzzles. This one is a cartoonish picture of a New York street. It looks pretty cool. Carl never got to go there. He doubts he’ll ever get a chance now, and if he did, it wouldn’t look anything like this.

He lifts off the lid, leaning it against the wall to see the picture while he works. He starts sorting through the pieces, looking for the edges. He just about has the outside of the puzzle done when there’s a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” he calls, turning in his chair. When Negan steps into the room Carl abandons what he was doing, getting to his feet. “Hey.”

“Your eagerness is adorable,” Negan says, leaning down to brush a chaste kiss against his lips. “Come sit with me, I have something for you.”

Carl follows him over to the bed, sitting down by his side. Negan reaches behind himself but doesn’t reveal what he has yet.

“We got a lot of cool shit today,” Negan says. “It’ll take a few days to properly catalogue it all and get it into circulation, but I saw this one and I just knew it had to be yours.”

He pulls a sheathed knife from behind his back, offering it out to Carl with a smirk. Carl lifts it from Negan’s hands, turning it over as he takes it in. The handle is carved wood with a beautiful grain and metal accents. Carl withdraws the sheath, the curve of the long blade looking like a work of art. He wraps his fingers around the wooden grip to hold it properly, meeting the wide guard that protects his fingers from slipping onto the blade in the heat of the moment. Or when things get too bloody. It feels good in his grasp and it looks like it could slice straight through a person like cutting through butter.

“I figured a badass like you needed a badass knife to match,” Negan says.

Carl rotates it in his hand, mesmerised by the way the light glints off the sharp edge. “You have anyone you need killing?” he asks. “I think this would do the trick.”

“Calm down, little serial killer,” Negan says affectionately, shaking his head. “Think of it as protection. I’m sure it’ll get its day in the sun sooner or later.”

Carl gives a little sigh, sliding it back into the sheath.

“I knew you’d love it,” Negan says.

“I do,” Carl responds, putting the knife down and giving Negan his full attention. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He knows how Negan feels about thank you, but with Daddy added on the end, it gives it a totally different feeling. Negan must agree because he doesn’t call Carl out on it for once. He just smiles at him proudly, and Carl has never been so certain that he’s home.

Chapter 9

Now that Carl knows, really knows, what sex is, he finds it hard to care about anything else. The fact that Negan is literally the human embodiment of fuck me doesn’t help. Sex is the first thing Carl thinks about when he wakes up in the morning, it’s the last thing he thinks about when he goes to bed at night, it’s where his mind drifts to when he’s bored or studying or at any kind of loose end. He doesn’t know how everybody else just goes about their day, getting shit done, when sex exists. He finally understands why Negan has so many wives though.

That’s where his mind mostly is as Jason monologues about historical sources during their morning lesson. He thinks about the way Negan looks at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. That doesn’t make him fragile. Diamonds are hard as fuck. He thinks about the way Negan touches him, a brush along his arm when they pass in the hallways, tucking his hair behind his ear when they talk, grabbing and redirecting him when he has a better idea of what Carl should be doing. That one might be Carl’s favourite.

He thinks about what Negan’s hands do when they’re alone, sliding under his clothes, groping him through his jeans or grinding against him. Something about that really does it for Carl. It’s that naughty feeling of impatience and want, Negan not being able to get enough of him. It feels kind of dirty to do it with your clothes still on.

There’s nothing quite like being undressed though, being naked, being laid out and admired. Carl got used to it surprisingly quickly and now he craves it, the way that Negan looks at him so shamelessly, moves his body, bends him over or throws his legs apart to get whatever view he desires. It makes Carl so needy. It makes him absolute putty in Negan’s hands.

He likes all the things they do next, all the things that Negan has taught him, but fucking is his favourite. He can’t get enough of the inescapable feeling of Negan’s cock inside him, opening him up, claiming him. From behind feels really good but Carl always misses the kissing. On top might be his favourite, getting to watch Negan’s reaction to Carl riding him, being in control of chasing his own pleasure. Negan always looks especially proud when he really lets himself go.

And then there’s the after, when Negan is soft and sated and grateful. His touches and kisses drag, lingering over Carl’s flesh. He likes to draw patterns in the come on Carl’s stomach. He likes to stroke his thighs until he shivers or play with his hair until whimpers fall from his lips. He likes to kiss him so slow and lazy and deep. He likes to hold him in those strong arms like he can keep any bad thing away. Carl one hundred percent believes it’s true.

“After all, history is written by the victors,” Jason says.

Carl blinks, looking over at him. “Maybe I should be writing it then,” he says, stretching his arms over his head

Jason looks at him like he’s just said something brilliant. “Maybe you should.” He thinks for a moment. Carl’s mind starts to wander again. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Carl asks.

“A history project,” Jason says with a worrying amount of enthusiasm.

Carl gives him a weary look. “Don’t make me do a project. Come on, that’s going to take up my free time. I’m being good about the lessons and I always do the reading, don’t suck the joy out of my life by giving me a project too.”

“This is important,” Jason tells him. “Oral history is notoriously unreliable and in fifty years don’t you think people are going to want to know about right now. We live in interesting times, for better or worse.”

“You think there’s going to be a civilisation in fifty years?” Carl asks.

“I don’t know,” Jason responds. “But we are in serious danger of this turning into a Dark Ages black hole of knowledge if nobody documents it.”

“Oh, so you want me to be the spokesperson for all of humanity?” Carl asks incredulously. “For my homework?”

Jason looks at him. “You’re the future, Carl. That’s why I’m teaching you all these things. That’s why Negan’s training you up to carry on the Sanctuary after he’s gone. This new world, it belongs to you. That comes with certain responsibilities.”

Carl knows it’s true. He’s always known it, maybe as far back as that camp outside Atlanta. Nobody was prepared for what the world became, but he was young enough to change with it. That’s why he’s survived. He sees things they don’t. He has insights. Maybe he does owe it to some future camp or community or civilisation to make a record of it.

“Okay,” he says.

Jason smiles, his eyes lighting up. “This is going to be the greatest thing either of us have ever done.”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Carl mutters.

It changes the way Carl looks at things around him. He’s sat in a meeting later that week, a discussion to finesse the roles of the outposts, and he feels like he should be making notes. He doubts something that mundane would be interesting to future historians, but Jason had pointed out how important slices of life are to understanding what daily life was like. It’s not quite what Carl has in mind for his project though.

At the end of the meeting, Negan silently places a hand on Carl’s arm as everyone starts to leave, and Carl stays in his seat, waiting until the door closes behind the last person. Negan slides his hand down, tracing the bumps of Carl’s knuckles with a single finger as he stretches out his leg, the toes of his boot rubbing against the inside of Carl’s ankle. Carl can’t decide which he likes best.

“Thoughts?” Negan prompts.

“Feels good,” Carl says, looking down at Negan’s hand.

“That wasn’t what I wanted your thoughts on,” Negan says, amusement colouring his words.

“Stop doing it then,” Carl responds. Negan starts to pull away his hand, Carl grabbing for it and pulling it back, giving him an irritated look. “Don’t actually stop.”

Negan chuckles, sitting back in his chair. “Answer the question then.”

“I think the outposts are strong,” Carl tells him. Negan rewards him by tracing his knuckles again. “Delegating is working well and we’re growing. The satellite outpost was on skeleton staff while I was there. Look how many people it can sustain now.”

Negan nods, leaning in closer again, the corner of the table blocking their bodies from each other. “Your brain turns me on so much.”

Carl smiles at him and finds himself tugged to his feet, Negan pushing his chair away from the table so that he can pull Carl into his lap. Carl leans down, going in for a kiss, when the door flies open and Simon steps back into the room. Negan tilts his head back to give him a scathing look.

“Little busy in here.”

“All the insulin’s gone,” Simon tells him. “All of it.”

“Fucking Tina,” Negan spits out, getting to his feet so fast that Carl nearly tumbles to the floor.

“She’s gone too,” Simon says. “And her sister, and her sister’s husband.”

“Find them!” Negan yells. “Get teams out there. I want people who can track. They are not getting away with this. Bring them to me and get them on their knees.”

“On it,” Simon assures him, going back out of the room.

Negan makes an exasperated noise, looking over at Carl. “You try to help a person and this is the fucking thanks I get.”

Carl nods. “So, raincheck I guess?”

Negan laughs. “Yeah, kid, raincheck.” He shakes his head. “You might be the only person in this whole place who’s hornier than me, you know that?” He places a kiss on Carl’s cheek. “Stay out of trouble, I gotta deal with this.”

The hunt goes on for days. Carl finds himself getting more wound up the more time passes. These people stole from them, they took their drugs, and they didn't even have to. Negan had made Tina a deal. She could be his wife and have everything she needed. What kind of idiot would rather be out there than take that?

Carl wishes he could be out there searching, he's so restless not being able to do anything but sit around and wait. He should have learnt how to track. It's an important survival skill that he doesn't have. It makes him feel so inadequate. The whole mess with Sophia should have taught him how important it was. They never did find her though. Not by anything other than dumb luck.

Beyond his initial anger at the betrayal, Negan seems to keep his cool about the whole thing, even as the days tick by and they’re still out there with some of their most vital supplies. Negan doesn’t get emotional. He gets shit done. He bides his time. Carl admires that, tries to emulate it, but he still feels the twisting in his gut the whole time they’re gone. They’re not playing by the rules. They have to be punished.

In the end, they turn themselves in. Carl follows Negan out to the front of the Sanctuary where Dwight and Sherry are knelt in the gravel, looking filthy and broken. The bag of supplies lays in front of them, spilling out their ill-gotten spoils. It seems to be pretty much all there, but Tina isn’t. That tells Carl all he needs to know about what happened out there.

“Well, well, well,” Negan says, slow and deliberate as he makes his way down the steps towards them. “Looky what we got here.”

“It was me,” Dwight says. “It was just me. Sherry and Tina had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s mighty convenient,” Negan says. “You managed to single-handedly steal all of my insulin and then you, scrawny you, smuggled out two of my people, against their will? That doesn’t quite ring true to me.”

He brings Lucille down from his shoulder, putting her in Dwight’s face. Dwight flinches, taking a shuddery breath.

“How about I tell you what I think?” Negan says, his voice overly friendly. “Because Carson, that son of a bitch, is not immune to female charms, let me tell you. And your wife here,” he swings Lucille to gesture at Sherry, “Is super hot.”

“It was my idea,” Dwight insists, kneeling up a little taller, trying to pull Negan’s attention. “They didn’t want anything to do with it.”

Negan lifts Lucille back onto his shoulder, considering them for a moment. Carl knows what he wants to happen. He knows what should happen. He’s patient though, he always waits his turn.

“Please,” Dwight says, his voice cracking. “Please. Don’t hurt her. I take full responsibility. I did something stupid and I couldn’t take care of her out there. I couldn’t take care of Tina and…”

He breaks off in a sob. Sherry lowers her own head, hair falling into her face as her shoulders shake.

“Where is my maybe future-wife?” Negan asks. “She could have had it all.”

Dwight shakes his head, eyes on the ground.

“Oh, come on,” Negan goads, getting down to Dwight’s level. “Give me the gory details.”

“She was bit,” Dwight tells him. He looks up, meeting Negan’s eyes. “I couldn’t protect her. But I have to protect Sherry. Do what you have to do with me, but please don’t hurt her. I’m the one who stole from you. I’m the one who deserves it.”

Negan studies him closely, getting right in his personal space. Dwight doesn’t flinch.

“You stole my shit?”

“Yes,” Dwight says, his voice firm and unwavering.

“You’re the reason I’m down a hot new wife?” Negan asks. “You’re the reason she’s dead and your wife looks like shit and the two of you couldn’t even make it out there a week?”

“Yes,” Dwight says, not looking away from Negan’s intense stare.

Negan sighs, getting to his feet. “Well, okay then.” He lifts Lucille from his shoulder, winding up to crush Dwight’s skull.

“No!” Sherry screams. “No. Please. I’ll be your wife. You can have me. Please don’t kill him. I’ll be your wife if you let him live.”

Negan lowers Lucille, looking over at her. He tilts his head in consideration, licking his lips. She looks up at him with fierce determination and a smile spreads over Negan’s face.

“You are super hot,” he says. “Alright. You got yourself a deal.”

Carl looks over at him. Negan never asked him for his thoughts. Carl would have told him not to trust them. Negan probably knows that, which is why he didn’t ask. He’s thinking with his dick.

“Take him to number two,” Negan tells his men. “And escort her up to the lounge.”

He walks over, offering a hand down to Sherry. She takes it, getting to her feet as Dwight is dragged to his own by Negan’s men.

“You’re going to need to get cleaned up,” Negan says. “My wonderful wives upstairs will show you where everything is and get you a pretty little outfit. Then we can make it official.”

Sherry nods, doing her best to offer him a smile. Negan lets go of her hand, directing her towards his men. Carl steps up beside him as they watch her walking into the building.

“That was an unexpected development,” Negan says, sounding very pleased with himself.

“I don’t trust her,” Carl tells him.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Negan agrees. “But keep your enemies close. I have a feeling those two are going to prove useful to us.”

“He’s getting the iron, right?” Carl says.

Negan turns to face him, giving him an affectionate look. “Calm your blood lust, baby boy, of course he’s getting the iron.” He leans in, brushing a kiss against Carl’s temple. “I’ll do it tomorrow, let him stew on it for tonight. Besides, I think it will be more effective if I’ve consummated with my newest darling wife first.”

“Good for you,” Carl mutters, starting to walk towards the building.

Negan catches his arm, yanking him back hard. When Carl turns to glare at him, Negan just looks amused.

“Are you getting jealous?” Negan teases.

“No,” Carl says in a voice that sounds just a little bit too indignant. “I’m everything. And you’re my Daddy.”

Negan’s eyes go dark and possessive and Carl feels a thrill go through him. “Fuck yes I am.”

He pulls Carl flush against his body, keeping him there with bruising hands as he claims his mouth in a rough kiss. Carl loves when Negan is tender with him, when he strokes his hair and kisses his cheek and makes him feel like the centre of the world, but when Negan is aggressive and in charge like this, that’s when Carl really knows it’s real. Negan needs him.

As they pull apart a string of saliva bridges their mouths, a clear sign of the messy desperation of the kiss. Carl loves the dirty stuff. He loves the animalistic impatience of it all. It always feels so wonderfully honest.

Negan starts to move towards the building, his arm around Carl’s waist and fisted into his shirt, pulling him with him. He manhandles him like that all the way up the stairs, pushing Carl into his bedroom and onto the bed. The door slams shut behind them and Carl lays back on his pillows as Negan climbs onto the bed, kissing him again. It’s a little slower this time but no less intense. Carl moans into it, splaying his legs out, thrusting up against Negan.

“Daddy’s going to take care of you,” Negan says, lips trailing over Carl’s jaw. “Wear you out and make you feel so good you won’t even have the energy to pout at me.”

Carl angles his face with a needy noise, trying to find Negan’s mouth but he moves down lower, teeth grazing over Carl’s neck before he nips sharply at the flesh. Carl whines, arching his whole body upwards.

“This is all about you, baby boy,” Negan tells him, reaching up to pull Carl’s fingers out of his shirt. “I just want you to lie there and enjoy it.”

He pushes Carl’s shirt up as he shifts down his body, kissing over his stomach as he unfastens his holster and jeans in one go. Carl is still trying to process it as Negan makes quick work of stripping him from the waist down, lying between his legs as he wraps his fingers around Carl’s hard cock, giving him a couple of firm strokes. Carl groans, looking down to see Negan looking at his dick hungrily, licking his lips. It makes a hot surge of arousal roll through Carl, a helpless wanton sound.

Negan has grown his beard out now and it scratches at the inside of Carl’s thighs as Negan swallows him down. It feels just as good as Carl always knew it would. He moans, reaching down to touch Negan’s hair. His fingers slide into the slicked back strands as Negan pulls back to suck at the head of his cock, tongue teasing at the slit. Carl’s hand tightens, not sure if he wants to hold him right there to draw out the sensation or push him down to swallow him again. Negan looks up, meeting Carl’s gaze through his eyelashes, so unabashed, and Carl just gives. He doesn’t care what Negan does so long as he doesn’t stop.

He keeps his hand in Negan’s hair more to ground himself and keep track than to have any say in what happens. Negan’s head bobs up and down, hollowing his cheeks to up the suction as he does so, and Carl can’t watch anymore, throwing his head back. Negan’s hands go to his hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows as he holds him down firmly, swallowing around Carl’s cock and letting it bump against the back of his throat. If he wasn’t being held down, Carl’s pretty sure he would hit the ceiling.

Negan pulls off, leaving his cock dripping with saliva, cold now that it’s exposed to the air.

“Daddy,” Carl whines.

“Shhh,” Negan says, moving back to mouth over his balls. “Daddy’s right here.”

His hands go behind Carl’s knees, pushing back to lift his feet off the bed, exposing him completely. Carl lets them fall apart as he tilts his hips, lets him have everything. Negan’s mouth licks behind his balls, wet and slippery, and then it’s at his hole, circling around it with the tip. Carl tenses, pushing against Negan’s hands that are holding him up. He can’t help himself, the sensation is too much. Negan holds him firmly, tightening his grip.

“Don’t fight me, baby boy,” Negan says. “Daddy knows best. Right?”

“Yeah,” Carl squeaks out, forcing himself to relax.

Negan licks around his hole again. Carl doesn’t fight it, forcing himself to inhale and melt into it.

“Such a good boy for Daddy,” Negan says.

He licks again, more firmly this time, dipping his tongue just inside. Carl feels a shudder go through him, a broken sound escaping his throat. Negan laps at him over and over, licks across the hole, around the hole, breaches him and slips his tongue inside. It goes a little deeper until he presses firmly and then wiggles his tongue inside him, making Carl tense up and cry out. Negan chuckles against him before letting go of his legs. They crash down to the bed like they’re lead weights, falling open, Negan’s mouth going back to his cock.

He moves fast, sucks hard, takes Carl into his throat every few strokes, swallowing around him. Carl can feel himself unravelling and he wants to hold on, wants to make it last, but surrender is so much more appealing right now. And that’s what Negan wants from him, Carl can tell. He’s not teasing, not drawing it out. He’s working with focus and purpose and Carl is going to take what’s given to him.

He slides both of his hands back into Negan’s hair, feeling Negan move against the pads of his fingers, up and down, angling just right. It makes him feel so connected, especially when his head is so heavy that he can’t do anything but stare at the ceiling. Negan trails a finger from the base of Carl’s cock, over his balls, back to the spot that makes sparks fire off inside Carl’s body when he presses down on it. Carl moans, twisting his hips, Negan bringing up his other arm to rest his forearm across Carl’s pelvis, holding him down.

When his finger slides to Carl’s slick hole, pressing inside to the first knuckle, Carl is coming helplessly, crying out and straining against Negan’s hold on his hips. Negan swallows down every drop and then pulls back to lap at the head, making his dick spasm a couple more times as his finger runs around the rim of his hole. Only when Carl starts to shudder with overstimulation does Negan ease up, giving a couple of swallows to soothe his dick before pulling off.

He sits up, Carl’s hands falling away in a daze. Carl is so sated he’s pretty sure he could fall into the deepest sleep right now, a ball of contentment. That would mean missing out on the cuddles that he’s certain are coming his way though. Sure enough, Negan moves up the bed, pulling Carl to him and into his arms. Carl curls into his chest with a happy little sound, pleased that Negan’s heart is beating a little too fast. Carl can get him going without even doing anything.

Negan is hard in his pants, Carl can feel it against his thigh where their legs are tangled together, but he doesn’t try to do anything about it. He knows that’s not the point right now. Daddy just wanted to take care of him. Carl loves watching Negan come undone, loves hearing the sounds and feeling him surrender and watching his face when he comes. But sometimes it’s this. Sometimes it’s Negan looking after his baby and saving himself for something else. For someone else. Maybe that should make Carl feel less than, but he knows it makes him special. Negan will do this for Carl’s benefit, even when he has other responsibilities. He does it when he has nothing to gain but making Carl feel good.

Negan holds him and strokes his back through his shirt, a warm, grounding sensation. Carl feels his body give, relaxing into Negan and the bed, letting everything else go. Negan sneaks a hand under his T-shirt, fingertips ticklish over the small of Carl’s back, making him shift and whine. Negan chuckles, the sensation vibrating through them both, lifting his head and bringing his hand up to brush Carl’s hair out of his face, kissing him on the temple.

“As lovely as it would be to do this all day, I have things I need to attend to,” Negan tells him.

“I know,” Carl says, not fighting it as Negan moves away from him. He stretches out on the bed as Negan gets to his feet. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Negan smirks, turning back to face him. “I would never let you be left out, sweetheart,” he assures Carl, bending down to place a kiss on Carl’s mouth. “Daddy shares the love.”

“Mmmhmm,” Carl agrees.

Negan straightens up again, catching sight of himself in Carl’s mirror. “What the fuck did you do to my hair?”

Carl laughs as he watches Negan combing his hair back with his fingers, trying to get the messy strands to cooperate. He can be so vain, which is ridiculous, because Carl happens to think he never looks hotter than when his hair’s mussed up from sex.

Negan sighs, turning his head from side to side as he smooths his hands over it a final time. “I’m going to have to tie you to the bed if you keep that shit up.”

Carl smiles, his dick giving a redundant little throb. “Okay.”

Negan looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh really?” Carl shrugs. Negan shakes his head. “Is there anything you’re not into? You know what, don’t answer that, I need to leave. To be continued.”

“Sure thing, Daddy,” Carl says.

Negan looks at him with so much affection. “Bye, baby boy.” He looks Carl up and down. “And put some pants on.”

“I am,” Carl agrees, but he makes no move to get up as Negan lets himself out of the room.

He lies on the bed for a while, contemplating wrapping himself in the blanket and dozing off for a while, but in the end curiosity gets the better of him. He gets dressed and heads down the hallway to the lounge. As he peers inside, everything is quiet.

He spots Tanya reading a book and goes to sit beside her, leaning against her side and putting his head on her shoulder. She lifts her arm, putting it around him and giving him a squeeze. He loves how they are with him. Negan would call it coddling but girls are just more easy with affection and reassurance. Maybe the fact that Carl craves that from them says something about him though.

“You okay?” Tanya asks.

“Yeah,” Carl says, sitting back up as he looks around. “Where’s the new girl?”

“Sherry?” Tanya asks. “Frankie’s helping her pick out a dress.” She puts her book aside. “You want to play backgammon?”

“Yeah, sure,” Carl agrees.

They set the board up on the coffee table and then Carl tosses a cushion down onto the floor, settling himself cross legged on the ground. He looks across at Tanya who’s perched on the edge of the couch in her short dress and high heels and wonders if they’re as uncomfortable as they look. They’re definitely impractical. None of them complain though so maybe they enjoy dressing up. They don’t live the kind of lives anyone else in the Sanctuary does, not even Carl.

Carl is just starting to really get into the game when Frankie escorts Sherry into the room. Sherry is freshly showered, hair combed and nicely styled around her face rather than scraped back and greasy. She’s actually really pretty. Super hot, Negan had said.

Her outfit doesn’t quite look like clothes but it doesn’t quite look like underwear either. It’s floaty and almost sheer, not doing much to hide her corset top and panties, everything white unlike the usual little black dresses Negan’s wives wear. He guesses this is the wedding night outfit. In her high heels and with the dress barely covering her ass, she looks like her legs go on forever.

“Hey,” Tanya greets, turning away from the game.

“You want a drink?” Frankie offers.

“God, yes,” Sherry says. “Whiskey.” She perches on one of the high stools by the bar as Frankie pours her a drink. She downs it in one. “Thanks,” she says with a sigh, putting her glass down. “So, can you give me any hints on what to expect? Is there a ceremony?”

Frankie shakes her head. “It’s just between the two of you. There’s vows, promises you have to make. Say I do to all the rules. He spells it out for you, no room for misinterpretation.”

“Okay,” Sherry nods.

“Then he’ll want to consummate,” Tanya says with an eyeroll.

“Right,” Sherry says tightly. She doesn’t look into it.

“He won’t force you,” Frankie says. “I mean, he won’t hurt you to do it.”

“He’ll coax though,” Tanya says. “Some might say coerce. He’s like a dog with a fucking bone.”

“Why are you talking about him like that?” Carl cuts in. “You’re making him sound awful. He’s not awful.”

Tanya turns to look at him, giving him a sympathetic expression. “We’re just talking about our experiences, honey.”

Carl pouts. He can’t really argue with that. He’s seen how Negan is with them though. He’s charming and generous and he always makes sure their needs are met. He cares about them, provides for them. He doesn’t ask for much in return, all things considered. They all look pretty petty right now.

“This is Carl,” Frankie tells Sherry. “We kind of adopted him. He’s cool.”

Carl gives a huff. “Yeah, he’s cool, but fuck his experiences.”

Tanya gives him a look that’s seriously lacking in patience. “Nobody said that, Carl.”

“Are we playing or what?” Carl asks.

“Yeah,” Tanya says, turning back around in her seat and picking up the dice. Carl has a feeling she exchanges a look with the others out of his line of sight.

Frankie gets Sherry another drink and nobody really talks much after that. Carl feels bad. He’s ruined everyone’s evening and Sherry shouldn’t have to sit in this sour atmosphere when she’s clearly already nervous. This is a welcoming place, somewhere they all accept each other and support each other. They took him in, no questions asked. Every time he thinks about trying to break the tension though, his bitterness over how they talked about Negan takes over. Coax. Coerce. Dog with a bone. Sherry offered to do this for him, they all did, he doesn’t get how they can act hard done by now.

A low wolf whistle cuts through Carl’s thoughts as he stares at the board, contemplating his possible moves. Negan comes into the room, eyes only for Sherry. She sits up tall, chest out, looking at him like she can’t get enough of the attention. She plays the part well.

“You just went from super hot to crazy hot,” Negan tells her, eyes shamelessly checking her out. “Now doesn’t that feel so much better than being out in those filthy woods with that filthy husband,” he says. “Ex-husband.”

“I haven’t felt beautiful in a long time,” Sherry tells him. Carl can hear the truth behind the words.

“And how do you feel now?” Negan asks, leaning into her personal space.

“Beautiful,” Sherry says. “Desirable. Uninhibited.”

“Those are some good feelings,” Negan says appreciatively. “I’ll level with you, mostly I’m feeling turned on. And hard.”

Carl rolls his eyes, looking back down at the board. Those lines would one hundred percent work on him, he’d already have taken his clothes off if Negan was looking at him like that, but it’s all wasted on Sherry. She’s not giving that impression though. Carl feels like she’s taking advantage.

“How about I take you to my quarters and we can discuss terms,” Negan says, offering out a hand. “Make it official. Then hopefully we can make it official official.” She places her hand in his and he uses it to pull her off the stool and tight up against him. “Just to be clear, I’m talking about fucking,” he says low in her ear.

“I hope so,” she responds.

Negan pulls back, lifting his eyebrows at her. “Look out, we got a live one.” He chuckles to himself before starting to lead Sherry out of the room. “Ring the wedding bells, toss the confetti and let's get to the fun part.”

As they exit, Carl sighs, sagging against the table. Frankie sits down on the couch behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’re still his favourite.”

Carl leans back against her. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Frankie tells him.

“Yeah,” Tanya agrees. “Even when you’re a being little shit.”

Carl smiles. He’s always appreciated their company, the TLC that only started at Negan’s insistence. Their genuine kindness was such a comfort to him after losing everyone who’d been with him since the beginning. It made it hurt less. Those memories barely have sharp edges at all now. It all feels like another life.

Chapter 10

Carl is curled up on his bed, fleshing out some of his notes for his history project. He has to admit, he’s getting pretty into it. It’s weird to think of a history project being something that can impact the future, history has always been something so far removed from himself. Jason is right though, these really are interesting times.

There’s a knock on his door and then Negan is letting himself in without waiting for a response. Carl kind of likes that. It feels intimate. They don’t hide anything from each other, why would Negan need permission to come in?

Negan stands across the room, considering him for a moment. “Look at you being all studious. Pretty damn hot. I’m into it.”

Carl gives him a weary look. “I’m only doing this because you make me.”

“Doesn’t stop it being hot,” Negan responds, placing Lucille down in the armchair. “What are you working on?”

“Jason gave me a history project,” Carl says.

“Good for Jason,” Negan says, throwing himself across the foot of Carl’s bed.

Carl taps his pen against his notebook, watching Negan watching him, his head propped up on his bent arm. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the iron to heat up,” Negan says in a voice that can only be described as seductive, and fuck if it doesn’t work on Carl.

“Oh,” Carl says, dropping his pen into his lap.

“Yeah,” Negan agrees with a smile. “Thought I’d come hang out with you while everyone gets their asses down there. You know how I like to make an entrance.” He lifts his head, beckoning Carl over with a single finger. “Why don’t you come down here and keep Daddy company?”

“Or you could come up here,” Carl responds. “Seeing as I’m on the right part of the bed.”

“I could,” Negan considers. “But Daddy asked you real nice, didn’t he?”

Carl gives a put upon eyeroll, pushing his notebook aside as he moves down to the foot of the bed. Negan reaches out, touching the side of Carl’s face.

“That’s a good boy.”

He lifts his hand, tucking Carl’s hair behind his ear and then tracing the bottom edge of his socket, rough fingertip moving over the scar tissue. And then higher. He looks mesmerised as he dips his finger into the curve. Carl makes a noise of discomfort, even though it doesn’t actually hurt, not really.

“Don’t shy away from me, baby boy,” Negan tells him.

Carl pushes forward slightly, closing his other eye as Negan touches the inside of his socket again. Carl can’t identify how it makes him feel. Vulnerable. Squirmy. Disgusting. Loved. Negan touches him with such care that it can’t really be anything else.

“Fuck, you are the hottest thing I have ever seen,” Negan says hotly before his hand slips away and he’s pushing Carl down onto his back.

Carl parts his lips, loving when Negan kisses him, really kisses him. He tilts Carl’s head with a hold on his jaw, putting him right where he wants him as he covers Carl’s mouth wetly with his own. He presses down with his own chest on Carl’s so that it’s hard for him to breathe, a little whimper escaping him.

Negan kisses him harder, pressing Carl’s lips bruisingly into his own teeth. Carl slides his hands under Negan’s leather jacket, fingers grasping at the worn T-shirt underneath, feeling his warmth radiating through it. Negan is still crushing his chest and Carl is practically immobile except for his leg that he lifts, wrapping it over Negan’s. It makes Negan rut against him, just once, Carl moaning into it.

And then Negan is gone, holding himself up over Carl’s body, Carl taking in gulping breaths as he stares up at him. Negan grins back, looking very pleased with himself. Whenever Negan has that look, it usually means they both win.

“We better go,” Negan says, putting his hand on Carl’s knee and pushing his leg away. “The iron should be ready.”

“No,” Carl says, tightening his hands in Negan’s shirt.

Negan looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “Excuse you?”

“Don’t stop,” Carl says. “Come on.” He lifts his head, trying for another kiss.

Negan chuckles, shaking his head as he tugs Carl’s hands away from him. He pins them to the bed either side of his head. “What did I say about these?” He squeezes Carl’s wrists for good measure before letting go, moving off the bed. “We have work to do, Carl.”

Carl gives a huff but he sits up, grabbing his boots and pulling them on. Negan waits while he fastens them up, getting to his feet and crossing the room. He looks up at Negan.

“Can we fuck later at least?”

“Not if you’re going to look at me as petulantly as that,” Negan responds. “Bring Lucille, you know she loves this shit.”

Carl tries not to pout as he goes over to the chair to grab Lucille. He puts her up on his shoulder without even thinking about it, going back to Negan at the door.

“Good boy,” Negan says, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead. Carl tilts his head back, looking up at him with big doe eyes. It works, he’s rewarded with a kiss on his mouth, a rather tame one, but a kiss nonetheless. “Time to go,” Negan says firmly.

“Okay, Daddy,” Carl responds, following him out of the room.

Downstairs, everyone is already waiting. Carl stands behind Negan on the catwalk, watching him give his speech to the kneeling crowd gathered below, and it gives him goosebumps just like the first time. He grips Lucille tighter, pride radiating from him at just how much power Negan holds. He has everything so perfectly under his control. It does things to Carl that he doesn’t have words for.

As they get to the factory floor, Frankie pulls Carl into her side, holding onto his free hand and giving it a squeeze. On Frankie’s other side, between her and Tanya, is Sherry. Her head is held high, an expression on her face that could be defiance if she hadn’t carefully trained it not to be. She doesn’t look at Dwight and he doesn’t look at her.

Negan retrieves the iron from the furnace, glowing red hot in his gloved hand. It’s like a beacon that Carl can’t take his eyes off. He watches as it’s pressed into Dwight’s face, the sound and smell invading Carl’s senses. As Negan pulls it away, along with some of Dwight’s flesh, Carl feels a want that’s like an itch, something he can’t quite make sense of. It’s a promise, a dedication, something that can never be gotten rid of.

Frankie is holding his hand too tightly and Carl looks down at it and then at her, the unshed tears that make her eyes glisten. She clearly doesn’t see what he sees. Carl looks past her to Sherry who is staring stoically across the room.

“Hey.”

Carl startles to find Negan standing in front of him, hand held out expectantly. He lets go of Frankie’s hand and offers Lucille out to Negan. He takes hold of her, resting her on his own shoulder as he smiles warmly at Carl.

“I can-” Carl begins, taking half a step to follow wherever he’s going, but Negan stops, turning on him.

“I have some things to take care of.”

Carl nods, trying not to look disappointed, definitely trying not to look petulant. Negan watches him for a moment and then he leans in, kissing him on the mouth, coaxing his lips open with his own, slipping his tongue inside. Carl goes onto his tiptoes, resting a hand on Negan’s shoulder as he makes a pleased noise into his mouth. Everyone is watching and his cheeks flush at the thought as Negan’s hand goes to the small of his back to steady him. He loves when Negan will love him and not care who sees.

When Negan pulls away, Carl goes obediently back down onto his heels, licking his lips and pulling his hand away. Negan gives him a little nod of approval and Carl allows himself a smile.

“I’ll see you later, kid.”

Carl watches Negan leave and then slips his hand back into Frankie’s, leaning into her with a sigh. When he lifts his eyes up he sees Sherry looking at him curiously.

“You’re coming with us,” Frankie tells him, starting to lead him away.

Carl shakes his head. “I’m fine. You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Tanya says.

“Just come hang out with us,” Frankie says. “Get out of your head. It’s good for you.”

“I have homework,” Carl dismisses, pulling his hand from hers. “But thanks. I might come by later.”

He goes back to his room and curls up on his bed, adding some more notes to his project. He’s never going to be able to keep up with this. Maybe his notes should be more comprehensive. Maybe he shouldn't be worrying so much about making it cohesive. That’s not honest. Does the real world care about high school comprehension guidelines? He doubts it. It’s important that it makes sense though. It’s important that it has impact.

He spends a couple of hours transferring his notes into something grade worthy, and he has to admit that he likes it better, even if he’s not even halfway through by the time his eye is starting to lose focus on the page. He gathers up his notebooks and gets up, placing them away on his desk.

He stretches his arms above his head, looking at the darkened windows. He thought Negan might have come calling for him by now. It’s not that late, he still could, but it seems unlikely. He’s not sure he has the energy right now truth be told. Negan has an amazing ability to make him rally though. He can also make it slow and dreamlike, guiding Carl through it so smoothly that he barely has to lift a finger.

He grabs his jar of peanut butter from the side and scoops out a spoonful, licking it like a lollipop as he drops down into his chair, daydreaming about Negan’s hands and Negan’s mouth and Negan’s everything. He swirls his tongue around the spoon, closing his lips around it, dirty thoughts making his dick half-hard. He smiles to himself as he imagines Negan’s reaction to him doing this. He’ll have to put it to the test some time. It doesn’t happen all that often, but when he makes Negan lose his cool and growl at him, it’s pretty much the hottest thing ever.

With a sigh, he discards the licked clean spoon and gets himself ready for bed. He drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, that cosy place where thoughts and dreams mix together. Negan holding the iron. Negan’s hands on his skin. Negan on the catwalk looking down at his people. Negan looking down at Carl on his knees, mouth stretched around Negan’s cock.

It all melts into something beautiful, slotting together in Carl’s mind. He reaches for the lamp, squinting in the sudden brightness until his eye adjusts. He grabs the gun that he keeps on the nightstand, sitting up with it in his lap, fingers tracing the engraving. Dedication. Belonging. A promise made from both sides.

He throws the blankets off himself, opening the door. Everything is dark and quiet. Carl’s not sure how long he was half-dreaming for but it’s obviously late. He makes his way to the end of the hall, Negan’s double doors, pressing his ear to the wood and listening first. He could be with one of his wives. There’s no sound coming from inside though so Carl lifts his hand, knocking.

“Fuck off,” comes Negan’s response.

Carl smiles and opens the door, slipping inside and closing it behind himself. “It’s me.”

“The fuck off still stands,” Negan tells him, the bed shifting as he moves.

Carl crosses the room, placing his gun down on the nightstand and pulling the covers back to climb into the bed, straddling Negan’s hips. He pulls the blankets around them, the night air giving him a chill.

“I have an idea.”

“Kid, can’t you have an idea in the morning?” Negan complains, even as his hands slide up Carl’s thighs. Carl reaches over and flicks on the light. “Fuck you,” Negan snarls, closing his eyes.

“I want this,” Carl says, holding up his gun and showing the grip.

Negan cracks his eyes open, looking at him. “Isn’t that already your gun?”

“The engraving,” Carl says, running a finger over it. “Lucille.” He puts the gun back aside and holds out his forearm. “But I want it burnt. Here. I want you to do it.”

Negan closes his eyes again for a moment and then opens them with a frown, looking lost. “You want me to brand you? Like cattle?”

“Like the iron,” Carl says. “But not punishment like that, not ugly. I want the Saviors mark. I want to be yours.”

“You are mine,” Negan says fiercely, his hands gripping Carl’s hips, trying to pull him closer.

“I know,” Carl says. “But I want this. It’s like a wedding ring but hotter.”

Negan pushes out a laugh. “Of course you’re turned on by something that fucked up.”

Carl leans forward, pressing into him, their mouths close together. “Like you’re not turned on by the thought of doing it to me. Marking me up. Making sure everybody knows.” He grinds down with his hips. Negan makes a strained sound, gripping his hips tighter.

“Turn the fucking light off.”

Carl reaches over, plunging them back into the dull darkness. As he settles himself in Negan’s lap he grinds down again.

“This is not the kind of thing you ambush a guy about in the middle of the night,” Negan says. “But if you want to ride Daddy’s cock, we can arrange that, and I’ll let you know about the branding in the morning.”

“Deal,” Carl says with a grin.

“You know what to do then,” Negan tells him.

Carl leans in for a quick kiss, off target in the dark, and then shimmies out of his pajama pants, grabbing the lube from the nightstand drawer. He likes it when Negan does this for him, but there’s something hot and dirty about doing it himself. He reaches behind himself with slick fingers, working one slowly inside him as he rocks in Negan’s lap.

“Such a good boy,” Negan murmurs, his hands trailing over Carl’s thighs. “Fucking yourself open to take Daddy’s cock.”

Carl nods, even though Negan can’t see anything beyond a shadow of him, pressing his finger deep. He can feel Negan’s cock getting harder beneath him, moaning at the feel of it, the promise. He starts to work a second finger in, Negan’s hands sliding over his hips, along his ticklish sides. He squirms, tightening around his own fingers with a whine, making Negan chuckle.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Negan says, his voice low and rumbly like a secret. “You were so pure when I found you and look at you now.”

“I’m better now,” Carl says hotly, rocking on his own fingers.

“You’re perfect now,” Negan tells him. “My perfect baby boy.”

Carl pulls his fingers out with a guttural moan, fumbling to push Negan’s underwear down and out of the way. He dribbles lube over Negan’s cock, the bottle slipping out of his hand as he tries to put it aside. Negan shifts them both higher up the bed, propping himself up against the headboard, Carl grabbing Negan’s cock the second he has his balance, giving a couple of strokes to spread the lube before pressing the tip against his hole.

He sinks down, slow and steady, remembering to breathe and push out and let it happen. It’s second nature to him now. He’s panting as his ass meets Negan’s hips, cock buried inside him, resting their foreheads together and finding Negan’s mouth by touch alone. He presses against it, demanding to be kissed.

Negan threads a hand through his hair, gripping tight enough that Carl can feel it pull at his roots as Negan tilts his head just so, kissing him with an intensity that makes Carl feel dizzy. He moans, rocking his hips without meaning to, shifting Negan’s cock inside him. Negan goes with it, thrusting up into him as he grins against Carl’s mouth, Carl whimpering.

Negan pulls his hair, tugging his head to the side as he licks wetly over his neck and then grazes his teeth over the damp flesh. His other hand lands on Carl’s ass, smacking hard, and Carl cries out, bracing himself on Negan’s shoulders as he starts to move on Negan’s cock. Negan rewards him by sucking a bruise into his neck. Everyone will be able to see it tomorrow. Carl fucks himself harder on Negan’s cock at the thought.

Negan meets every one of his thrusts, driving up into Carl each time he sinks down, forcing himself deeper so that Carl feels split open and taken apart. Negan’s hand moves from his ass, fingernails digging into his flesh as they slide over his hip, making Carl keen, not sure whether to push into the dull hurt or squirm away. Negan’s fingers wrap around his cock in a fist, stroking fiercely, and Carl can tell exactly how it is. This is going to be quick and dirty and primal. There’s nothing that makes his blood run hotter.

He moves, down onto Negan’s cock, up into his grip, both sensations slick and tight. He closes his eyes, letting his instincts lead. Negan is panting against his throat, tipping Carl’s head back so that he can barely breathe. His thighs are burning from the effort of riding Negan but he doesn’t slow down, instead surrenders to it, the edge of pain making the pleasure all the sweeter.

He comes, his body strung so tight that he feels like it might snap. His back arches in spasms as he squeezes his eyes shut, wordless syllables falling from his parted lips, trying helplessly to keep his hips going, keep the rhythm, as his body loses all coordination. Both of Negan’s hands disappear and Carl falls bonelessly forward onto him. He rests his forehead on Negan’s shoulder as Negan grabs hold of his hips, lifting him halfway up.

“Don’t move,” Negan growls at him, thrusting his own hips upwards to carry on fucking Carl.

Carl is grateful that Negan’s hands stay there, holding him up, because he’s pretty sure he couldn’t do it on his own. He shudders, the sensations way too much as his body starts to come down from his orgasm, making high little noises in his throat every time Negan mercilessly fucks deep into him. He loves it though, loves every second of Negan getting off on him, taking pleasure from him, wanting him.

He holds himself still, trying to remember how to breathe as he leans heavily into Negan, the sounds Negan is making vibrating through his chest and straight into Carl’s. It’s not possible to be more connected than this.

Carl can feel Negan’s thrusts falter and he tenses his body, squeezing down on Negan’s cock, feeling a flush of elation when he gets the timing right and Negan comes inside him. He rocks his hips gently through Negan’s orgasm, coaxing every drop out of him, until Negan unceremoniously lets go of his hips, Carl dropping hard onto Negan’s cock one last time with a grunt.

Negan gives a breathy little laugh in his ear, lifting him up again, fully this time, Negan’s cock slipping out of him. “Looks like you’re sleeping here,” he says, rolling Carl off him.

He manhandles Carl until he has him where he wants him, his chest pressed up against Carl’s back. His little spoon. Carl smiles to himself, wiggling himself back further into Negan’s grip, drifting off to sleep with thoughts of bruises and brands and belonging.

Chapter 11

When Negan wakes him the next morning, it’s standing over the bed, freshly showered and fully dressed. It’s not exactly what Carl was hoping for. He wanted to wake up in Negan’s arms, bodies tangled together. He wanted a sleepy morning quickie. That is clearly off the table.

“Don’t be late for class,” Negan tells him.

Carl props himself up on his elbow. “Did you…”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Negan says firmly, cutting off his question and anything else as he leaves the room.

Carl pulls on his pajamas, feeling vulnerable as he walks barefoot down the hallway in the light of day. A couple of Negan’s men pass him on their way to the meeting room, eyeing him and his current state of undress. He pretends he doesn’t see them, ducking into his bedroom. He might as well be in a little black dress and a pair of heels right now. Not that he has a problem with the implication. He just doesn’t want to be seen as weak.

He gets dressed and clips on his holster, lacing up his boots. Ready for business. Except he’s not in that meeting room getting ready for whatever today’s business is. He’s in his room making a PB&J sandwich and getting ready to go to school. For Negan, he reminds himself. He’s bettering himself for all of them. Now that he has a taste of getting things done out there, everything else feels pretty lacking though.

“Do you think I’ll ever graduate?” he asks Jason, even though he’s supposed to be reading this chapter.

“I hope not,” Jason says. “I don’t know what happens to my privileges if you do.”

Carl scowls at him. “Don’t you think that’s a pretty selfish attitude to have?”

Jason looks up at him, schooling his face into something neutral. “I don’t know what Negan’s plan is. I just know he wants me to teach you, so I’m teaching you.”

“Maybe when I finish my history project you can put in a good word for me,” Carl says. “And then I can put in a good word for you keeping your privileges.” He looks back down at his book. “Or I can put in a bad word about you abusing your position with his baby boy to get what you want.”

“Message received,” Jason assures him. “And I was joking about the privileges.”

“I’ve warned you before about the jokes you make,” Carl says, looking up at him through his lashes.

Jason nods. “How are you finding the history project?”

Carl shrugs, looking down. “It’s interesting,” he responds, not really wanting to admit to its value right now, but it’s true. He likes it. A lot.

Once he’s done with school stuff for the day, he goes to the lounge to hang out. He’s feeling restless, last night still on his mind, and he doesn’t really want to be alone with those thoughts right now. They fill him with a want that he doesn’t know what to do with. It’s in Negan’s hands now. If he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Carl still doesn’t know what to make of Sherry. He doesn’t trust her, but he doesn’t think she’s out to hurt anyone either. She just wants to save herself. Carl gets it. If you’re not for the cause though, you’re against it. He keeps his distance.

He’s playing backgammon with Tanya when Negan comes into the lounge later that evening. Carl looks over at him, Negan meeting his eyes and giving him a smile.

“Hi cutie,” Negan says before turning his attention to the rest of the room. “Sorry, ladies, that was only directed at Carl.”

“Because they’d slap you if you talked to them like that,” Carl responds.

Negan grins, tongue poking out over his bottom lip. “Joke’s on you, I’m into that.” He crosses the room, standing too close so that Carl has to tip his head back to look at him. “I am also into those fucking doe eyes you give me when I call you things like cutie though.”

Carl’s cheeks blaze red, shifting on the couch to stop the feeling reaching his lower half. This is not the time or place. Negan watches him like he’s staring into his soul before he gives a breath of laughter, stepping back.

“Fuck, you’re easy,” he says as he steps across the room to the bar where Sherry is perched. He picks up the bottle of whiskey she’s been drinking from, contemplating the label before he looks up at her. “This good?”

“Yeah,” Sherry responds. “Want me to pour you a glass?”

Negan shakes his head, unscrewing the lid and wafting it under his nose before he tops up Sherry’s glass. She takes a dutiful sip, their eyes locked together. Carl can feel the tension from here. Negan puts the lid back on the bottle and takes it with him as he crosses the room, stopping midway and pointing it at Carl.

“I have something I want to show you,” he says. “When you’re done with that game.”

“I can come now,” Carl says, getting to his feet.

“Carl,” Negan admonishes. “Do not be so rude. I am raising a gentleman.”

Carl falters, unsure what to do.

“Sit your ass down and finish your game with Tanya,” Negan tells him. “Then come find me.”

“Okay,” Carl says, awkwardly lowering himself down onto his seat.

“That’s a good boy,” Negan says smoothly. He glances down at the board. “And I know you’re not even halfway done so don’t bullshit me. You better play that whole goddamn game.” He turns his attention to Tanya. “Keep him honest for me.”

“I always do,” Tanya assures him.

Negan gives a nod, heading for the door. “See you later, baby boy.”

Carl sags against the couch, looking at Tanya. She looks back at him with absolutely no sympathy.

“It’s your turn,” she points out.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles, looking down at the board. It’s fair to say his mind is very much not on the task at hand. Negan is right though, it would be rude to walk away now just because he got a better offer.

He plays through the game, every move building the anticipation of what Negan has in store for him. He came here looking for him. He left alone to wait for him. Whatever this is, it’s specific to Carl. He wants Carl. His cutie. His baby boy. It sets something visceral off inside Carl, makes him feel more special than he has any right to. He’s literally sat in a room full of Negan’s wives. But Carl isn’t a wife. Carl is everything.

When Tanya moves her final piece off the board, Carl practically jumps to his feet. It’s late, Sherry went to bed a while ago and Frankie is looking sleepy on the couch opposite them, but Carl is vibrating with energy.

“Have fun,” Tanya tells him.

“Night,” Carl responds, offering them each a smile which is returned before he’s hustling down the corridor, hand shaking as he knocks on the door.

“Come on in,” Negan responds.

Carl steps into the room, closing the door behind himself. Negan is sat on his leather couch, his jacket discarded, white T-shirt showing off the tattoos on his arms as he sips a glass of whiskey. Carl wants to touch them more than ever before. He wonders who had the honour of placing them under his skin.

“Who won?” Negan asks.

“Tanya,” Carl responds.

Negan looks amused. “Did you even try?”

“I played,” Carl says. “You told me to play. I didn’t quit.”

“Fair enough,” Negan says. “Come sit with Daddy.”

Carl smiles, throwing himself down on the couch beside Negan and curling into his side. Negan puts an arm around him, hand with the whiskey glass in it resting on Carl’s shoulder. He leans down, kissing Carl, slow and deep. Carl can taste the alcohol on his tongue, bitter and a little sharp. As Negan pulls away he gazes down at Carl, so much affection in his eyes. Pulling his arm back he leans forward to place the glass down on the table, picking something else up instead.

“Check this out.”

Carl looks down at Negan’s hands to find a metal contraption. It’s long but it’s only when he sees the end that he understands what it is, what it’s for. A length of wire has been bent into the shape of a baseball bat, another piece wrapping around it to represent the barbed wire. Lucille. Carl pushes his shirt sleeve up without even realising he’s doing it, Negan moving to press the shape against his forearm. It’s cool to the touch and makes him shiver.

“What do you think?” Negan asks, holding it there. “Sometimes things are better as a fantasy.”

Carl shakes his head. The design takes up about half of his forearm. It looks perfect. “I want it.”

Negan moves it away, twisting it in his hand as though considering it. “The furnace is on,” he says. “And I have a little set up down there if you’re serious.”

Carl looks up at him. “I want it,” he insists.

Negan meets his gaze, studying him for a moment. This isn’t something he’s taking lightly. Carl doesn’t think he’s ever been more certain of anything in his life though. Negan nods in understanding at whatever he sees on Carl’s face, dropping the brand down into his lap and reaching for his whiskey.

“Drink this,” he says, offering it out to Carl.

“I don’t like it,” Carl dismisses.

“It’ll take the edge off,” Negan tells him. “This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Carl takes the glass, considering it. Negan got this for him. That level of consideration makes Carl want this all the more. And it really is going to hurt. So did getting shot. So did losing his eye. So did a hundred other little scars life inflicted on him. This one is a choice. There’s power in that.

He tips the glass back, swallowing it down, the burn hitting him a fraction too late and nearly making him choke. He splutters, forcing himself to swallow as he winces, gasping in a breath. It tastes how lighter fluid smells.

“Jesus, that was a double,” Negan says, taking the glass off Carl as he coughs. “I thought you might sip it.” He tucks Carl’s hair behind his ear, tilting his head up to look at him. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Carl says, the words rough from the whiskey, but there’s determination behind them.

“I’m going to need you to say it,” Negan tells him. “I’m going to need you to ask.”

“Will you take me downstairs to the furnace and burn Lucille into my arm?” Carls asks. “Please?”

Something sparks in Negan’s eyes. “I would fucking love to. And you ask so pretty, baby boy.” He leans in, brushing their lips together. “Let’s do it.”

Negan holds his hand as they walk down the stairs together. The Sanctuary is quiet and the furnace is the only light down on the factory floor. There’s a chair by it, not the same one that’s used during the punishments, something studier with arms. Negan clearly had this put here just for Carl. There’s a couple of belts sitting over the back of it.

“I’m going to have to strap you down,” Negan says. “If you move it’ll fuck it up.” He lets go of Carl's hand, moving over to the furnace with the brand. “Let’s get this heating up first, then I’ll make sure you’re nice and comfy.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees.

He watches as Negan places the end of the brand into the flames, a fluttery feeling inside him. He knows what hot metal looks like and sounds like and smells like against flesh, but not what it feels like. The anticipation crawls across his skin.

Negan turns back towards him, crossing the space between them. He swipes the belts off the back of the chair and gestures towards it. “Take a seat.”

Carl sits, his breaths getting shallower as Negan kneels down by his side. He takes hold of Carl’s left wrist, guiding it onto the chair arm, the soft, inner flesh of his forearm facing upwards. He wraps the belt around both the wooden support and Carl’s wrist, looping it through the buckle and tugging tightly. Carl’s fingers twitch as he secures it in place.

Negan lifts the second belt and winds it around Carl’s forearm, just below the elbow. He fastens it in place, stroking his fingers down the skin between the two leather straps. Carl shivers but his arm doesn’t move. It can’t. He tugs with all his might for good measure. Nothing. Perfectly safe.

He looks up at Negan who reaches behind himself, pulling his red scarf from his back pocket. He threads it through his hands like a magician about to do a magic trick and then folds it in half once, twice, tying a knot in the middle.

“We don’t want to wake the whole damn place up,” Negan says, his voice undeniably seductive as he leans further into Carl. “And you’re probably going to want something to bite down on. Open up for me, baby boy.”

Carl swallows and then parts his lips, Negan settling the knot between his teeth. His breath falls across Carl’s face as he reaches around to tie it at the back of his head, sitting back on his heels to admire his work. He looks pleased.

It’s not tight, not like the belts, Carl could get himself out of this easily with his free hand. He rests his lips on the material though as it pulls at the corners of his mouth, already starting to get damp, giving Negan a hungry look. He’s so ready. He also wants this moment of trust and surrender to go on forever.

Negan places a kiss on his cheek, just above the gag, before getting to his feet, crossing back over to the furnace. Carl’s tongue worries at the back of the knot in his mouth as he watches Negan pull the familiar gauntlet on. There’s no audience now, no lesson to the learnt, but a message is still being sent. Carl belongs to Negan. Carl is the Sanctuary’s weapon.

Carl inhales sharply through his nose as Negan pulls the brand from the fire, the wire Lucille glowing red. His steps back towards Carl are sure and steady, meeting his eyes as he stands beside him. They have to do this while it’s at its hottest, but Negan still gives him a moment to signal that he wants to back out. Carl just looks up at him with determination and Negan presses the red hot metal to his skin.

The gag doesn’t seem to do much to dampen Carl’s scream. The sound echoes around the open space, hitting every hard surface and reverberating all around them. It’s excruciating in a way he couldn’t have imagined, but it’s exhilarating too. His vision narrows, spots dancing across his field of view, but he feels more awake and alive than he ever has before.

The sharp sensation is over almost as soon as it’s started, Negan pulling the brand off his flesh and then it’s clattering away on the concrete floor. Negan reaches up, pulling down the gag, and Carl takes in gulping breaths. He wants to kiss Negan. He wants to throw him across the room. He wants to curl up into a little ball.

“You with me, kid?” Negan asks.

Carl blinks, focusing his one bleary eye on him. He nods. “Baby boy,” he prompts.

Negan grins at him, looking relieved and amused at once. “Of course you’re my baby boy. Now and forever, right?”

He grabs the side of Carl’s face, pulling him in for a kiss, licking wetly into his mouth. Carl goes slack with a moan, revelling in it. When Negan moves away, Carl tries to follow him, losing his balance and tipping helplessly forward. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s still strapped to the chair, he’s pretty sure he’d be face first on the concrete right now.

Negan chuckles. “Let’s get you out of there.”

Carl nods, gazing down at the mark on his arm. It’s so neat, so perfect. It stings, his skin feeling hot and tight, a searing sensation that’s distinct and turns over his stomach along with the smell. But it’s beautiful and his head is filled with a vague feeling of euphoria, like cotton candy or a helium balloon.

Negan kneels back by his side, unfastening the belt at his wrist. He makes an amused noise as it falls away. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

Carl shrugs. He hadn’t noticed. But yeah.

“You are a fucking psychopath,” Negan says affectionately, freeing Carl from the second belt. “Masochistic little bastard.”

“Love you,” Carl says.

“Oh, I love you too,” Negan agrees, the words coming so easily. “But you, my sweet boy, are fucked in the head.”

He discards the second belt and Carl lifts his arm, looking at the brand up close.

“You like it?” Negan asks.

“So much,” Carl says dreamily, looking at the lines that dip into his flesh. They’re starting to welt and weep.

“Really solidifies your badass reputation, I’ll tell you that much,” Negan says. “You are not to be fucked with.”

Carl smiles at him, sliding off the seat and onto Negan’s lap. He cradles his arm towards himself, careful not to let the open flesh touch anything. Negan holds him there, taking his weight, rocking him so gently that maybe it’s just in Carl’s imagination. He leans into him, pressing his forehead against Negan’s neck, gazing at his brand in the quiet, flickering darkness.

He’s not sure how long they’re sat there before Negan starts nudging him, placing a kiss against his temple as he sits him up, balancing him to take his own weight. Carl makes a disgruntled noise.

“Come on,” Negan encourages. “Time for a doctor’s visit.”

“No,” Carl says sharply, looking up at him. “I don’t want him to fix it.”

“Kid, there’s no fixing that,” Negan says. “That’s a scar, whatever he does. But what we don’t want is an infection, so we’re getting it taken care of. Then it stays pretty like that forever.”

Carl looks down at it, pouting. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. This is between them. Negan has a point though, he doesn’t want to fuck this up by not healing it right. “Okay.”

“Carson’s still in his office,” Negan says, pushing Carl to get him to stand up. Carl gets unsteadily to his feet, waiting for Negan to join him. “I told him I was going to need him.”

As they start to walk, Carl takes hold of Negan’s hand again. Negan gives him an indulgent little squeeze, tugging him to walk closer to his side. Carl is disappointed when they get to the doctor’s office and Negan lets go so that Carl can hop up onto the table.

Carson looks at Carl’s outstretched arm, raising his eyebrows. “This is ill advised.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Negan says with a shrug.

Carson examines the burn and then puts some kind of balm on it, covering it with a light dressing. “Keep this clean, use the ointment twice a day, any heat, redness, discharge come and see me straight away. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Carl says, giving him an irritated look. He doesn’t like his tone.

“Alright, baby boy, I think it’s time we tucked you up in bed,” Negan says. “Thanks, Doc.”

Carl hops down from the table, Negan placing a hand on the small of his back to lead him away.

When they get to his room, Carl gingerly undresses, not wanting to tug his sleeve against his arm. It’s so tender, every movement sending a shivery sensation through him. It’s not the worst, but he instinctively doesn’t want to repeat it either. He doesn’t pull a shirt on to sleep in, just puts on his pajama pants and pulls the blankets back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Are you staying with me?” he asks, looking up at Negan.

With a huff, Negan kicks off his boots, starting to unfasten his pants. “This is getting to be a habit, kid.”

Carl smiles, pulling his feet up onto the bed and waiting for him. “I don’t mind it.”

“I bet you don’t,” Negan responds. “Funny how I can come to you for the dirtiest sex and the sweetest cuddles.”

He climbs into the bed beside Carl, running a finger over the dressing on the inside of Carl’s arm, making the pain spike. Carl whines, biting down on his lip.

“And the most fucked up shit that even I wouldn’t dream up.”

“Uh huh,” Carl agrees, snuggling down with him. “I’m the whole package.”

“Oh, you sure are, baby boy,” Negan agrees, pulling him in tight.

Chapter 12

Carl likes the ritual of taking care of his brand. It deepens the feeling of dedication every time he carefully washes it or dots the ointment onto the raised flesh. It scabs over quickly and then it starts to itch like fuck. Sometimes it’s all he can think about. He’s not going to mess it up though. It’s going to heal exactly as Negan put it there. No picking. No scratching. Sometimes he wants to tear his own hair out but it’s going to be worth it.

It looks really cool already. Carl sees people looking at it. Downstairs it’s with awe. Upstairs it’s with understanding. Except for Simon who rolled his eyes, but that’s why Carl is being trained to take over this place and not him. Simon doesn’t get it. His ego is going to get in the way, Carl is sure of that. Negan doesn’t seem to be taking advisement on the matter right now though, so Carl just keeps an eye on him.

The wives are concerned the first time they see it, but they’re just overprotective of him. Carl appreciates them so much. They drop it quickly and anyway, what’s done is done. He can’t get unbranded so what advice or warnings are they going to offer him exactly? They mostly seem to try and ignore it after that.

With Negan, it’s the first place his eyes go whenever he sees Carl. That gives Carl a thrill. It’s absolute devotion shared between them without either of them having to say a word. He can’t imagine a deeper connection than that. He wants Negan to wrap his hand around it, pin him to the bed while his fingers dig into the lines of the scar. That will be his reward for taking such good care of it.

Carl is proud to be a Savior, proud to wear it on his arm, but he starts to get the impression that things aren’t running quite as smoothly out there as they seem. Deliveries are arriving on time and stocks are great, but there’s something that no one is quite saying out loud.

When a group goes out on patrol and doesn't come back, it causes a general sense of unease to bubble just below the surface. Sure, the group in question are assholes, but they’re not dumb enough to turn their backs on what they have here and not smart enough to be making a move. It’s brought up in meetings, people are warned to keep their eyes open, but no one knows if there’s a real threat or just an unlucky encounter with walkers or bandits.

Carl starts to look for clues, but maybe there aren’t even dots to connect. It’s kind of a habit now as he works on pulling the threads of his history project together, weaving it into a narrative. There’s a fine line between compelling truth and creative writing. He’s determined not to cross it. This is going to be a resource for the future. He’s been reading a lot of historical sources lately and good historians make the world come alive with the mundanity that holds the momentous together.

Target practice with Negan is cut short when a new delivery comes in and Negan goes to check out the haul. Carl’s fine with quitting early. No matter how much he works on it, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get his old aim back. It’s so frustrating, not to mention humiliating. The depth perception doesn’t get any easier to deal with.

He doesn’t follow Negan to the truck, instead heading upstairs. If there’s anything Carl would like, Negan will grab it for him. He always gives the best gifts.

Carl grabs his history project from his desk along with some of his study materials and takes them down to Negan’s room, settling himself on the couch. It’s better than the ones in the lounge and he likes the manly smell of the worn leather and Negan’s cologne that lingers in the air. It’s inspiring, aspirational maybe. It focuses his mind on the task at hand, losing himself to his notes.

He’s not sure how much later it is when the door opens, Carl glancing up to see Negan coming into the room, followed closely by Frankie. Carl doesn’t let it put him off. Negan doesn’t mind him working in here as long as he doesn’t interfere with anything. In fact sometimes he likes to sit across from him and just watch Carl lost in his studies. Sometimes it’s foreplay. Carl likes when Negan watches him.

“Room’s occupied, kid,” Negan says shortly. “Clear out.”

Carl looks up at him properly then. “I’m working on my history project.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Negan responds, looking at him expectantly.

Carl gives a huff. “I have everything set up, can’t I just stay here?”

“I mean…” Negan begins, raising his eyebrows and looking at Frankie with a filthy smirk on his face.

“No way,” Frankie tells him with absolute certainty.

Negan looks at Carl with a shrug. “Sorry, Frankie’s feeling shy, you’re going to have to get out of here.”

“I’m in the flow,” Carl complains. “And this room helps.”

“Well, I guess me and Frankie could go fuck in your bed,” Negan responds, slipping his arm around Frankie’s waist. “Come on, dear wife.”

Carl crinkles his nose. “Don’t do that, that’s gross. Ugh. Fine, I’m going.”

He makes a huge deal about picking up every item individually, just to stretch it out. It’s petty, but whatever, Negan’s being petty too. This is his room though. Carl probably shouldn’t push his luck. He doesn’t want his privileges taken away.

He stops by Negan on his way to the door, looking up at him. “Anything cool in the delivery?”

Negan smiles knowingly. “I have spoiled you rotten, baby boy.”

“What?” Carl asks, clutching his notebooks to his chest.

Negan reaches out with his free hand, his other arm still around Frankie. He rubs his thumb over Carl’s cheek before pulling him in, leaning down to press their mouths together. It’s brief but dirty, Negan slipping his tongue into Carl’s mouth and urging a needy noise from him before he pulls away with a smirk.

“You know Daddy will take care of you,” Negan says. “But batting your eyelashes at me and expecting presents in return is very unbecoming.”

Carl thinks about arguing or feigning innocence, but there doesn’t seem like much point. “Okay,” he says in a hushed tone instead.

Negan looks pleased at that. “Good boy. Now get out of here so Daddy can get his dick wet in peace.”

Carl rolls his eye, stepping away and letting himself out. He goes back to his room, propping himself up with his pillows as he spreads his things out on the bed, trying to get back into what he was doing. It’s not easy when the thought of Negan fucking is freshly in his mind and the taste of Negan is freshly on his tongue. He can take Carl apart without even being in the room and he fucking knows it.

Carl smiles to himself and lets his mind wander instead of trying to fight it. Negan’s hands sliding under his clothes while he kisses him fiercely. Negan dragging his shirt over his head, yanking his pants down his legs. Negan moving him around like a doll, getting him right where he wants him. Carl loves when he shows off his strength, manhandles him around the bed, leaves bruises on his hips. Carl loves all the evidence, the hickeys and the scuffed knees and the dazed look he leaves in Carl’s eye. The brand is just his favourite of all.

Carl grabs his pen, chewing idly on the end of it. Being a good boy for Negan doesn’t mean being weak. Being able to take it, revel in it, that makes him stronger than any other fucker here, he’s sure of it. Negan doesn’t hold back with him and he doesn’t rein him in. He hands him Lucille and lets him swing.

With a smile on his lips, Carl writes about the Hilltop, that pathetic weasel Gregory, and how the Saviors so easily took apart everything he thought he’d built. They were never going to survive on their own, the first decent sized group of walkers to come roaming through would have taken them out and then all those resources would have gone to ruin. And the people. People are resources too.

But now they have the Saviors. Now they have a chance. Negan executed the whole thing with such certainty and grace. Carl doesn’t exactly downplay his own part when he puts it into writing. Maybe his bias is showing, but he thinks he deserves that. History is written by the victors after all.

The door opens and Carl looks up to see Negan walking into his room. He swings the door shut behind him, kicking off his boots and climbing onto the bed beside Carl.

“Hi,” Carl says, watching him curiously.

Negan gives a grunt, throwing an arm over Carl’s hips and resting his head on his stomach. With Carl half sat up against the cushions, it’s as close as Negan can manage to hug him whilst being determinately horizontal. Carl moves his notebook aside to look down at him as Negan nuzzles into him with a sigh.

“You cannot possibly be looking to get laid again already,” Carl says.

He can still smell the sex on him, the sweat and the come and what he’s learned is female arousal. He’s never smelt it first hand, only on Negan’s body when he’s been with one of his wives. He hasn’t even tried to clean up today, just pulled his pants and T-shirt on and came straight here, that much is obvious.

“Nah,” Negan dismisses. “Now I want a warm body to hold.”

“Oh, and Frankie was busy?” Carl asks. “Come on, I’m trying to work here.”

“Wanted you,” Negan says.

He lifts his head to grab Carl by the hips with both hands, rolling them forcefully so that Carl is straddling his chest. Carl gives him a look but relents, releasing his notebook to the side and shimmying down Negan’s body to lie between his legs, his shirt riding up as he does so. Negan touches his face, his scarred cheek, his socket, then pulls Carl in and kisses him languidly, slow and deep and all consuming. It’s perfection and Carl surrenders to it with a needy little noise that has Negan smiling against him. He breaks the kiss, brushing Carl’s hair back from his face.

“Be my little spoon?”

“I have stuff to do,” Carl says, but he’s already moving, turning onto his side and letting Negan pull him into his chest, wrapping him up warmly. It’s so intimate, the perfect afterglow, even if Carl wasn’t a part of the sex.

Negan brushes his lips against the back of Carl’s neck. “You’re mine.” The words are whispered against Carl’s flesh, felt as much as heard.

“Yours,” Carl agrees in an equally hushed tone, his project forgotten. Nothing in the world feels as important as being a part of this right now.

The next morning, Carl is discussing theological beliefs with Jason as though God has any place in their current hellscape. Jason insists that it’s important to be able to understand other points of view though, and Carl has to agree that knowing what someone would die for would make them a lot easier to kill, or at least take apart, piece by piece.

The door opens without warning, startling Carl who instinctively reaches for his gun. He only stops when he sees it’s Negan stood there, but the look on his face doesn’t exactly do anything to calm Carl. There’s something dark and wild in his eyes that makes Carl grit his teeth in determination, ready to hurt whoever so much as thinks about hurting them.

“Meeting room,” Negan says shortly. “Now.”

“What is it?” Carl asks, letting his textbook fall aside as he gets to his feet.

“Not good,” Negan responds. He looks at Jason who is closing his reference books, trying to gather up his things. “You can fuck off now.”

“Right,” Jason says, abandoning everything and heading out of the door empty handed. Carl doesn’t spare him a glance, eyes fixed on Negan.

“Come on,” Negan says.

Carl follows him into the hallway, swinging his door closed behind himself. When they walk into the meeting room, it’s fuller than Carl has ever seen it. There are the lieutenants, sat at the table in their usual spots, but more of Negan’s men are lining the room, people who wouldn’t usually make the cut. Carl takes his seat beside Negan at the head of the table as a hush falls over the room.

Negan looks down the length of the table to Simon and gives a nod. “Go on.”

“The satellite outpost was attacked last night,” Simon says. There’s a tightness in his jaw, something heavy in his eyes. Carl hasn’t seen that look from him before. “No survivors.”

Carl blinks as he feels a chill go through him. He shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they’re all dead, Carl,” Simon snaps. “What the fuck do you think I mean?”

“Attacked how?” Carl asks, his mind still reeling. “Did they blow the place up or something?”

Simon goes still, a look of pure disgust on his face. He looks at Negan. “A lot of them were killed in their sleep. Knife through the brain, didn’t even get out of bed."

Carl feels tears stinging his eye at the horror of it. Murdered in their sleep. It's so cold and methodical. It's not how things are done.

"Someone tripped the alarm which gave the rest of them a fighting chance," Simon goes on. "It’s a goddamn blood bath over there and every dead body is one of ours.”

Negan’s eyes go up to the ceiling, his mouth pressed into a hard line as he thinks. He takes a deep, measured breath, exhaling it in a huff as he looks back across at Simon. “You let Hilltop do deliveries there, right?”

“This isn’t Hilltop,” Simon dismisses.

“It’s not,” Carl agrees.

Negan turns to face him, one eyebrow lifted in silent question. Carl knows it might not be his place to speak up without being called on, but this is why Negan brought him in here, right? This is what he’s been training him for.

“Hilltop couldn’t pull this off,” Carl says. “They’re not fighters and no way they have the stomach for it. Did you see them after that kid met Lucille? You don’t go from that to massacring a building full of people in a couple of months. But they do have the intel. They’re working with someone.”

Negan looks to Simon who gives an exaggerated shrug. It’s as much of an endorsement of Carl as he’s ever going to give. Negan nods, his eyes going back to Carl.

“Then that’s where we start.”

“I’ll go over to Hilltop,” Simon says. “Put some pressure on.”

“No,” Negan says. “We are going radio silent on them. Let them think they got away with it. They’ll fuck up. They’ll lead us right to them. That group is the one I want in front of me, we are not fucking with Gregory at the Hilltop. He is a waste of our energy. We find who did this, we cut them down, and then we go about serving Hilltop with their punishment.”

“Their punishment should be what they did to us,” Simon says.

“People are resources, Simon” Negan says. “And we are down on some pretty fine resources right about now. Whoever did this, we’re going to own them. They’re ours.” Negan smirks. “Besides,” he says, his tone lighter. “An eye for an eye leaves everyone…” He trails off deliberately, looking pointedly at Carl. “Well, Carl knows that one, right?” he says with a grin.

Carl glares at him, feeling his lips pulling into a pout.

“Oh, come on, crack a smile, kid,” Negan coaxes. “That was a good one.”

Under the table, Negan slips his foot around Carl’s ankle, rubbing against him as he raises his eyebrows a fraction. Carl can’t help but smile. He’s the only one that knows it’s not at Negan’s words though.

“You are my smart boy,” Negan says. “You’re going to help us track these bastards down. Then we’re going to give them hell.”

Carl smiles for real at that. Maps are unfurled and sectors allocated, a plan put together as they organise teams and duties. It’s so productive that it doesn’t all catch up with Carl until he gets a quiet moment later, standing on the catwalk and looking down at the marketplace below. He wonders if the friends and family of the men working at the satellite outpost know yet. It all looks so normal down there, but Carl can feel it fraying at the seams.

He remembers waking up there after Simon found him on the road. He was a stranger, a nobody, but they patched him up, saved his life, nursed him back to health. He remembers the kindness of the doctor who would check in on him, the many faces that came by to help him and make him comfortable. He remembers how safe they made him feel.

He’s only alive because of their kindness. And now they’re dead. All of them. Slaughtered in their own home, their own beds. It just feels so brutal, so needlessly cruel. They were good people. They were doing a job, keeping it all working, saving people from walkers and bandits and self-inflicted gunshot wounds caused by their own stupidity. He squeezes his eye shut, feeling like that small, stupid kid all over again. They gave him a chance to grow into who he is. Whatever monster did this, they’re going to answer for it, Carl will make sure of that.

“You’re mad, right?”

Simon’s voice is right beside him, startling a breath out of him. He opens his eye, turning to face him.

“Yeah, I’m mad.”

“They killed all of our people, we should kill all of their people,” Simon says, perfectly matter of fact. “That’s what they deserve.”

Carl sighs, leaning against the railing and watching the people below. “That’s not what Negan wants.”

Simon leans forward alongside him, getting into his personal space like they’re confidantes. “What do you want?”

Carl turns to face him, sneering. “If you have a problem with how Negan’s doing things, why don’t you go talk to him about it?”

“You know I’m right,” Simon says, his voice easy and cool.

“Then speak up, pussy,” Carl tells him, tilting his head in defiance. “Don’t try and get me to do your dirty work for you just because you know he actually listens to me.”

Simon looks at him with amusement. “I’m his right hand man and successor. Do you really think I need you to speak for me? I’m just having a conversation here.”

“You’re his right hand man,” Carl agrees. “But we both know if anything ever happens to him, this place is mine.”

Simon scoffs. “You’re a child.”

Carl pushes away from the railing, squaring up to him. “Try me.”

Simon gives a laugh, shaking his head, but Carl can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and walks away. Carl cannot let him get into his head. He has too much shit in there already right now.

Carl makes sure he's in the loop on all of the debriefs, making notes on his own personal map of the area, trying to narrow things down. He hasn't travelled the area much since landing at the Sanctuary, he's only been out on direct routes to visit where the tributes come from, but he's surprised that the Saviors don't seem to know more about the surrounding areas. They're out there clearing walkers, making sure it's safe for the communities, surely they should know what's out there, what they could be facing?

He guesses those guys are the muscle and not the brains for a reason. Carl feels like the lieutenants should be better informed though. The map that Carl is plotting should already exist. He doesn't know of a non-judgemental way to bring that up to Negan. He supposes putting things in place for the future is better than criticising the past. They can't go back in time now.

Carl goes into the meeting room one day to see Dwight sitting at one of the chairs around the table, discussing something with Negan. Carl narrows his eyes at him but Dwight doesn't even look up and Negan only gives him the mostly cursory glance. Carl goes over to his map on the wall, considering where they know these people aren't.

"I don't think where we were can be too far from where they're at," Dwight says. "He had a bike but he didn't seem to be counting on finding fuel so my guess is they were pretty close to home. It feels like a good place to start."

Carl looks over, curious.

"Alright," Negan says. "Sounds like a plan to me. Get to it, Dwighty boy. Take whoever you need and report back to me on it."

"Yes, sir," Dwight responds, getting to his feet.

Carl watches him leave, dropping down into the seat beside Negan. "You're trusting him with a team? Letting him be in charge of something?"

"When he was out on his little excursion with my insulin, he met someone from a community called Alexandria," Negan says. "Pretty capable, apparently. Even if they're not the ones who took out the Satellite outpost, and there's a pretty decent chance they are, I think we're going to want to meet them."

Carl purses his lips together. He doesn't trust Dwight, but he didn't have to give Negan this information. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have left them chasing their tails. Instead he offered up the best lead they have. That's the mark of a team player. Carl's just not sure if he's making amends or putting himself in a position to do more harm. If he were in Dwight's position, he'd probably do just about anything to get out of it.

"Keep an eye on him," Carl says. "You burned half his face off and kept him in the hole for weeks. And you're fucking his wife. I don't think we can trust him to be on the level."

"I'm fucking my wife," Negan corrects. "And the beauty of the iron is that it's punishment served. No hard feelings. He gets a fresh start and he's making the most of it."

With a sigh of frustration, Carl stares down at the table. He plays his fingers over a dent left by Lucille. Negan's argument is reasonable, but Carl doesn't trust that easy. He's never had someone that didn't let him down in the worst way sooner or later. Except for Negan.

"I know you're taking this hard," Negan says, his voice softer.

He reaches out, turning over Carl's outstretched arm and tracing his fingers over the brand on Carl's wrist in a mirror of how Carl was touching the table. They're both marks left by Negan, but they have completely different emotions behind them. Carl remembers the night down by the furnace and he feels so loved and special.

"The Satellite outpost, those men," Negan says. "You were all alone out there, Carl. You were just a kid. That was the first bit of belonging you'd done in a long time."

"Yeah," Carl agrees, his voice cracking on the single word.

It's been so long since he thought about being out there. It's been so long since he walked away from the destruction at the prison, nobody there to hold his hand and make sure he was okay. The night in the closet. The time he spent in that house with the gun safe. The loneliness that felt like it might kill him quicker than any walkers would.

He'd exaggerated to Negan, it wasn't that long, but it hurt like it was forever. The Satellite outpost brought him back to humanity. They gave him a second chance. He made the most of it, just like Dwight is.

"I don't need you worrying about having my back," Negan tells him. "You're my little attack dog, and I love it, but I don't need you right now, baby boy. Not like that."

Carl watches Negan's finger so skilfully following the still raised lines of his brand and it feels so intimate, sending a shiver through Carl's body.

"You're no use to me if you're feral," Negan tells him. "I know that you're angry. I'm really fucking angry too, Carl. I need that cool confidence and level thinking you showed me at the Library and the Hilltop. You were magnificent. You are magnificent, baby boy. That is what I need you to bring to the table right now."

Carl looks up at him, spurred on by the fire in his eyes. He nods his head. He didn't bash in that kid's brains because he was angry. He did it to send a message, to make a change. He did it because that's who they are.

"Alexandria?" he asks.

Negan looks proud and maybe a tiny bit relieved. "Let me show you on your map where Dwight thinks our jumping off point is."

Over the next week, the bigger picture starts to come together. Carl marks off each discovery on his map, each point of interest. Any sign of life is important. Even the days they find nothing, just empty space inhabited by the dead, gets them closer to finding Alexandria.

It becomes Carl's only focus. He's barely present during his classes, skims his reading assignments, puts his history project on the back burner. Jason goes easy on him, clearly sensing his attention is elsewhere. Carl loses a little bit more respect for him.

"We haven't seen you in a while," Tanya says when they pass in the corridor.

"There's a lot going on," Carl says, his voice apologetic. He misses them, but being in the lounge just feels so frivolous. There's work to be done.

"You should come hang out," Tanya says. "You look like you could use a break. And a safe space."

"I'm good," Carl insists, giving her a smile.

Tanya nods, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "Don't be a stranger."

"I'll be there for a game of backgammon," Carl promises. "As soon as we get this sorted."

It starts to feel like an empty promise as the days tick by. Carl stands alone in the meeting room late in the evening, staring at his map. They've been doing radial searches from the point where Dwight supposedly met the man from Alexandria. Carl doesn't really believe it's a lie, the meeting more than likely happened, Alexandria is real, but making it up would be a good way for Dwight to get out of that cell and into Negan's good graces as quickly as possible.

Carl knows that Negan has spoken to Sherry about it, that she's backed up Dwight's story. Her conscience has a lot to gain from Dwight not being in that cell anymore either. If Carl went to the lounge, he could ask Sherry himself, but he knows she doesn't trust him which means he definitely can't trust her. She watches Carl whenever he is in there, like she's trying to work him out, and Carl doesn't like that. She doesn't accept him like Negan's other wives do. She throws off the whole balance.

The door opens and Negan steps inside the meeting room, Lucille up on his shoulder.

"I fucking knew it would be you in here."

He steps across the space, leaving the door open behind himself, bumping shoulders with Carl as he stands beside him, looking over the map.

"Unless you're going to have a moment of clairvoyance, I don't know what you think staring at this map is going to achieve," Negan says, turning to face him. "I appreciate the dedication, Carl, but I think it's time to call it a night."

"They're out there," Carl says. "They think they won."

"But they didn't," Negan says, his voice full of promise. "They have no idea the hell we are about to rain down on them. But you have to stop being so eager to get to the good part. Haven't I taught you the importance of foreplay, baby boy?"

Carl snorts a laugh, looking up at him. He feels his tension start to melt away. "I want to hurt them in the worst ways. I want to make them pay."

"They'll get their punishment," Negan assures him. "But that's what it is, my little serial killer. Not revenge. We're not that petty. People are a resource, remember?"

"They're going to be under us," Carl says, feeling a dark satisfaction at the thought. That might be better than death. "They're going to be ours."

"And they're going to do whatever the fuck we tell them," Negan says. "They fucked us over, they're going to feel the punishment for that. But then they'll be at our disposal. Imagine the things we could achieve with a group like that working for us."

Carl feels a little spark of excitement take hold in his chest. He hates them, he wants them to suffer, but maybe suffering for them is better than suffering at their hands.

He turns towards Negan, pressing up against his front and looking up at him through his eyelashes. Negan wraps his free arm around his waist to hold him there.

"What were you saying about foreplay?" Carl asks.

Negan raises an eyebrow at him, tongue running over his teeth as he parts his lips with a smile. He reaches behind himself, placing Lucille carefully down on one of the chairs before he's grabbing Carl roughly with both hands, sitting him on the edge of the table.

Just as Carl makes a move to grab for him, Negan strides away kicking closed the door to the meeting room. He returns to Carl with a deliberate swagger, stepping between his legs and leaving no space between them. Carl lifts both hands up to touch Negan's face as Negan leans over him, pressing him back onto the table.

Wrapping his legs around Negan's waist, Carl lifts his head from the table to go in for a kiss, but Negan moves back just enough that he can't reach him. He gives Carl a playful look, dipping down again, their lips lightly brushing together before Negan is back out of his reach. Carl gives a huff, trying to pull him down with a hand at the back of his neck.

"We were talking about foreplay, not teasing," Carl complains.

"Baby, teasing is the foundation of foreplay," Negan tells him, grinding his hips forward. "Drawing it out. Making it worth it."

He leans in again but bypasses Carl's face, licking his earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. Carl whines, half-frustrated, half-pleased, fully turned on despite his petulance.

Negan's lips move down, kissing at Carl's neck before parting his lips and sucking wetly at the flesh. Carl gives in to it, letting his head fall to the side with a soft moan, giving Negan all the access he wants.

"Fuck you're easy," Negan murmurs against him.

He lifts his head, finally joining their mouths together. As he slides his tongue into Carl's mouth, he grinds forwards with his hips, Carl's arms sliding easily around him. He'd let Negan do anything, he's never hidden that fact, and Negan has never used it against him. Carl trusts him with his body and his soul and his life.

They kiss, the sloppy, wet kind that feels so indulgent and just the right kind of dirty. Carl's body moves in response to Negan's, a push and pull that answers one another, building up between them as their cocks get hard and their breath becomes ragged and everything else slips away. Everything.

Negan lifts his head, his body pushed firmly into Carl's, pinning him to the table, their foreheads pressed together. Carl licks his lips, tastes Negan there, feels Negan's breath drying their shared saliva.

"Do you want to know what I think about when I'm in this room?" Carl asks.

Negan lifts his head just enough to look at him properly, their bodies pressed crushingly together.

"Fuck yes I do."

Carl smiles. "When you're sitting at the head of the table, leading a meeting, I think about being on my knees, sitting between your legs, your cock in my mouth."

Negan raises his eyebrows at him. "You're supposed to be listening in those meetings, Carl."

"I do," Carl insists. "But occasionally I'm thinking about being on your cock instead."

Negan gives a laugh, grinning and looking incredibly pleased with himself. He lifts himself up, shoving Carl's legs effortlessly from around him as he goes. Carl props himself up on his elbows, legs dangling from the table like dead weight as he watches Negan walk around to the head of the table, steps slow and deliberate, drawing it out.

"So I'm here," he says, taking his seat. He taps his hands on the table with a little tune, looking over at Carl. "And you are?"

Carl pushes himself up, sliding down from the table and walking over to Negan. He drops down onto his knees, moving so that he's under the table, resting a hand on each of Negan's boots.

"Hell, you look good down there," Negan says. "Maybe that should be your new meeting spot. It's not like everyone in this room doesn't know you love to take my cock, right? Everybody in the Sanctuary knows that."

"They know I'm yours," Carl says fiercely. "And you're mine."

"Yes they do," Negan agrees, sitting back in his chair.

He reaches down, unfastening his belt, pulling open the button and zipper. In one smooth movement he pushes down his underwear and pulls out his cock, hard and deep in colour. Carl parts his lips without even realising it as Negan gives himself a couple of strokes before presenting his cock out.

"Well," he says expectantly. "Don't be shy."

Carl shuffles forward, running his hands up the insides of Negan's thighs as he accepts Negan's cock that he's holding out to him, wrapping his lips around the head. Negan makes a pleased noise, hand sliding into Carl's hair as he gazes down at him.

Carl holds the eye-contact as he slides down his cock, not too far the first time, he's learned that taking it slower is much more effective, not to mention successful. Negan can swallow Carl down like it's nothing and likes to show off about it, but Carl's gag reflex isn't quite so refined and Negan's cock is thicker.

So he takes it slow, lets the saliva and precome build up in his mouth, rocks deeper as he sucks with a steady pressure. Negan makes rumbling sounds of encouragement, petting his hair and face as he watches him with dark eyes, pupils blown wide.

It doesn't last long, not because Carl is exceptional at this, but because it's not supposed to. It's a dirty little quickie. It's pleasure seeking and indulgent. Carl can see it on Negan's flushed face and open mouth, the way his head lolls in surrender, eyes going glassy.

He tightens his hand in Carl's hair, pushing him down, his eyes flashing when Carl gags. He grins, easing Carl back, wrapping his other hand around the base of his cock. Carl pulls back, licking at the leaking slit as Negan starts to stroke himself, fist occasionally bumping against Carl's lips.

Carl sucks, fitting his lips perfectly around the head of Negan's cock, bottom lip putting pressure on that spot Negan loves while Carl's tongue keeps licking and swirling over the slit. Negan grunts and Carl closes his eye as his tongue is flooded with the thick, bitter liquid, suckling in a way that he's learned encourages it down.

When he pulls away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, Negan hooks his fingers under his chin, tilting his head up.

"You don't close your fucking eye at the crucial moment," Negan chastises. "You're supposed to watch me come. You're supposed to watch me watch you swallowing it down. Which you do like a pro. Good job, baby boy. But don't break eye-contact next time."

Carl doesn't know whether to flush at the praise or roll his eye at Negan's demanding tone. He settles for just gazing up at him breathlessly as he rest his head on his thigh.

Negan offers him an indulgent smile. "Come to Daddy."

Carl moves, Negan shifting his chair back so that he has more space to get up. He pulls Carl into his lap, leaning him back against him and kissing him deep and dirty while he unfastens his pants. Carl can tell from the way Negan's moving his tongue to every corner that he's tasting himself there, licking it up. It makes Carl moan, hips riding upwards.

Negan takes out Carl's cock, wrapping his hand firmly around it and wasting no time in setting up a brutal rhythm. Carl needs no warm-up and he knows it. Whatever mention there was of foreplay at the beginning of this has long since been thrown by the wayside.

Carl whines, turning his face into Negan's neck as he fucks himself into Negan's hand.

"Nuh-uh," Negan says, grabbing Carl's jaw firmly and forcing him to look up at him. "We're doing it right this time. Do not look away."

Carl makes a high, pleading noise in his throat, his cheeks burning. Negan is staring down at him with an intensity that nearly makes Carl come on the spot. He's giving him nowhere to hide but he's so certain that Negan isn't finding him lacking. Anything but.

So he stares up into Negan's eyes and he gives him everything as he comes unabashed over his fingers, his orgasm making him shake and quiver and burn up. Negan is right there for every second of it, every microsensation, every wave of pleasure that threatens to consume Carl. He holds him steady and he guides him through and it's more overwhelming than that first time. It's everything.

As Carl starts to come down, Negan kisses him, slow and all consuming. Carl just goes limp, jaw slack, giving it up all over again. He has no fight in him against Negan, not ever.

Carl keeps his eye closed when Negan pulls away, starting to drift off. Negan helps him sit up, leaning Carl into his body, pushing the hair away from his face.

"Feeling better?"

Carl blinks his eye open, looking at him. Was he ever feeling anything but this?

Negan chuckles affectionately at him. "I should have fucked this mood out of you a week ago."

"You should fuck this mood into me every day," Carl responds.

"I have a lot of responsibilities," Negan reminds him. "And a lot of husbandly duties to perform."

"Yeah," Carl agrees. He would never try and argue with any of that.

Negan sighs, gazing down at Carl for a moment longer before he turns his attention to righting Carl's pants. Carl makes a disgruntled noise but helps Negan tuck his dick away, fastening his jeans. He looks at the come splattered over his T-shirt.

"Let's get you to bed," Negan says, guiding Carl to his feet before sorting his own pants out.

He walks Carl down the hallway to his room, letting them both in and pulling down the blankets at the corner of Carl's bed. Carl kicks off his boots, undressing down to his underwear and grabbing a clean shirt from his dresser. He slips beneath the blanket, Negan pulling it up around him, tucking him in.

"Do you want to stay?" Carl asks.

"I don't," Negan says easily. "But I appreciate the offer." He leans over, kissing Carl on the forehead. "Goodnight, baby boy."

"Goodnight, Daddy," Carl responds.

Negan gives him a little nod, letting himself out of the room and closing the door gently behind himself. As soon as the latch clicks into place, Carl is already drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, Jason shows a surprising level of insight and puts the philosophy they'd been studying the day before aside in favour of a historical look at military strategy. It's fascinating and inspiring, Jason clearly having put a lot of work into the research. Carl makes a mental note to put a good word in for him with Negan. He deserves it, and maybe it will encourage more lessons like this. These are the skills Carl knows he's going to need.

As Jason is leaving the room at the end of the session, Negan steps up to the still open door, grinning at Carl. "We waited for you."

Carl gets to his feet, following Negan as he starts to lead the way to the meeting room. "What is it?"

Negan pauses at the door, the anticipation sparkling in his eyes. "The son of a bitch did it."

Carl can feel his mood instantly mirroring Negan's, the excitement building in his chest. The words are vague, but the meaning behind them is clear.

"Bring your map over here, Carl," Negan says as he takes his seat at the head of the table.

Everyone else is already seated and Carl wonders how long they've been waiting for him. As he goes to retrieve his map from the wall, he doesn't rush, taking the pins out carefully and grabbing his markers on the way. Negan wants him here for this. It doesn't start without him.

As he takes his seat at Negan's right hand, Carl notices that Dwight has a spot at the table now. Carl supposes he put the work in on this one.

"This," Negan states, reaching out and pointing at a spot on the map where there's nothing but a meandering road, "Is Alexandria. Dwight followed his little friend back there."

Carl grabs the black marker, putting a cross with an 'A' next to it. It feels so satisfying. They're in the crosshairs now.

"He's going to go back out with a team, do a little more investigating," Negan goes on. "And we have the place under surveillance. This isn't going to be as easy as Hilltop, this is a different kind of people we're dealing with here. We're not giving them the home advantage. We're bringing them to us and putting on a spectacle. They need to see what we can really do."

Carl looks over his map, tracing his fingers along it. "If they have a deal with Hilltop, they'll be going there sooner or later," he says. "This is the most direct route, so we cut them off there for starters." He places a line across the road. "That will send them this way." Another line across another road. "It splits into smaller roads from there but they're going to have to go around here," Carl says, tapping his pen against a large wooded area.

"Well that looks perfect," Negan says. "Going on foot through there will save them a hell of a lot of time. Tackling those windy roads will add at least another day to their journey. And I think they'll get the idea that we're not letting them through by that point anyway." He nods, looking up at Simon and then at Carl, pressing a finger into the middle of the wooded area. "That's where we'll have them on their knees."

Carl feels a thrill at the thought. He places the cap on his black marker and grabs the red one instead, drawing a dot just below Negan's finger. That's what those woods will look like once they're done with these Alexandrians.

"Simon," Negan says. "We'll need teams, we'll need roadblocks, and we'll need to scout the perfect spot to meet our new friends."

"On it," Simon assures him. "And hey, we've been dealing with some more underhanded shit from that Library group. So if you need a sacrificial lamb to make a real impact."

"Two birds with one stone," Negan shrugs. "Make it happen." He sits back in his chair. "Dismissed. Let's get to work."

Carl stays where he is, waiting for everyone else to leave the room. Negan steeples his fingers together, looking smugly at Carl as the room empties.

"You happy now?" Negan asks.

"I'll be happy when they've learned their lesson," Carl tells him. "When they show us the respect we deserve."

Negan smiles, slow and undeniably seductive. "Oh, we are close, baby boy." His voice is full of promise and Carl is incapable of doubting him.

Chapter 13

Carl sits on the hood of the car at the edge of the clearing, refusing to look at anything around him. Not the Saviors who stand with their guns, waiting for Negan's return in the RV. Not the traitors kneeling on the ground, hoping that Rick will be with him. Not the bodies and the brains and the blood.

Instead, he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket and looks at the brand, tracing a fingertip over the raised flesh, following the lines over and over again. This is who he is. This is what he is. It hurt at first. It always hurts at first. That doesn't mean it's not the right thing.

He lies back on the hood, staring up at the night sky framed by the trees that encircle the clearing. It's so pretty. He feels nothing when he looks at it. He wants to cry. It's exhausting, the effort of holding back the tears, the sobs that want to wrack his body, make him curl into a ball like a wounded, defenceless animal.

He feels it like a pressure in his head, a tingle in his sinuses, a tightness in his throat. He feels it in the tension of his shoulders and the weight that crushes his chest. He feels it in the churning of his stomach, bile burning away at his insides. He feels it in the way his hands curl up into fists.

The unshed tears feel like a wild fury inside him, or maybe that was always there. He can't let it out now, not here, not in front of these people. He can't let them see him weak. He stands by what he did. He stands by what Negan did. They don't get to see him cry.

Instead, he stares up at the stars until they start to fade and are taken over by a pinkish hue. It's bleeds across the sky, deepening, turning golden. He tries to remember if that means it's going to be a good day or not. As the blue starts to take over, turning everything ordinary again, the sound of the RV can be heard in the distance.

Carl lifts his head, pushing up onto his elbows as he looks in the direction that Negan disappeared in all those hours ago. He sits up fully as the RV pulls into the clearing, ignoring the way his head spins, looking towards the door and feeling a deep yearning for Negan, for his arms, for his comfort. It makes him fight back tears all over again.

The door to the RV opens and Rick is kicked unceremoniously onto the floor. Negan follows after him and grabs him by the collar, dragging him across the ground. Rick flails, trying to move with him, to retain some semblance of dignity, but he just skids in the gravel before being dumped in front of his people.

Carl doesn't think he's ever felt such hatred. He thought he knew what hate was, after he found out what happened to the people at the Satellite outpost. He hated the sick bastards who would murder people in their sleep, who would massacre a whole settlement, and for what? They killed them just to kill them.

But to find out it was Rick. To find out that he didn't only betray Carl back at the prison, when he failed to save their home or his own goddamn son, but he's still betraying him now, taking apart his life, ripping it to fucking shreds. He feels his breathing go shallow and frantic again.

Negan grins, looking along the line-up before his eyes fall on Carl. He tilts his head, considering him.

"You okay, Carl?"

The words, the concern, it settles the wild feeling inside Carl. Negan has his back. Negan will always have his back. He'll take care of him. Nothing else matters. Nothing can touch that.

Carl nods his head. "Yeah."

Negan nods his head in return, considering him for a moment longer before he looks back down at Rick, his posture changing, becoming harder. He looks powerful.

"Here we are," he says as Rick struggles to his knees "Let me ask you something, Rick? Do you even know what that little trip was about?"

Carl sags. They're not done. Rick always has to make everything so much harder than it has to be. They could have walked away from this. They could have taken their punishment, learned their lesson and be living under the New World Order by now. It really is as simple as that. One death. One bashed in head. One change of attitude. But here they all are, night turning into day, and Rick doesn't get it. He is incapable of keeping his people safe and acting in their best interests. Carl's loathing writhes within him.

"Do I give you another chance?" Negan ponders aloud.

Rick is rocking in place, watching Negan's hands on Lucille. "Yeah… yes… yes," he stutters out brokenly.

Negan pats him on the back. "Okay," he says as he gets to his feet. "Alright." He looks immediately more animated. Rick is starting to follow the script. "Here it is. The grand prize game. What happens next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day." He looks up. "Get some guns to the back of their heads."

Carl sits up straighter as the men around him move, getting into position and lining up their guns. He bites down on his lip, feeling the anticipation build. They're the ones with the power and that will be understood. They will be obeyed.

"Good," Negan says. "Level with their noses so if you have to fire, it'll be a big mess."

He looks up at Carl who can't help grinning at him. They're winning.

"C'mere, baby boy," Negan says with a nod of his head.

Carl slides from the hood of the car, so glad to be moving closer to him, even if it means moving closer to Rick. He can feel Rick's eyes on him as he crosses the clearing but he doesn't look away from Negan.

As he steps up in front of him, Negan closes the gap between them, leaning down to press their foreheads together. Carl can see literally nothing else. It's just the two of them against the world. It's the most powerful feeling there is.

Negan moves forward, brushing his lips against Carl's, Carl's eye slipping closed as he makes a tiny sound in his throat. Negan's mouth brushes his again, dragging just enough to make Carl's lips part. When Negan takes a step back, licking at his own lips, Carl feels too hot all over.

"You want to try out that toy you haven't had a chance to play with yet?" Negan suggests.

Carl feels a thrill go through him, his eye lighting up. He reaches for his holster, pulling out his knife with a grin. It's beautiful and he can't think of a more perfect occasion for it to debut.

Negan nods his head appreciatively, looking at him with such love and affection, such pride. It makes Carl feel capable of anything, even the next few hellish moments.

"Rick," Negan says sharply, looking down at him. Rick flinches. Carl resolutely doesn't look at him, admiring the shiny blade of his knife instead. "You have…" Negan pauses, passing his eyes over the assembled group, "Seven people still alive and in play. And you have ten fingers. That's the current state of things. Oh, and Carl has a very big knife."

Ricks nods, his breaths shaky and raspy and audible. They're really fucking annoying. Carl wants to slit his throat just to make it stop. He wonders if that's in play.

"Here's how it works," Negan says, crouching down beside Rick and getting in his personal space. "You are going to put your hands out on the floor here, nice and flat, fingers splayed so Carl can get a decent aim." He leans in even further, looking conspiratorial, lowering his voice. "You might have noticed he has a bit of a depth perception impairment, but we are very inclusive in the Saviors and he is magnificent in more ways than I can count."

Carl tightens his jaw as Negan looks up at him with a grin. He doesn't want Rick to have any reason to pity him, doesn't want his very real weakness handed over on a plate. But Carl is magnificent despite that, that's the point. He's unstoppable.

Negan gets to his feet, swinging the bloodied Lucille up onto his shoulder as he starts to pace around Rick. "It was the good people at the Satellite outpost who saved Carl's life actually," he says. "You know, those people you murdered. He's only alive because of them, so he took it pretty hard. I promised him I was going to make that right for him. And here we are."

He stops in front of Rick, looking over at Carl whose grip on his knife tightens. He was told this wasn't about revenge, but he feels like Negan is indulging him more than a little here. He's going to let him hurt Rick on the inside and the outside. He's going to give him power over the man who so nearly took everything from Carl.

"Seven people," Negan ponders, licking his lips. "Ten fingers." He looks down at Rick, addressing him directly. "I'm going to let you keep both thumbs and your trigger finger. What is that, your right hand?"

Rick is looking around desperately, panic written in every staggered movement. There's no way out and he knows it.

"Speak when you are spoken to!" Negan demands.

"Yes," Rick says, nodding his head. "Right… right hand."

"Okay," Negan says, like Rick is a kid who's testing his patience. "If the first seven go smoothly, you can keep both thumbs and your right trigger finger. I think that's more than generous."

Rick nods shakily. "Yes." The word is automatic, Carl can tell he has no idea what he's really agreeing to. He doesn't look like he's processing anything.

"Here's the game," Negan says. "Carl is going to cut your fingers off, and you are going to let him."

That seems to break through, Rick snapping into focus and looking up at Negan with wet eyes.

"If you flinch," Negan says. "If you pull away or you plead or you act like this is anything but reasonable, one of your people gets a bullet right through their skull."

Rick tilts his head, a move that Carl has seen a million times before. It means he's on the brink. Good. It's where he deserves to be.

"No looking at him like he's a poor little brainwashed victim," Negan says. "I see you. And no looking at me like I'm forcing him, like I'm a monster. I need you to know us and accept us. And I need you to understand your place in all this. So you're going to take it, Rick. Or you're going to get everyone here killed. Do we understand each other?"

Rick is staring up at him, lost, tears streaming from his eyes, but he doesn't make a sound now. He's holding it all in. He nods his head. "Yes."

"Let's have those hands out then," Negan says brightly.

Rick shifts his weight forward, hands shaking as he extends his arms out. He places them on the ground where they skitter against the gravel, moving the tiny stones around as he forces himself to still. Carl can't help but sneer at him. He's utterly pathetic.

"Now for the stakes," Negan says. He steps behind Rick, looking over the line up, swinging Lucille to point at the woman on the far left, beside Glenn's body. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She glares at Negan, saying her name like a challenge. "Rosita."

"Rosita," Negan repeats, raising his eyebrows playfully at her. He returns to Rick's side, crouching down beside him. "This first finger is going to be for Rosita, Rick. If you so much as twitch, her brains are going to be everywhere." He laughs, a sound that gives Carl such dark satisfaction, a smile curling his own lips. "Don't fuck this up, Rick."

He looks up at Carl whose heart is beating so powerfully in his chest he feels like everyone must be able to see it. He lowers himself down at the other side of Rick, Negan practically rubbing his hands together in glee. He probably would be if he wasn't still holding Lucille.

Carl looks down, considering Rick's hands. Fuck, his aim really isn't great. He does not want to embarrass himself now. He reaches forward to Rick's left hand, bunching the rest of Rick's fingers together and pulling his pinky out as far as it will go. That gives him the cleanest shot.

Rick doesn't fight it, moving easily with him, watching their hands together. Carl pulls back, swallowing uncomfortably. Touching him feels weirdly intimate. They used to hold hands when he was a little kid. It felt safe. It makes the anger rear up inside him now.

He can still hear Rick's breaths, even though he's making an effort to be quiet now. Each one is laboured with fear. It's the only emotion Carl can bear to consider from him right now. He should be scared. That means he knows what they're capable of. That means he's a step closer to respecting them like he should.

Carl tries out the angle, pressing the blade of the knife down against the base of Rick's pinky. There is no way he can afford to miss. Blood beads up against Rick's flesh. It's sharp. Deadly. Carl could put his weight behind it and just sink the blade straight through him. It's so tempting, but the thought of it slicing through the air, the violence of it smashing through flesh and bone, is exhilarating.

He lifts the knife, looking at Rick. He's staring at the ground ahead of him, tears streaked down his cheeks, but his expression is so careful, his body primed for what comes next. He's playing the game. He's obeying their rules.

Carl looks across at Negan who gives him a little nod. Carl lines up the knife again, not pressing down this time, lifting it up in a smooth motion so he can follow the arc back down.

"Three," Negan counts, the word clear and deliberate.

Carl adjusts his grip on the handle like he does on Lucille before he swings her, feeling even more powerful this time.

"Two," Negan says, his eyes trained on Rick, looking for any reaction.

This is for every time Rick let him down. Every time he fucked up all of their lives. This is for leaving him behind.

"One."

Carl grits his teeth as he swings down, but it doesn't connect. No satisfying crunch of bone. No blood. Not even the knife cutting into the ground. Negan's hand has caught his wrist a few inches above Rick's hand. Carl gapes at him, yanking his hand back.

"You answer to me," Negan tells Rick. "You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?"

Rick nods his head. Negan grabs hold of his face, gripping it hard. Carl stares at them both, still reeling, trying to catch up.

"Speak when you are spoken to!" Negan orders, raising his voice. "You answer to me."

Rick nods brokenly in Negan's grasp. "Yes."

"You provide for me."

"Provide for you," Rick echoes.

"You belong to me," Negan says firmly. "Right?"

"Right," Rick agrees.

"Right," Negan confirms with great satisfaction, letting go of Rick with a last shove that looks almost playful, getting to his feet. Apparently it's over.

"What the fuck?" Carl demands, looking up at him. "Not even one?"

"He followed the rules," Negan says unapologetically.

"Those weren't the rules," Carl grits out.

"Carl," Negan says, his voice firm. "It's time to go."

Carl dips his head and he wants to cry all over again, he can feel it bubbling up helplessly inside him. Maybe it's just the relief that it's finally over.

As Negan lays out to Rick how it's all going to work, Carl gets to his feet, feeling dizzy. He fumbles with his knife, sliding it uneasily back into his holster as he takes a step away, looking up at the sky. It's so stark, making him squint his eye, but he doesn't want to look anywhere else. He doesn't want to think what else there is to look at.

"We'll be back for our first offering in one week," Negan says. "Until then, ta-ta."

Everyone starts to move and Carl's eye is drawn back down, feeling disconnected from the sudden productivity.

"Carl."

He looks over to Negan who reaches out an arm, beckoning him over. Carl goes to him, letting himself be pulled into Negan's side. Negan nuzzles at the top of his head as he starts to move, Carl's legs feeling numb as he moves across the gravel. He's just exhausted. Everything will be okay once he's had a chance to rest.

Negan guides him up into a truck and Carl sits in the middle between the driver and Negan, staring out of the windshield as they leave the woods behind. His body sways and he feels like he's been drugged. It reminds him of when Negan came to collect him from the Satellite outpost to take him home, high on all his medication. They took such good care of him. He can't think about that right now.

His stomach aches and his mouth is dry. He feels like he might throw up as the truck rumbles along the road. He feels every tiny imperfection of the asphalt and he wants to whimper, to hug himself because doesn't he deserve some comfort? He chastises himself for being pathetic. He's a badass. He doesn't crumple like this.

He watches the scenery go by and he starts naming objects in his head that he can see. It staves off the images for a little while. He barely looked at what they did and yet the pictures in his brain are vivid and in glorious technicolour, one leading helplessly into another until he's lost in them.

Glenn. The blood flying from the first hit. His stuttering voice, his brain already fucked but his consciousness not quite catching up with it yet, keeping him in the moment so he could speak to Maggie one more time.

Maggie. Her cries, so broken, full of grief and rage. She looked wrecked before they even started. Something wasn't right with her, the way she was hunched over, her pale clammy skin that had nothing to do with fear.

Michonne. The way she'd said Carl's name with such kindness even after he'd killed one of their people in the worst way, like she still saw that little kid from the prison. She's wrong. She must know by now how wrong she is. But the way she said his name still breaks his heart like he was clearly breaking hers.

Daryl. He's in the back of one of the trucks now and then he'll be in a cell. He's like a wild animal, all instinct and no smarts. He didn't punch Negan when anyone was being threatened though. He did it when Negan called them out for leaving Carl behind. Guilty conscience? Carl doesn't let the thought settle that maybe Daryl was angry they lost Carl in the first place.

Carl's mind darts from one to another, memories of them being a team, keeping each other alive, keeping each other going, all mixed with vivid images from last night, soaked in blood and terror. It all goes around and around inside his head until he wants to scream.

He stares out of the windscreen. Tree. Grass. Road. Sky. It's not enough to make the carousel stop.

His mind catches suddenly on Rick's fingers, on his knife, on the rage he'd felt when Negan had caught his hand, stopping him from seeing it through. He was such a brat. He was so disrespectful. In front of everyone. He undermined him.

The tears finally spring to his eye, rolling down his cheek as his teeth begin to chatter. He's so ashamed. He wipes at his face, bowing his head and pressing into Negan. He doesn't deserve his comfort but he doesn't know how to survive without it.

Negan shifts down in his seat as he reaches across to place a comforting hand on Carl's thigh. Carl rests his head down on Negan's shoulder, sniffling, fresh tears spilling down his cheek.

"Yeah," Negan says, his voice sounding tired. "Your dad is a real piece of shit."

"Don't call him that," Carl says, closing his eye and trying so hard to make it just the two of them.

"Don't call him a piece of shit?" Negan asks.

"Don't call him my dad," Carl responds.

"You're right," Negan agrees. "He doesn't deserve you."

He places a kiss on the top of Carl's head, stroking his thumb over the worn material of Carl's jeans as they keep driving, and Carl doesn't sleep but he's not sure he's awake either. He doesn't know what he is anymore.

They get back to the Sanctuary and Carl feels dead on his feet. Negan guides him up to his room, depositing him on the edge of his bed, and Carl comes undone. He's not even aware of it happening, he just begins to sob, his shoulders shaking, his whole body heaving with it.

"Ah, shit," Negan says.

He goes over to Carl's fridge taking out a bottle of water and twisting off the cap. He holds it out to him.

"Sip."

Carl takes it with a shaking hand, trying to pull himself together enough to even remember how to breathe. He lifts the bottle to his lips, forcing himself to take a small sip, the cool water spreading over his tongue before he instinctively swallows. The cleansing sensation takes him out of himself for a moment and he takes another sip.

"There you go," Negan tells him with a sigh as he stands over him.

Carl looks up at him and he feels it all fall apart again, a sob escaping his lips. "Are you mad at me?"

"Am I what?" Negan asks, looking at him like he's speaking a foreign language.

"Please don't be mad at me," Carl says, shaking his head. There's a gnawing hollow inside him that feels like it's going to swallow him and he can't stand it. "If you're mad at me I'll jump off the roof."

Negan raises an eyebrow at him. "That's a little bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"I swear to god…" Carl says desperately.

"Carl," Negan says firmly, bending down to get at eye-level with him. "I'm not mad."

He waits, looking steadily at Carl until it sinks in, Carl nodding his head meekly, feeling striped away.

"Sip," Negan instructs, sounding like Carl is on his last nerve right now.

Carl takes a sip as Negan sinks down to his knees, unlacing Carl's boots.

"And by the way," Negan says, pulling Carl's boots off and tossing them aside with a lack of care that feels deliberate. "Threatening to jump off a roof if someone's mad at you is batshit crazy behaviour. What the fuck is going on with you?"

"I don't know," Carl says with completely sincerity.

Negan looks up at him with a heavy sigh and so much affection behind his tired eyes. "I am fucking exhausted."

He takes the bottle out of Carl's hand as he gets to his feet, placing it on Carl's nightstand. As he undresses Carl, an act that's purely practical and not the least bit sensual, Carl tries to cooperate as best he can but his body feels heavy and numb. He shuffles back once he's in his T-shirt and underwear, slipping his legs beneath the blankets. He looks up at Negan.

"Stay?"

Negan nods, shrugging off his leather jacket. When he climbs into the bed, laying on his back, Carl clings to him, resting his head on Negan's chest and wrapping around him as much as he can. It's too bright in here and he's grateful that his eye is pressed against Negan's body, blocking it all out.

"You're my Daddy," he says, gripping him a little tighter.

"Yes I am," Negan agrees. "I'm your Daddy and you're my baby boy."

"Always," Carl promises. He hopes Negan knows how much he means it.

Chapter 14

Carl wakes up gripping his blankets in an empty bed. He rolls onto his back, looking up at Negan who's standing over the bed.

"Come on," Negan says. "You can't sleep all day."

His face looks drawn, dark circles under his eyes. Carl wants to reach out and pull him back to bed. He doesn't want to face today yet. He doesn't know if he can handle whatever comes next.

"I need your feet on the floor before I leave this room, Carl," Negan tells him.

Carl is immediately thrown back to a time before, when he was a little kid at summer camp. It's what the counsellors used to say to them in a morning, forcing them to sit up and put their feet on the floor of the cabin to prove they weren't going to roll over and go back to sleep.

Was that really him? It doesn't feel like a memory so much as a story from someone else's life. Is he the one who used to get scared of how dark it got in the woods at night? Is he the one whose homesickness always presented as a stomach ache rather than tears?

Homesick. He is home. He refuses to let even the slightest doubt creep in. He pushes away the silhouette of a sheriff's hat that's been haunting him since last night.

"Carl," Negan says, his voice more forceful.

"Yeah," Carl says quickly, sitting up and swinging his legs down onto the floor.

Negan nods, looking down at Carl's bare legs, his feet against the concrete, and Carl wonders what he's thinking. With a sigh, Negan takes a step back.

"Lucky for you, I am too busy to go chasing up on Jason so you get the day off," Negan says, moving towards the door. "Be productive, please."

"I will," Carl agrees. "I can help you."

"We're all set," Negan dismisses.

"No debrief?" Carl asks.

Negan considers him for a moment from across the room. He feels so far away. "I'll catch you up."

"Okay," Carl says, not daring to argue.

If he's not invited to the meeting, that means they don't think Carl's opinion is relevant to the discussion. Or he's the topic of discussion. Either way, it feels like being cut out. But Negan said he'll catch him up. He's just protecting Carl from invasive questions and curious looks and gossip. It went well last night. Let the newness of it blow over and Carl will be right back at Negan's right hand at that table.

"I'll see you later, Daddy?" Carl asks, putting a sweetness into his voice that's unintentional. He's fawning. He can't handle being rejected right now.

Negan smiles at him but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's probably just the exhaustion that makes them so heavy. "You absolutely will, baby boy," Negan tells him. "Promise."

Carl nods his head. Negan would never make him a promise he couldn't keep.

After Negan leaves, Carl is tempted to just fall back on the bed and go to sleep. He doesn't even know what time it is. He looks down at his feet on the floor, wiggling his toes. He's going to be good. He's going to be so good.

Getting to his feet he pulls on some clothes, heading to the bathroom. He misses hot showers, properly hot showers, with steam and a door that locks and a fluffy towel. He has none of those luxuries but at least it's not freezing like at the prison.

He still remembers the way Beth had squealed the first time she'd tried them out. The shrill sound had echoed down the halls. He wonders if she's still around. Carl hopes that Maggie has her right now. Then he remembers that he doesn't care. He doubts they wasted any time wondering what was going on with him.

He tips his head back, drenching his hair as the water trickles into his ears, drowning everything else out. It's blissful for a moment, until it sends a shiver down his spine. He steps out from under the water, hitting off the shower in irritation, wrapping his towel around his waist.

Wherever Alexandria is, maybe they have fluffy towels. Carl should let Negan know that he wants some. He'd make it happen. Maybe he'd threaten Rick with dire consequences if he doesn't find them some. The thought makes a satisfied smile spread over Carl's face. They owe the Saviors a great debt. Make them fucking work for it.

He goes back to his room, sitting at his desk and looking over his books. He's been slacking on his history project with everything that was going on, but there's another victory to document. He picks up his pen, hovering it over a blank page, but as soon as he starts to put it in any kind of context in his head, it's too much. He knows he should get the facts down while they're fresh but he just doesn't know if has it in him right now. It brings back that gnawing stomach ache. Or maybe that's the fact that he hasn't eaten anything today.

He drops the pen down, opening up the fridge and considering his options. He craves sugar, chocolate, comfort food. He remembers the chocolate pudding, sitting on the rooftop and staring at the horizon like there was going to be some great reunion. He stayed still for all that time. No one ever caught up with him. Nobody waited for him. They were all just gone. Now they're going to act like Carl is the bad guy.

He wants to throw things, he wants to scream, he's so fucking angry. This is something darker than the fury he felt after the prison. They survived, they made it out, they built something. Carl had to start again from scratch while they had each other, all that support and strength to carry on. He had to do it all on his own.

He doesn't understand the Satellite outpost. He doesn't understand how the people he knew could be capable of something like that. Carl was demonised for killing one kid who refused to drop his weapon, but they can massacre a whole community in their sleep? It doesn't make any sense. The Saviors never threatened them. They help people. They're helping Hilltop, keeping them safe. One necessary death to bring them into the fold and teach them how it has to be. That doesn't deserve the loss of a whole outpost of good, hardworking people.

Carl feels it all churning away in his gut and he closes the fridge door. He can't eat right now. He doesn't feel like he can do anything. Just existing already feels like it's too much work.

He gets to his feet, glancing at the meeting room door before heading the opposite way down the corridor into the lounge. Frankie and Tanya are in there and Carl is so glad to see them his knees almost buckle. He sits down beside Frankie on one of the couches, Tanya coming across to join them. It's only then that he registers the sympathetic looks they're giving him.

"Hey," Frankie says softly. "We heard about your dad."

It hits Carl like a brick. He's so carefully organised his thoughts not to allow Rick in. Thinking about the group, being left behind, that's something he can maybe begin to process. But his dad is alive. His dad is still leading them like he has any right to. His dad carried on without him. When he was a kid he would never have believed that could be true. But he's not a kid anymore.

"Does everyone know?" Carl asks, the thought coating him with shame. Gossip spreads fast.

"I don't think so," Frankie says. "Sherry heard it from Dwight."

Carl feels himself scowl. "Why is Sherry talking to Dwight?"

"Don't worry about it," Tanya tells him. "How are you?"

Carl stares blankly at the top of the coffee table in front of him. "I don't know."

"It must be a lot," Tanya says.

"Too much," Carl whispers.

Frankie puts an arm around his shoulder, stroking his hair back from his face, Tanya holding onto his arm with a comforting grasp, and it's only then that he realises he's crying. He's such a fucking mess. He wipes at his face, sniffling.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, trying to keep the sobs inside. "I'm just tired. It was a really long night. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Frankie tells him.

"I think you should lie down," Tanya says. "We got your back. Get some rest."

"I'm supposed to be productive," Carl says, remembering Negan's words.

"Yeah, well, you don't look very productive right now," Tanya says. "You need to look after yourself. And if you can't do that right now, you need to let us look after you."

Carl looks up at her, feeling tears threatening to spill over again, but this time with relief. "Okay," he agrees.

He slips down on the couch, Tanya and Frankie moving to give him space as he lies himself down. He feels Frankie's hand in his hair as he closes his eye and it reminds him of his mom putting him to bed. She would shake her head at how long his hair has gotten. Do what's right. He wonders if she would agree that he has, that he is. He wonders what she would think of Rick right now. Goodnight, love. His body unravels as he slips into sleep.

"No!"

Negan's furious voice invades Carl's dreamless sleep as he feels himself tugged into a sitting position. He opens his eye to see Negan's hand around his wrist, Carl's arm pulled taut towards him. Tanya moves round the coffee table and places both her hands on Negan's chest, pushing with all her might. It only moves Negan half a step but it's enough to make him let go of Carl's arm, giving her an indignant look.

"Leave him alone," Tanya practically snarls. Carl has never heard her sound like that before. "He's going through something, you need to back off."

"Are you under the impression that I'm unaware of that?" Negan asks, stepping up to her. He towers over her, the set of his shoulders making it look like he could crush her in a heartbeat. "You better watch how you're fucking speaking to me."

He gives her a cold stare and she backs down, taking a step back.

"He can't sleep now," Negan says. "Unlike you ladies who like to coddle him, I'm actually looking out for his well being. You're going to fuck up his sleep schedule completely." He looks down at Carl. "We're going to go for walk, wake you up a bit."

Carl nods. "I could use some fresh air." He gets to his feet, turning and grabbing Tanya's hand, giving it a squeeze in thanks. She was maybe overstepping, but she was doing it with good intentions. "I'll see you guys later."

"I will see you later, too, Tanya," Negan says with a lift of his eyebrows that would look playful if it wasn't for the tension in the room.

When they get outside, Carl takes a deep breath, filling his lungs. It makes him feel a tiny bit more human. It's a start. They weave through the gardens, watching the workers focused on their tasks. Farmers. It's not for Carl, but he respects it. That's what makes this place work. Everyone has a job to do.

The new world needs farmers, but those farmers can't be the same people who are trying to protect what they're building. Rick clearly isn't a farmer anymore. Carl wonders how it works at his camp now.

He looks up at Negan. There's only one thing he needs to worry about when it comes to Rick. "How did the meeting go?"

"Alexandria is on the books," Negan says. "We're not giving them a week though, we'll go over in a couple of days, seal the deal, make sure they're behaving themselves."

Carl nods his head but the thought makes his gut twist. None of them deserve his sympathy, and they'll only be in for more pain if they deserve it, but he feels it anyway, some flicker deep inside him that's sharp and bright. He doesn't want to analyse it.

"Hilltop will get their straighten up and fly right warning for making friends where they shouldn't," Negan goes on. "Send some of the dead in there to remind them just why they're paying for our services, and what happens if they don't."

"Yeah," Carl agrees, because he feels like he has to say something.

"Simon's going to be taking over operations at Hilltop, Gavin's got things working smoothly at the Kingdom and I will be having Alexandria as my personal pet project," Negan says with a smirk. "They are going to have to prove themselves to me."

"And I'm with you?" Carl asks. Negan looks down at him. "I mean, I'm with you whatever, obviously," Carl says, feeling like an idiot for overcompensating, but he doesn't want there to be any doubt about that. "But usually I'm teamed with you. So does that mean my focus is on Alexandria too?"

"If you want it to be," Negan responds.

"I want to be with you," Carl says. "And I want them taught right from the start."

"That's the spirit," Negan says. He stops walking, considering Carl for a moment. "You know, you really do look like shit, kid. No wonder they were mothering the hell out of you upstairs."

Carl shifts on his feet. "Tanya's not in trouble, right?"

"That's between me and Tanya," Negan responds.

"She was just looking out for me, she didn't mean to be disrespectful," Carl insists.

"I'm sure she can make it up to me," Negan says, starting to walk again. Carl follows in step beside him. "What have you had to eat today?"

Carl hesitates. "Nothing."

Negan spins around on him, looking exasperated. "Christ, kid, where are your basic survival instincts? Do I have to remind you to breathe as well?" He shakes his head with a huff. "Alright, follow me, I'm making you dinner."

Carl goes with him in a haze as Negan collects various ingredients from the gardens, stopping by the chicken coup on the way back in and grabbing some eggs. He takes Carl through to one of the kitchens where a few people are working.

"Out," Negan demands, grabbing a stool and placing it in front of a counter. The other people don't hesitate to follow his instruction, clearing out immediately. Negan gestures to the stool, looking at Carl. "Sit."

Carl sits down and Negan goes over to the large refrigerator, pulling out some orange juice and pouring a large glass, placing it in front of Carl.

"Drink," Negan says, already stepping away. "Let's get that blood sugar up."

Carl takes a sip as Negan turns away, busying himself with his ingredients. The juice tastes bitter and sweet at the same time, sitting heavy in Carl's stomach. He drinks it slowly, watching Negan's back as he chops and stirs. It feels intimate, even though they're not talking, not even facing each other. It's exactly the comfort that Carl needs right now.

Once he's finished cooking, Negan turns around with a flourish, presenting a plate of food to Carl.

"Omelette for protein, fries for carbs and veggies for nutrients and shit," Negan says, placing it in front of Carl along with a knife and fork. "Eat up."

"Thank you," Carl says earnestly.

Negan nods, a meaningful look in his eyes that tells Carl he understands the depth of that thanks and that he accepts it.

Carl picks up the cutlery, starting to eat, and as soon as the warm food hits his stomach he starts to feel better. No wonder he's been such a mess all day. No sleep, no food. He's gone longer without both of course, on the road. He knows just how weak a body can get and still keep going.

He pushes the thought away. He doesn't ever have to worry about that again. He just lets himself enjoy the food as Negan leans against the counter across from him, watching every bite like it's feeding him too. As Carl finishes up, he manages to offer Negan a real smile. Negan smiles back and it reaches his tired eyes this time before they flick down, staring at Carl's empty plate like he's considering it.

"I know that you're going through something," Negan says, meeting his gaze. "I'm not some heartless monster."

"I know that," Carl assures him.

"You want to talk about it?" Negan asks. "What happened yesterday?"

Carl shakes his head, feeling himself shrinking down. "No."

Negan considers him for a moment, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. "I'm not standing in your way of a reconciliation. So long as he knows his place."

"I don't want anything to do with him," Carl insists, practically spitting out the words.

Negan gives a shrug, picking up Carl's empty plate and placing it in the sink. "Did you know either of the two who were killed?"

Carl feels his chest clench. "Glenn."

"Which one's Glenn?" Negan asks, turning back to face him.

"The second one," Carl says, staring down at the counter. It feels wrong to reduce him to that.

"Hmm," Negan considers as he comes to stand beside him. "You want to talk about him?"

Carl shakes his head, knowing there's a pleading look in his eyes. He doesn't even want to think about him. Or what Maggie is going through right now. What they're all probably going through.

"Okay," Negan responds.

Carl reaches out, taking hold of the lapel of Negan's leather jacket, using it to steady himself as he gets to his feet. "Thank you for making me dinner, Daddy."

Negan puts an arm around him, warmth in his eyes. "I look after my baby boy. Always."

Carl nods, still gripping Negan's lapel as he pushes up onto his tiptoes, Negan meeting him halfway for a kiss. It's chaste but familiar and comforting. Carl leans his weight against Negan, needing to feel him hold him up. Negan is strong and steady, his hand around Carl's waist tightening as the kiss lingers on a moment longer. It's exactly what Carl needs to feel safe.

As Negan pulls away, he pushes Carl's hair away from his face with his other hand, exposing the scarred side of his face. "If I take you back to the lounge, can you promise you're going to stay awake until bedtime?"

"Promise," Carl responds.

When they get upstairs, Tanya, Frankie and Sherry are sat around with drinks. Frankie has a pen in her hand, a book resting in her lap.

"I fed and watered him for you," Negan says. "If he falls asleep, all of you are running laps until I'm satisfied."

"I'm not going to fall asleep," Carl tells him.

"Tanya, my dear wife," Negan says, beckoning her over with a finger. "Could I possibly borrow you?"

Tanya gets to her feet, leaving her drink on the table. She passes by Carl on her way to Negan and he gives her a sympathetic look. He hopes she's not in real trouble because of him. She gives him a conspiratorial smile in response before being guided out of the room by Negan.

Carl drops down on the couch beside Frankie, Sherry sat opposite them.

"We found a crossword book," Frankie says. "Want to help?"

Carl remembers the crossword book he found after the prison and how he ended up throwing it out of the window. "I'm not good at crosswords."

"It's a team effort," Frankie assures him.

"And the more you drink, the more fun it becomes," Sherry says, holding up her whiskey. "Do you want one?"

"That stuff's gross," Carl responds.

"It gets the job done," Sherry says with a shrug. "What's the next clue?"

Frankie looks down at the book. "Sections of a poem."

Carl doesn't know many of the answers, but it takes his mind off everything else going on. It's nice to spend time with friends, even if he's still not sure he trusts Sherry with that label. She seems nice enough and the more she drinks, the less she looks at Carl like she's studying him.

Tanya is gone for a couple of hours and when she finally returns, she's holding a cake with a large slice cut out of it. She places it down on the table as she sits next to Carl on the couch.

"Help yourselves."

"You've been baking?" Carl asks, confused. "What happened with Negan?"

"I got a lecture about respect," Tanya says. "And a refresher on the vows I took when I became his wife. Then he told me to bake a cake."

Carl frowns, not getting it. "As punishment?"

"I don't try and second guess what goes on in his head," Tanya responds. "But after he tasted it he assured me that all was forgiven."

"That was all?" Carl asks.

"I'm on notice," Tanya shrugs. "But that was it. He's happy he's put me in my place."

Carl sighs. "I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault," Tanya insists. She reaches forward, grabbing a slice of cake. "Here, you should try this. It's made from hazelnuts and olive oil which sounds gross but it's amazing."

Carl takes a tentative bite which immediately melts on his tongue. He makes a noise of approval as the flavours spread over his tongue. "You're like a wizard."

"Baking and magic are pretty much indistinguishable," Tanya responds. "And Negan said you can go to bed after you have cake."

"Thanks," Carl says. "What's he doing now?"

"Just hanging out in his room," Tanya says. "But I bet he's going to bed soon too. He looks wrecked."

Carl thinks about Negan, sleepy and vulnerable and alone in his room. He wouldn't let anyone else see that. But the thought of him with his guard down, really truly down, is something Carl doesn't think he's ever seen. He might drop some of the facade when it's just the two of them, but his protectiveness over Carl means he never quite lets go. The thought of him now, stripped bare of all pretences in his room, wraps around Carl like a blanket when he finally falls asleep.

The next morning, Carl goes through the motions with careful predictability. He eats his breakfast, he has class with Jason, he makes a start on his reading. He wants things to be normal. He fakes it well enough that Negan gives him the usual flirtatious smile when they pass in the hallway, but he's not fooling himself. His entire world has shifted on its axis. How is he supposed to pretend that didn't happen?

It feels like a betrayal every time he thinks about Daryl locked up downstairs or Maggie lost in her grief or Michonne remembering Carl how he was. No one could blame him for being curious. He needs to understand. He needs to know what happened after the prison. Then he can let go of all these intrusive thoughts and focus on the Saviors. He runs a finger over his brand, tracing the shape of Lucille, and then gets to his feet. He'll be stronger for them once he knows.

He checks the corridor for any sign of Negan before he heads downstairs. All the way downstairs. The only other time he's been here was when Negan took him to the armoury and let him pick out his gun. He knows this is where the cells are though. He knows it's where Daryl will be.

Carl walks with confidence down the corridors and nobody questions him. They wouldn't dare. He outranks everyone stuck down in this basement. It's only when he finds himself at the cells that he starts to be cautious.

There's music blaring but there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Carl grabs the key labelled 1 from the hooks on the wall, stepping around to the large metal doors. Cell is a generous term. Some bars would probably be very welcome to the prisoners stuck inside.

Carl checks the corridor one last time and then turns the key in the lock, letting himself inside. The door is only open for a moment before Carl closes it behind himself, but it lights up the cell long enough to see Daryl sitting in the far corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. He's naked and filthy, eyes slits at the sudden brightness.

Carl thought it might be a little more humane than that down here. He's being kept in worse conditions than an animal. Carl slides down the wall beside the door, crouching opposite Daryl. Light is filtering in through a gap under the door, Carl's eye slowly adjusting to the shadowy gloom.

"Who survived the attack on the prison?" Carl demands. "Who lived?"

Daryl is silent for a moment and Carl thinks he's not going to answer. When he does, his voice is so rough that Carl suspects the pause was just him working through the effort to get the words out.

"Carol," he says. "Judith."

Carl feels a flash of fury go through him. "You're lying. Judith's dead. I saw the blood."

Daryl lifts his head, staring at Carl. He gives a shake of his head. "She's alive."

"That's not true," Carl says, his voice wavering.

"She's doing great," Daryl says, the words so genuine sounding. "She just learnt to take a couple of steps."

It washes over Carl like a wave of grief, but it should be the opposite of grief. Tears brim up in his eye, his bottom lip shaking. He didn't realise how much he missed her until he knew she was alive to miss.

He thinks about all the time they spent together at the prison, those days when Rick wouldn't even acknowledge her and Carl had to step up. But Rick got to keep her. It doesn't seem fair. Rick has had her all this time.

The door is pulled open and Dwight stands in the doorway, looking down at Carl. "I don't think Negan would be too happy if he found you down here."

Carl pushes himself to his feet, glaring at him. "I have more shit on you than you have on me."

"I'm trying to do you a favour," Dwight says, giving him a look.

Carl shoves past him to get out of the cell. "Fuck you."

He goes back up to his room, slamming the door behind himself and instantly regretting it. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself right now. He doesn't want anyone to ask if he's okay because he's fucking not but he doesn't feel like that's allowed.

Why did it have to be them? Why do they have to be the ones who took out the Satellite outpost? Why do they have to be the cold blooded enemy? Carl can't forgive that. There are so many ways in which their paths could have crossed, they could have reunited with the hugs and warmth they used to share and Carl could have brought them into the Saviors on good terms. They would have been unstoppable.

It's a fairytale maybe, but it didn't have to be like this. It shouldn't ever have been like this. How did they become such monsters? Carl feels like he's losing them all over again, but it's worse than that. None of them were there for him when it counted. None of them tried to save him. Even if the reunion was under neutral terms, Carl's not sure he could forgive that. He was left behind, left for dead. They've kept each other safe all this time, they cried for their fallen in the clearing, they had it in them all along. Just not when it came to Carl.

He slumps down into his desk chair, looking down at his reading. This is what matters now. Negan has given him responsibilities and Carl won't let him down. His enrichment helps the Sanctuary grow. Thinking about the past will only make him weaker. They only ever brought him down.

With anger fuelling his determination, Carl finds that he's more focused than ever. He notes down questions and discussion points as he reads the chapters that Jason has set him for tomorrow's lesson, feeling engaged with his learning like he hasn't since before the Hilltop. Negan is giving him an opportunity. He believes in him where everyone else let him down. Carl will not let that go to waste.

He goes straight from his textbooks to his history project and starts outlining the events in the clearing that he couldn't bear to even think about the day before. It all feels so much clearer now. He needs to remove the emotions. A factual account of how Alexandria were beaten into submission. He smiles at the thought.

There's something therapeutic about writing it all out, offering him a distance and perspective that he was lacking in his desperate, sleep deprived brain. In his retelling, the only thing that matters about these people is that they attacked the Saviors unprovoked. The only thing that matters about them is that they didn't get away with.

A knock at the door has him looking up as Negan steps into the room.

"Hey," Carl says, turning back to finish the sentence he was writing.

Negan waits, sitting down on the edge of Carl's bed. When Carl looks up at him, he doesn't smile. Carl feels himself falter.

"Dwight tells me you went to have a chat with Daryl in his cell."

Carl makes a noise of frustration, dropping his pen down onto his desk and turning in his chair to face Negan. "Yeah, well, Dwight has been -"

"Don't care," Negan cuts in, the words obnoxiously drawn out. Carl frowns at him. "What were you doing down there, Carl?"

Carl shrugs, clasping his hands together in his lap and staring down at them as they twist together. "I just needed to know something."

"I don't appreciate you telling me one thing and doing another," Negan responds.

Carl creases his brow, looking up at him. "What did I say?"

"I asked if you wanted to talk about," Negan points out. "I gave you the opportunity to tell me how you were feeling. To mention that you had questions that could be answered by our little friend downstairs."

"It's not like that," Carl insists. "It was too much yesterday. Today I was… looking for closure, I guess. I don't know."

"And you thought the best way to do that was to go behind my back?" Negan asks, his voice eerily calm.

Carl sighs, feeling himself shrinking into his seat. It wasn't intentional. He didn't set out to sneak around, but right now his actions look a lot like betrayal.

He looks up, meeting Negan's eyes. "He says my sister's alive."

Negan looks curious, licking his lips. "Judith's alive?"

Carl can't help but smile. Negan remembers her name. "That's what he said."

"Well, I hope that's true," Negan says, getting to his feet. "But that doesn't get you off the hook. From now on, you do not do shit without running it by me first. Understood?"

Carl blinks at him, thrown by the change in tone. He looks up at Negan, towering over him. "Yeah."

"Not good enough," Negan tells him. "I have never had to punish you before, baby boy, because you have always been so good for me, but this shit will not stand. It is disrespectful to go against the protocols I set up for our guests down in the cells, not to mention the fact that you fucking undermined me, Carl."

Carl's face is hot with humiliation, tears pricking at his eyes, but he forces them away. Negan's right and Carl has to take it.

"I'm sorry."

"Your movement privileges have been revoked until further notice," Negan states. "That means that you do not walk around the Sanctuary unless it is within one pace of me. You can be in here, you can go to the bathroom, you can use the lounge. Anywhere else, you'll be escorted by me. Got it?"

Carl nods his head. "Yes, Daddy."

"Stand up," Negan tell him. Carl gets to his feet without hesitation. Negan gives him a smile of approval. "Now give me a kiss."

Carl moves the couple of steps it takes the close the gap between them, his hands going to Negan's shoulders as he pushes onto his tiptoes, brushing their mouths together. Negan's hands go to his waist as he kisses him back, a firm pressure that communicates so much care and love. Carl makes a noise against him, parting his lips, letting Negan lick his way inside. He wants to do nothing but live in moments like this where everything makes sense.

As Negan pulls away, he guides Carl down from his tiptoes with the grip he has on his waist, rubbing his thumbs over Carl's sides as a thank you for following his direction.

"I know that you're a good boy," Negan says. "I'm just going to need you to prove that to everybody else."

"I will, Daddy," Carl says. "I promise."

"I know you will, baby boy," Negan says, hands slipping away from Carl's waist. "I'm going to come get you for dinner, okay?"

Carl nods his head, smiling at Negan as he leaves. Carl won't let him down.

Chapter 15

The punishment only lasts for a couple of days and really, Carl finds it healing. He likes his world being smaller for a little while. It reminds him of those early days when he didn't know his way around the Sanctuary and he relied on the kindness of Negan's wives and Negan's own company.

He spends time with Frankie and Tanya who are always kind and soft with him, making him feel like he deserves it. He plays games and he chats and he enjoys the company he let slip away while he was obsessed with the Satellite outpost attack. The bad guys have been caught and put in their place. Carl won't let them steal any more time from him.

On the second day, Amber is brought up to the lounge, young and blonde and terrified looking. She has help from the wives to get cleaned up and dressed in white and then Sherry coaches her through what comes next. Carl doesn't think it's her place. She's only been doing this a couple of months herself.

When he's not with the wives, Carl is working on his history project that he has a renewed vigour for. More than ever Carl understands that their side of things needs to be documented. History is written by the victors. Their story will prevail, he's going to make sure of that.

Interspersed between all of this, Carl walks at Negan's side, paraded for all to see his place. Carl doesn't shy away from it, doesn't act embarrassed to have to be accompanied. He looks up at Negan with the genuine adoration and loyalty that he feels and he wants them all to see. He wants them to understand. This is his man. This is his leader. He wears the expression like he wears his brand, with fierce devotion.

Negan walks him back to his room after dinner and Carl knows that he has Amber to consummate with, but he still comes into Carl's room with him, closing the door behind them.

"Not a single pout or look of indignation in two whole days," Negan says. "I'm impressed."

"I let you down," Carl says. "I want to prove myself."

"Oh, you did," Negan assures him, moving over to Carl's bed and sitting down. "You did good. Your movement privileges have been restored."

Carl smiles. He wouldn't mind the punishment itself going on longer, but he's relieved to have made it up to Negan. He hates the thought of disappointing him more than anything. It causes him physical pain.

"Anyway," Negan says, leaning back on his outstretched arms as he looks across at Carl. "Tomorrow is the day."

Carl nods gravely. "Alexandria."

"That's right," Negan says. "I'll be going out there with a bunch of my men for the first pick-up. I'm going to need you to decide whether you're coming with me or not. I have no dog in that fight, Carl, I want you to understand that. If you want to sit this one out, that's fine by me. If you want to have a little sit down with Rick, I am more than happy to facilitate that."

"United front," Carl says. "If I'm not there, they'll wonder why. I showed everybody here where my loyalties are. They need to know that too."

Negan smiles, slow and satisfied. "Good answer." With a sigh, he gets to his feet, crossing the room to give Carl a brief kiss. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some fucking to do." He gives Carl another kiss, this one lingering.

"Have fun," Carl whispers as they pull apart.

Negan looks at him with smug amusement. "Oh, I always do."

The next morning, Carl refuses to have any expectations. He would usually be relishing the thought of walking into Alexandria, fuelled by the high of winning like after he killed that kid at the Hilltop. This should be a celebration. He has no idea what he's walking into this time though. He doesn't know what ghosts are waiting for him. He doesn't know how he'll react to seeing Rick in front of him again.

Carl picks up his knife from his nightstand, gazing at the blade. Rick. Carl remembers the broken way he said his name. The heartbroken expression on his face. Carl was always letting him down.

He presses the tip of the knife to his own finger, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to feel it bite. He remembers how the blood beaded up on Rick's skin. He remembers how pale and sickly he looked, a streak of somebody else's blood across his face. He remembers the heaving sobs as he hyperventilated.

He remembers the way he made it all stop when Carl lifted his knife. He was going to let him do it. He was going to get the job done and save his people. Carl grits his teeth, sliding the knife into his holster. He's not going to waste any of his admiration on that.

Negan has Carl meet him down by the trucks, a deliberate move to make it clear to everyone that Carl's punishment is over. It makes Carl hold his head up and walk with confidence. He's taking his rightful spot at Negan's side not because he needs keeping an eye on, but because it's where they both want him to be. It's what he's earned. This is his place on the hierarchy.

On the drive to Alexandria, his leg pressed against Negan's in the cab of the truck, he thinks about the things he can control. He can control his own reactions. He can choose who he looks at, who he speaks to, what is worth his energy. He can be certain the Saviors have his back and no one will be allowed to step out of line. He can find out if Judith is alive. That might be the only thing he really cares about.

At the end of a nondescript road, Carl sees a broken down house against the backdrop of corrugated metal walls. Beyond, there's rooftops, but no clue as to what else might be held within. They're well protected. Prepared. No wonder they felt untouchable.

They drive up to the gates, huge metal slats blocking their way, a screen stopping them from getting a view inside. As they come to a stop, Negan rubs his hands together.

"Alrighty," he says, raising his eyebrows at Carl in anticipation. "Here we go."

He hops out of the truck with Lucille and Carl watches as the men slip out from other trucks in a carefully coordinated way. It always gives Carl a thrill when he sees a plan from the meeting room table play out so effortlessly in front of him. They're in total control of this.

Negan steps up to the gates, banging with Lucille, the men hanging back to give him space to make his entrance. Carl sits back and watches, not able to hear the exchange between Negan and a man he doesn't recognise. But then Rick is coming into view and Carl finds himself leaning forward, looking through the windscreen.

He's wearing the sheriff's hat. Of course he is. It makes Carl bite down on his own tongue before he even realises what he's doing. He looks more put together than he did in the clearing, a button down shirt and neatly trimmed beard. He's clean. Safe. Complacent.

Carl is so focused on him that he barely notices the walker approaching from behind. Negan takes it out with one swing, looking like he's having the time of his life. Carl smiles, watching him walk back over to Rick who looks petrified.

Carl knows it has nothing to do with the walker, they faced hundreds of those together. That means it's them who illicit the reaction out of Rick. That means that maybe he understands the severity of this. There's a fleeting moment of relief that Carl frowns away. He's only glad because that means they won't cause any trouble. He couldn't give a fuck if they mess up and more of them have to die.

Any further thoughts, good or bad, die away the second Negan hands Rick Lucille. He's not fit to hold her. Carl knows what Negan is doing, making Rick hold the bloody murder weapon of his friends, but it doesn't matter, it makes Carl furious. Rick won't give her the respect she deserves. He's not worthy. Carl had to earn that.

He slips out of the truck as Negan steps inside the gates, followed by his men. Carl skirts around the edge, getting his first real view inside. It's like going back in time. Suburbia. It looks so cosy that Carl wants to cry. And then he wants to kill every fucking one of them.

Rick looks away from Daryl at Negan's instruction, but then his eyes fall on Carl. He lifts his head a little higher as though taking him in. Carl doesn't shy away from it. He stands defiantly tall amongst the men. He's one of them now.

Just like this is the first clear look at Rick that Carl gets in the light of day, this is the first time Rick is really seeing Carl, not from on his knees and through snot and tears and terror. Eye to eye.

So many things cross over his face, things that Carl can't begin to understand. He doesn't want to. Rick's eyes move over him as though he's trying desperately to commit him to memory but then they stop, his brow creased into a frown, and Carl automatically looks down at himself. The brand. Rick's looking at his brand. Carl turns his arm, lets him get a good look, unashamed. He wants to make sure Rick really understands what it is, what it stands for.

Rick's eyes shine with wetness, looking utterly distraught as his lips part dumbly but nothing comes out. Carl doesn't know what he's seeing, but it's not what Carl is trying to convey, he's certain of that.

"What?" Carl demands.

Rick blinks, looking up at him as though he's been startled. He shakes in head in something like an apology and then he's looking at the scar on Carl's face, the missing eye, the messed up socket. There's such pity in his expression, like he's looking at a kicked puppy.

Carl looks away but out of the corner of his eye he can see Rick's posture changing. He puts his shoulders back, shifts his weight, and Carl looks back at him, curious. His face looks gentler. He's putting all of his effort into this.

"It's so good to see you, Carl."

Carl feels the words hit him in the chest like a bullet. He would have given anything for this a year ago. In the prison yard. On the road. In that suburban street that Carl holed up in while he was trying to figure out what came next. He would have given anything for his dad. But Rick didn't come. This is just too little, too late.

Carl looks away, seeking out Negan instead. It instantly makes him feel calmer. He can control his reactions. Rick is not going to get under his skin. The little smile that Negan offers him floods Carl with all the reward chemicals his brain needs to push Rick and that pathetic look on his face aside.

"Alright," Negan says. "Let's get this show on the road. Carl?"

Carl takes a step forward, looking to the men around him. His army. "Search the houses. No stone unturned. Move out."

The men respond, moving in their pre-agreed teams. They all know what to do. Carl watches them go, Negan clapping his hands together in a show of glee. He turns back to Rick who's stood in tense silence, seething but powerless. Negan plucks the sheriff's hat off his head.

"Hey, Carl," he says, placing it on his own head and looking over at him. "Is this the hat you were asking me about? The one your dad gave you?"

"Yeah," Carl grits out. He doesn't like seeing it on Negan. He wants to knock it off and stomp on it and then grab Negan and fuck every trace of Rick away.

"You want it?" Negan asks.

"No."

"Alright," Negan responds easily, taking it off and tossing it carelessly onto the ground. He looks at Rick. "You going to show me around or not?"

Rick's eyes go to the hat and then to Carl. He looks like he really wants to say something, but instead he turns back to Negan, looking at him before beginning to lead the way. Negan looks back at Carl in question but Carl gives a curt shake of his head. Negan winks at him before turning his back and falling into step beside Rick.

Carl doesn't want the grand tour. He wants to figure out what the real Alexandria is like. He walks through the streets, so normal looking, so far removed from the hell outside these walls. They're living in a fucking utopia.

Lawns and flowers. Windows you can look out of and see the lake or the gazebo. Gardens where things grow. People on the streets, talking to each other like regular neighbours. Porches and barbeques.

It looks just like the before picture while everyone else is living in the after, fighting for their lives in the dirt. It seems so unjust that this is where they ended up after all the uncaring evil they've done. If Carl thinks he deserves to inherit the Sanctuary, and he does, then surely this place is his birthright too. It would have been if they hadn't left him behind.

"Hey," he calls out to Arat who's overseeing the searches. "You know which one's Rick's house?"

"On the end," she says, gesturing down the street they're on.

"Thanks," Carl says, making a beeline for it.

The house is adorable with shutters on the windows and trees along the sidewalk. Carl glances down the street and then makes his way up the stairs onto the porch with its white railings and cosy seating area. The door is bright yellow and so fucking cheery that Carl wants to kick it in. He doesn't have to though. They feel so safe here they keep their front doors unlocked. Carl draws his gun and pushes the door further open, stepping inside.

He moves cautiously, remembering what it's like to clear a house, having to have your wits about you. There's no walkers in here of course, and there doesn't seem to be any people either. He finds himself standing in the middle of an open plan living area, a kitchen and dining room and lounge. He lowers his gun, taking it all in.

There's jackets hung up by the door. There's plates left by the sink and an apron on the kitchen wall. There's a book left on the coffee table and a sweater thrown over the back of the couch. It all looks so unnervingly ordinary.

Carl moves through the space, looking for any clue that the world ended, but there's none. This could have been any one of his friend's houses from elementary school. It could have been his house. They're living in a pocket of a life that Carl was certain was gone forever. The concrete floors and walls of the Sanctuary that he's always known he was so lucky to find, suddenly seem entirely unappealing when he looks down at the wooden floors beneath his scuffed boots now.

He heads upstairs, still alert to any sound as he reaches the landing, looking at the closed doors. He pushes open the nearest one and finds himself in a bedroom, his boots sinking in the soft carpet as he steps inside. He looks at the bed, running a hand over the soft blankets as he walks across the space. It might not be as grand as Negan's room, but Carl has to admit that it's nicer.

He turns, looking over the items on top of the dresser when his eye is caught by a gold ring in a little dish. Rick's wedding ring. He's not wearing it. Carl picks it up, feeling the deep betrayal on his mom's behalf. Rick left her behind too.

Carl knows there's no logic to it, his mom's been dead over a year, but emotions don't require logic. Carl always thought that Rick was cold to Lori and Lori's own pleading words to him proved it more than once. He wasn't the kind of guy who was warm or wore his heart on his sleeve. He was polite and he did what was expected of him and little more. That was Rick. He didn't do enough to save them. That fact that he's been clinging to all this time isn't true anymore though. He didn't do enough to save Carl.

Carl slips the ring into his pocket. Rick clearly doesn't want it. Then he sweeps everything else that sits on the dresser onto the floor before turning around and yanking the blankets off the bed with fury, tossing them onto the ground. Fuck him and his cosy life and his ability to move on without them.

He stalks out of the room, not able to stand it anymore. He walks further down the corridor, opening up the next door, this one latched in place. As he turns the handle he hears some faint murmuring, making him pause. He lifts his gun back up, readying himself as he kicks the door open.

A little blonde girl is stood in a crib, holding onto the edge of the railing as she bops there. Carl stares, mouth open as tears spring to his eye. It's been so long but he recognises her instantly. She still has that look of mom that she always had. Judith.

Carl holsters his gun, stepping forward and picking her up, hugging her close. He's grinning and crying and his chest feels like it's going to explode.

"You got so big," he says in wonder. He holds her away from himself to get a good look at her and she gazes back at him with big eyes. "Do you even remember me?" he asks tentatively.

Judith lifts up her tiny hands, touching his face with a smile. Carl collapses with the relief, sliding backwards down the wall until his butt hits the floor and he's holding Judith in his lap.

"You know me," he says, as much to himself as to Judith, needing the reassurance. "You know me. I'm your big brother. I love you." He holds her close, squeezing her and rocking her and crying into her soft hair that smells so clean and pure. "I love you so much."

After a while she starts to get restless, not the placid baby he can hold for hours and pour all his love into anymore. He relaxes against the wall, loosening his grip on her and letting her have some space. She babbles as she plays with the buttons on his shirt and Carl is certain he could live happily in this moment forever. He can't think of a thing that's missing.

They stay there until Carl hears some of Negan's men coming in downstairs, looking for what they can take.

"We have to go," he tells Judith, getting to his feet.

He places her back in her crib where she sits and watches as he grabs a diaper bag. He packs some clothes and extra diapers and whatever's lying around. There's an elephant stuffed animal in her crib and he picks it up.

"Is this important?" he asks. He has no idea what her comfort items are. He shakes off the thought, shoving it in his bag. "We should take it. Come on."

He lifts her out of the crib, sitting her on his hip as he heads down the stairs. Negan's men look at him curiously but they know better than to say anything as he makes his way to the front door. He walks through the streets, clinging to Judith like somebody might try to take her from him. Nobody has more right to her than him though. Nobody.

As he gets back to the gate, Negan looks over at him with a grin and then a frown as he sees what he's carrying. He tilts his head curiously, waiting until he gets close.

"You find something you like?" he asks, the amusement clear in his voice.

"This is my sister," Carl tells him.

Rick looks over at that, parting his lips but not saying anything as he watches cautiously.

"Oh," Negan says warmly, bending down to Judith. "Well, hey there, little angel. Welcome to the Saviors."

"No," Rick says, the word seeming to take even him by surprise. "You… You can't…" he stutters.

"Something you'd like to share, Rick?" Negan prompts.

Rick takes a measured breath, trying to compose himself. "You can't take my daughter," he says carefully, wary of his tone.

"I can't?" Negan asks. "Are you going to stop me?"

Rick shrinks away. He's not even willing to fight for her. "Please," he says, a desperation in his tear-stained voice. "Please not my children. Please don't take my children."

"Your children?" Negan asks, putting on a look of total incomprehension.

Rick's breaths are becoming ragged like they did in the clearing. He coming unstuck. "Please," he implores. "I am begging you. I am literally begging you, do not take my children."

"You don't have any children," Negan states, his tone purely factual. "Carl is mine." He looks over at Carl with a warm smile that Carl returns, holding Judith a little tighter. "And as for Judith, well, let me see if I remember this correctly. Judith is Shane's." He raises his eyebrows at Carl. "Right?"

Carl feels the pride radiating from him. Not only does Negan always have his back, but he remembers the details. He knows Carl's story. He thinks it was worth learning.

"Right," Carl confirms.

Negan turns back to Rick with a breath of laughter. "You've been a cuck your whole life by the sound of it."

Carl looks over at Rick, his broken posture and his crying eyes and his look of utter humiliation. It makes Carl feel about twenty feet tall. He walks over to Negan on his way to the trucks.

"I love you, Daddy."

Negan looks at him with such affection. "I know you do."

He leans in, joining their mouths together, a hand on the side of Carl's face. Carl parts to him with a needy noise, surging his tongue forward, Negan kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, licking inside his mouth and making him go hot all over. Carl is using both hands to hold Judith but he presses his body into Negan.

Negan pulls back, only letting there be a fraction of a space between their mouths. "I love you too, baby boy."

Carl takes a step back, feeling like he's walking on air. Negan looks at Rick, tongue poking out, waggling his eyebrows playfully. Carl doesn't look to see what Rick's reaction is. He doesn't care. He has what he came for. Rick has nothing else to offer him.

Carl climbs up into the truck, settling Judith on his knee while Negan finishes up with Rick. They're by the side of the truck as Negan takes Lucille back, Rick looking through the open window to Carl and Judith.

"Be good for your brother," Rick tells her.

Carl glares at him. He's clearly just trying to save face. The spineless bastard.

Negan steps in between Rick and the truck, getting in his personal space. "In case you haven't caught on, I just slid my dick down your throat, and you said thank you." He looks over his shoulder at Carl with a grin and then back to Rick. "Like father, like son, huh?" He chuckles, hopping up into the truck. "Let's roll out!"

Carl gives him a distasteful look. "That's the opposite of hot."

Negan is still laughing to himself. "Oh, come on, it was right there!"

"And he's not my dad," Carl says.

Negan leans into him, nudging their foreheads together. "It is the last time he will get even an inkling that he ever was. I promise you that. You are fucking mine, boy."

"Yeah," Carl agrees, leaning his whole body into him.

"And now we have this little sweetheart," Negan says, reaching out and holding onto one of Judith's hands. "You are just precious."

Carl strokes her hair, nodding his head. "I always spent way more time with her than Rick did. I loved her more. I wanted her more. I was her favourite. Except maybe Beth."

He wonders again if Beth is still alive, still around. He pushes the thought away. He's not going to ask anyone. It doesn't matter. He has his sister back. There's nothing missing from his life at the Sanctuary. He has everything.