Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

         They both remembered that night.

How couldn’t they? It had been a dangerously close call. But in this new, gone-to-utter-shit world, they had always faced close calls. But that….that night had been different.

          Rick had thought, up until that moment, that there wasn’t much innocence that could be taken from Carl. Carl hadn’t thought it either, because, apocalypse or not, he was still a child . Yet there was still some innocence that could be taken away. That Claimer, that piece of shit , tried to take it from Carl. His name had been Dan, apparently, but that didn’t matter.

          That Claimer tried to rape Carl.

          Some might say that in this new world, where people killed on a daily basis, rape wasn’t that bad. Here’s the thing. Killing was a survival tactic. If need be, you killed somebody. If they tried to hurt you or the people you cared about, you killed them. Murder was what it was called in the old world. It wasn’t any better now. But it was for survival. You didn’t rape somebody for survival. You didn’t force yourself on a young boy for survival. You didn’t molest him and shove him down in front of his father for survival.

          Carl remembered feeling scared because he thought they were going to kill him, Dad, Michonne, Daryl. That was it. The Claimer had looked at him weirdly, but Carl had just thought he was some sadistic fuck who liked killing people.

          Then that giant wall of a man shoved him down. Somehow, he knew. He knew right away, from the second the Claimer started laughing maniacally. Carl cried out, flailing, twisting, trying as hard as he could to get away. He felt the desperation sink in when the Claimer smiled wickedly down at him. All of that had been imprinted into him. He remembered all of that clearly.

          Rick remembered the exact moment he had just….snapped. One moment, he couldn’t breathe, not because there was a gun to his temple, but because his son was being manhandled by some asshole. Joe had leaned down a bit, and had began saying the normal I-won-and-I’m-going-to-rub-it-in bullshit.

          “First, we’re going to beat Daryl to death. Then we’ll have the girl.” Rick felt his heart start pounding at that. There was no way he was letting that happen, even if he was stuck sitting with a gun to his temple.“Then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and then we’ll be square.”

          Joe finished his words with a chuckle. Rick froze. Then the boy.

          Across from him, Carl was shoved down by that giant man, who followed the boy to the ground with a grin. Carl cried out, flailing and twisting to get away from the Claimer. And Rick felt his blood run cold, then hot, then both.

          “Let him go,” he gritted out, almost shaking with whatever it was that was coursing through him. The Claimer holding his son down laughed, and Carl...Carl started to whimper, to sob, to wail. Rick repeated himself again and again, rage building up within him.

          And then Rick’s head snapped back. The gunshot rang loudly next to his ear, and he found himself struggling to pull his head together, the ringing overtaking every sound except his own breathing. Rick breathed deeply yet shallowly at the same time, trying to get his bearings. Time seemed to slow down, if only for a moment.

         He sprung up then, twisting around and throwing his fist at Joe. Joe slugged Rick across the face and knocked him back down, grumbling taunts at the former Sheriff.  A kick from Joe sent him onto his front, leaving Rick scrambling to get up.

          “Come on, get up!” Joe spat.

          The combination of Carl’s shrieking, the Claimer’s laughter, and Daryl’s grunts of pain was almost too much for his disoriented state. He glanced up almost deliriously, taking in Daryl getting beaten like a bad dog, Michonne getting knocked down to her knees, and Carl crying and kicking under the Claimer above him. Joe said something to him. A few seconds later he deciphered it.

          “Come on. Let’s see what you got.”

          But Rick couldn’t focus on that. Because that Claimer hit Carl across the face, knocking the boy’s breath away, and turned him over, laughing all the while as Carl cried out, struggling futilely.

          Carl remembered struggling. It was pointless, because he still ended up face down on the ground. Carl felt tears form as he kicked and sobbed, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment before the panic set back in. The Claimer laughed cruelly, maliciously gleeful over what he was doing to a child. Then the Claimer unbuckled his belt.

         Somehow, that noise was what had haunted him for the days following that night. The sound of that Claimer unbuckling his belt, overtaking the Claimer’s laughter and the distant sounds of struggle. The Claimer unbuckled his belt, and everything rushed at Carl. He...he was going to be raped. In this shitty, horrible world, he was going to be raped as his family around him was beaten, threatened, hurt.

          Rick watched Carl being shoved onto his front, rage shooting through Rick. He stumbled onto his feet, snarling, trying to get to his son, his child, his little boy- who was going to be raped. How had he never thought of this possibility? The world had turned upside down; all laws were out the window. People murdered all the time, and he was aware that rape came with it. But he was not letting this happen. He’d stop this, he’d end it, he’d get Carl and Michonne and Daryl to safety.

          “Leave him be-!” Rick growled loudly and lunged forward, towards Carl, yet somehow ended up hurtling into Joe who seemed to be enjoying Rick’s desperate struggle.

          “Huh?” Joe barked, “Get over here!”

          Joe’s arms enclosed Rick, holding him away from Carl, from stopping what was happening to Carl and everybody else who was counting on him.

          “What the hell are you going to do now, sport?” Joe taunted wickedly, baring his teeth at Rick. Rick seethed . A howl tried to tear out of his throat, raw and furious, but something stopped it. A single moment of internal silence. And then it happened.

          It happened in a second, really.

          How could they? Rick had killed their man, he had strangled Lou or whatever the hell his name was, Rick was responsible. Their anger at him made sense. But raping a child? A little boy? Somebody who might, just might, have some innocence left in them, in the cold new world that tore at them and their family each and every day? Rape somebody so young who had seen so much in their life that they shouldn’t have, forced to grow up in this world? Add another type of trauma to them, take more away from them, hurt them, destroy them like that?

          The pressure steadily built in his head and while he was dead silent on the outside, his inner voice was screaming itself raw, louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Except for Carl. Rick ‘s body went cold, then hot, then both at the same time, and he saw red, red, so much red and his body shook so much it wasn’t actually shaking and he heard his little boy crying out and something in him snapped.

          Carl was facing Rick, watching his father’s skirmish with Joe, and he saw it happen too.

          Rick’s head reared back, and then he dove forward. His bared teeth locked down and he just tore out Joe’s throat. One second Joe was snarling taunts and the next he was gurgling on his own blood, his jugular ripped out. Joe slowly sunk down to the ground as his blood dripped from Rick’s teeth, which were still clenching down on the flesh from Joe’s throat. Blood dripped down Rick's mouth, painting the lower half of his face in dark red. And everybody froze.

          The Claimers and his people alike stared with shock and varying levels of horror at Rick as he spit out the chunk of Joe’s flesh. The flesh soared and hit the ground in a spray of a bloody mist. The silence broke, and somewhere to his left, Michonne sprung to action. She shot the man holding the gun to her head and then one of the men attacking Daryl. Daryl was more than ready and knocked down the other shithead. He raised his foot, and curb stomped the other man’s skull into the ground.

         But none of that had mattered because the Claimer who had tried to hurt Carl was still living and breathing and he shouldn’t be .

          The Claimer’s mouth dropped open, his hand drifting away from the back of Carl’s head in fear. Carl felt himself being pulled up, but his mind was still lingering on what had just happened a few moments ago. Rick, his father, who had never truly stopped being Carl’s hero, had torn out Joe’s throat Walker-style. His dad had just ended Joe then and there, and with the blood covering half his face and the feral rage in his eyes, Carl felt a little scared too, as Rick knelt and took Joe’s knife and had stared at the man, the rapist, holding a blade to Carl’s neck.

          Part of Carl had been scared, for just the tiniest bit, but then he felt nothing but relief and almost awe and an avalanche of other emotions as his father advanced on the Claimer who had tried to rape him.

          “He’s mine,” Rick had growled lowly, looking like some sort of God of Death as he stalked towards the Claimer. The Claimer shoved Carl away, and attempted a strangled cry of “Please” before Rick utterly destroyed the large man. The blade entered first into the man’s crotch. Rick pulled out the knife and savagely sunk it back into the man’s flesh. It was dragged stutteringly up the bleeding body, up to the Claimer’s throat, slicing open muscle and spilling the blood onto the earth below. The Claimer gurgled on the knife and the blood. He attempted to form one last plea for his life, one that was utterly ignored. Carl stared, feeling almost detached from the whole scene.

          Michonne swept Carl up into her arms, already playing the role of Mrs. Grimes even before she and his dad had gotten together—that, and she genuinely cared for Carl. And Carl watched that piece-of-shit Claimer die, feeling too many emotions at that point to keep track of each one.

          But Carl remembered the most prominent emotions- shock, anger, and relief. It had been a strange combination, but the relief was slowly taking over, despite the anger simmering on the surface. Because Carl had thought that his dad wouldn’t be able to save him this time. That, after all the talk Carl had about ‘growing up’, life had played a cruel joke on him, showing him that he wasn’t ready, that he could be taken advantage of so easily. But it was over and that man was dead.

          Rick, while glaring down at the bleeding body in front of him, felt some of his anger dissipate. Whatever in him that had snapped slowly fixed itself, at least enough to clear Rick from the murderous haze filling his head. But Rick still was angry. He couldn’t every truly protect his family, could he? He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could’ve kept Carl, or Michonne, or anybody else really, from something like this. He was wrong, and apparently still stupidly naive. Rick clenched his fist tighter around the knife in his hand, breathing deeply. Carl already had a shitty childhood, growing up in a world where the dead came back to eat the living and all, but this is just added more to it.

          At least…at least Carl hadn’t been sexually assaulted all the way. At least, he wasn’t as traumatized as he could’ve been…which sounded like a pathetic excuse to Rick’s ears. Rick had no idea what he would've done to the Claimers if Carl had been raped. Because he had no doubt that they would’ve gone after Michonne too, and if something like that happened to two of the most important people in Rick’s life….No. Carl was safe.

          Carl took a deep breath too, feeling his body stop panicking. He was safe. Daryl was okay (but battered as hell), his dad was okay, Michonne was okay, and he was okay.

          But the sound of the belt unbuckling still haunted him for the days that followed the incidental night.

          Psychological trauma can go both ways- to the rescued, and the rescuer.

********************************************************

          The RV jostled along the winding road, taking Rick back to that place, the place where he and his family had lost so much. The word family was used loosely nowadays. Rick wasn’t just thinking of him, Carl, Judith and Michonne as his family. His family was everybody there who had been forced to their knees, his friends, the people he cared about.

          He’d let them down.

He couldn’t keep them safe. If, if they had just gone in a different direction, if they had just made it to the Hilltop, if Maggie had been feeling better, if-

          No, there wasn’t any way to go back.

          Rick really had never felt so defeated in his life. Even after waking up from the coma into the horrid new world, he had hope for finding his family. But then Shane...Shane had lost it. Shane wanted Lori, Carl, whatever Rick had, but he was Rick’s best friend and it somehow spiraled and spiraled until they ended up facing off against each other on that moonlit field. And Shane had lowered his gun. He had lowered his gun . But Rick stabbed him all the same, and Rick had thought about it for days afterwards. Rick knew that Shane was too far gone, but what if he hadn’t been? What if Rick had been wrong, what if Shane was ready to let whatever had happened be behind them? There was no way to ever know now. Shane was dead. A member of his family had slipped away.

Rick blinked, staring at the seat across from him with an unfocused gaze.

          Was there really no way Rick could keep his family safe permanently ? He shook slightly, tuning out Negan’s light whistling as the scarf-clad man drove the RV. He just kept failing them, didn’t he?

         You call yourself a leader. Is that really what you are? Look at everything that’s happened because of you .

That’s not true, part of Rick argued back. He had rescued his people multiple times. He had done enough to keep as many people as he could alive.

          Are you really going to tell yourself that? Don’t. There’s no way to look around your sins and failures, Rick. Let’s take a look, shall we?

Before he could stop himself, Rick’s thoughts played every single failure of his before his mind’s eye, almost tauntingly.

          He lost Sophia. Literally. He lost Dale, too. To a walker. Shane….he had lost Shane to himself. Hershel lost his leg because of Rick. He had insisted on checking out the rest of the prison. And Hershel had eventually died too, at the hands of the Governor. T-Dog died because of a walker. Lori…

          Oh, god, Lori.

          He couldn’t go there, he just couldn’t...Lori had made her mistakes. But didn’t everybody? And despite how cold he had been to her, she still had loved him. But he couldn’t even offer her comfort, could he? No, he tried to shut her out. He had started warming up to her again, but...she died. She died giving birth to Judith, surrounded by cold dark walls and walkers. And Carl had been forced to shoot her. Shoot his own mom so she wouldn’t turn.

          Carl. How much had Rick failed Carl?

Too many times to count, Rick knew that. Carl had grown up in this crueler world, subjected to almost every type of trauma there was.

          Even almost being raped, Rick.

          His thoughts suddenly flooded with the memory of that night. Carl being shoved down, Carl crying out. Rick had torn Joe’s throat out to save his son and had destroyed the Claimer who had lain his hands on Carl. But it wasn’t enough. Carl had been thrown head first into another danger of what was left of civilization. Rick had hoped that he could’ve protected Carl from something like that, and he guessed he sort of did, but there was no mistaking how Carl was traumatized.

          They’d talked about a few times. Carl didn’t like mentioning it, but Rick knew Carl had to talk about it, at least just once. He had felt like a failure as a father as Carl had cried into his shirt, Rick muttering under his breath softly and humming a song he and Lori used to sing to Carl when the boy was younger. Carl knew he loved him, but maybe Rick should’ve said it more often.

          Rick’s thoughts turned towards Michonne. He hoped she was okay. He’d been gone for a long time. If she or any of the others had gotten rebellious, who knows what the Saviors would’ve done. Kill one of them, maybe. Scratch that. Kill one of them, most likely. Rick couldn’t handle anybody getting hurt, but Michonne…He loved her. Rick wasn’t sure if Michonne really knew that, but he loved her. Rick didn’t really pray, so he just hoped she was okay. Hoped that Michonne and Carl and the rest of his family was okay.

          Rick couldn’t take it. Being mostly left alone by Negan as the other man drove them back to camp gave him too much time to think. What Rick was doing probably didn’t count as thinking, though.

          He was just floating between past failures. This was his fault, his fault, all of this was his fault, it was his fault, everything was his fault, his fault, his fau -

          “We’re here, prick.” Negan’s voice cut through the haze. Rick face twisted into a grimace, one he struggled to keep off his face before smoothing it back into a shell shocked gaze. He stared up at the leader of the Saviors. Negan looked down at him with a slightly bemused expression, then scoffed.

          “This must be hard for you, right? I mean you’ve been King Shit for so long.”

King Shit….. What did that even mean?

          Negan continued on, walking towards some cabinets behind Rick. He continued talking. Rick dazed out for a moment, blue eyes locking onto the table in front of him.

          “....Getting ‘em clipped like that, one nut, then the other, and in front of your boy? That is some screwed-up shit!” Negan drawled. “Ah. Oh. Goody.” Negan grinned as he withdrew a white bottle from the cabinet.

          Negan grasped the handle of the axe firmly lodged into the table and pulled it out. He wiped the blade on Rick’s jacket. Rick just let himself be prodded around by the motion of the axe, struggling not to throw a punch at Negan. Negan twisted off the cap of the bottle, the cap clattering as it fell onto the table. He sighed, cleaning the axe’s bloody blade with the alcohol.

          “You were the leader,” Negan said conversationally. “Hell, you were probably addicted to it.”

          Rick would’ve laughed at that in any other scenario. Addicted? He didn’t want to be the leader. He just was. Rick had started leading his group at one point, and eventually he just officially became the leader. Hell, when he stepped down, he had to be straight asked by multiple people to be the leader again.

          “And now, well, clip, clip- that’s over,” Negan continued, wiping the axe clean,“But you can still lead a nice, productive life producing for me.”

          Negan punctuated that statement by handing Rick the axe, flashing a wolfish smile at him, “I think you’re gonna need it. I just got a feelin’.”

          There was a prolonged pause as Rick stayed silent, unmoving. He stared at Negan with a battered, red-rimmed gaze. Negan leaned in slowly, all hints of friendliness slowly disappearing.

          “So take it.” Negan ordered coldly. Rick’s face nearly twisted into a grimace again, and he took the axe.

          Carl’s hand scrunched up the fabric of his pants.

          They’d been sitting there for so long. His legs had gone numb, but he didn’t care. That was the least of his worries. He glanced at Michonne from under the rim of his hat. Michonne happened to be looking back at him, and they exchanged a glance. She tried to communicate some sort of comfort to him, but she was in as much need of comfort as he was. Everybody in their group was shaking, some still silently crying. Carl was trying to not shake or show how he really felt, to be strong, but it was as hard as he expected. The night had left an emotional toll on everybody in his group, including him, and Rick was gone. Nobody had any idea what happened next.

          As Carl and Michonne looked at each other, they seemed to be thinking the same exact thing: Where the hell was Rick? Negan must’ve dragged Carl’s father into the RV hours ago. Rick had threatened Negan, and Negan had simply manhandled him into the RV.

          “I’ll be right back. And maybe Rick will be with me. If not, we can just turn these people inside out, can't’ we?” Negan had tossed over his shoulder as he dragged Rick away.

          Carl had no idea how much time had passed, but it was light out already and it felt like they’d been sitting there for hours. Even the Saviors standing around them seemed antsy. Carl resisted the urge to fidget or at least clock one of the Saviors in the face. He couldn’t handle just waiting around like this. For all he knew, his dad was dead and gone. Killed by Negan's bat Lucille.

          That thought almost made him sick. Carl was never the most outwardly affectionate son, but he’d already lost his birth mom and losing his father after everything they’d been through was something he didn’t want to think was possible. He and his dad didn’t always see eye-to-eye, like every normal apocalyptic family, but Carl loved his dad. He didn’t say it enough.

          His dad had always done so much for him, even if Carl didn’t agree with his decisions. What had Carl done for him?

          Carl pushed that thought away and instead wondered about what Negan was doing with Dad. Maybe he was trying to intimidate him. Negan didn’t seem to be planning on killing Rick. But Carl barely knew Negan, and Negan seemed like a grade-A asshole so he wasn’t too sure on what Negan had in mind.

          The clearing was mostly silent, save for a few Saviors murmuring amongst themselves. Faintly, the sound of an engine got closer and closer.

          Everybody looked up as the RV drove back into the clearing and skid to a stop. It was completely silent, except for the running engine, which eventually cut out too. The RV door facing them stayed resolutely closed for what felt like way too long of a time.

          Next thing Rick knew, he was being shoved out of the RV as the door burst open. He fell through a kaleidoscope of light and colors before hitting the ground, effectively getting the breath knocked out of him. Negan sauntered out behind Rick.

          Negan reached down and firmly grabbed the collar of Rick’s jacket, dragging him towards his group, which was still sitting in their forced crescent moon formation. Rick tried to scramble to his feet as he was dragged along once again but to no avail. Negan came to a stop, depositing Rick onto the ground next to him.

          “Here we are,” Negan announced, spreading his arms as he essentially presented himself and Rick to the Saviors in the clearing.

          Part of Rick was aware of how vulnerable he probably looked, collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily, looking like an overall mess. That part was shoved aside as his mind frantically scrambled to think of what could happen next and how he could keep his people alive and unhurt.

          Everybody looked at Rick, who seemed to be in one piece. A very falling-apart, shell-shocked-looking mess of a piece, but in one piece all the same. Carl sat up apprehensively, wondering if anything would happen to his father or the rest of his family.

          Negan leisurely prowled around Rick, then pointed at him with a gloved hand, “Let me ask you something, Rick—do you even know what that little trip was about?”

          There was more silence as Rick reeled from the events that happened up until now. Rick breathed heavily, breaking the silence. The surrounding Saviors watched, wondering where this was going. Negan waited for a response, but got none. Carl glanced at Negan, then his father.

          “Speak when you’re spoken to.” Negan said plainly, stopping and standing in place. More silence from Rick. Rick glanced out from under the curls dangling in his face at his son, who was attempting to hide the concern on his face. Rick’s eyes drifted to Michonne and Daryl, who were doing the same.

          “Okay. Okay.” Rick said raspily, nodding his head.

          Negan looked down at Rick, shifting his weight to his other leg. He spoke as if addressing just Rick, but he made sure his voice carried through the clearing to everybody. Negan was a showman, and this was his show.

          “This trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand.”

          Rick looked up at Negan this time, once again fighting a grimace off his face. It wasn’t enough to keep the anger out of his eyes, though. Rick’s head was practically pounding with all the thoughts that were trying to overtake him. Negan smiled bemusedly, noting the rage in Rick’s eyes.

          Carl watched the one sided interaction. So that’s what the sudden “trip” was about: Negan wanted to squash Rick’s defiance.

          “But you’re still looking at me the same damn way,” Negan remarked, slightly smiling, “like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not going to work. So...”

          Negan slowly prowled around Rick, then crouched down next to the right of the other man.

          “...Do I give you another chance?” Negan asked. That sort of question would normally be a rhetorical question, uttered out loud for emphasis, but this was Negan. He expected an answer.

          Rick bowed his head, looking down at the ground in front of him. He breathed raggedly, swaying forwards a bit before leaning back. He nodded in Negan’s general direction.

          “Yeah,” Rick got out, albeit shakily. Anger quickly shot through him at failing to get his people to Hilltop, to leading them to this very situation, at being reduced to this, “Yes.”

          Negan patted Rick’s shoulder and pushed himself up.

          “Okay,” The grin on Negan’s face was practically audible. He chuckled, “All right. And here it is— the grand-prize game.”

          Negan gestured with grandiose, “What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day,” he said that last bit almost questioningly, “Or just another crap day.”

          Negan pointed and sweeped at the rest of Rick’s group, who were still seated before him.

          “Get some guns to the back of their heads.” He ordered casually. Multiple Saviors stepped up and stood behind each person on the ground respectively, aiming their guns at the backs of their heads. Carl didn’t bother looking behind him.

          Instead, Carl spent his energy trying to anticipate where this was going. What would Negan make his dad do? Negan had already screwed everything up horribly. He wasn’t planning on killing any of them, unless Rick disobeyed whatever he was about to be told to do. Carl eye darted down the line of his seated family, hoping none of them would act out rashly. Michonne glanced backwards at the barrel of the gun aimed at her, then at Rick. The two locked eyes worriedly.

          “Good. Now...level with their noses, so if you have to fire….” Negan leaned back and brought his closed his fist to his face. He flicked his fingers out and imitated the sound of an explosion, “it’ll be a real mess.”

          Rick looked at his people and let out a shuddery breath. He’d do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t come to that. He looked back down, steeling himself.  Negan raised his eyebrows, smiling as he looked over the group in front of him, while he walked around Rick so he was standing to his right, slightly behind him. Negan’s gaze stopped at Carl.

          “Kid.”

Carl glanced to his left, then locked eyes (or, well, eye) with Negan. Negan smiled and beckoned Carl with a single finger. He then pointed at the ground in front of him.

          “Right here.”

Rick looked up at his son, who was still looking at Negan cooly.

          Carl...please…do it...don’t give him an excuse to hurt you.

Rick’s heart raced as Negan repeated the order.

          “Kid….now.” Negan strode forward a bit.

Carl knew better than to push it. He got to his feet, still staring coldly at Negan, and walked forward. He stopped a foot or two away.

          Negan’s hands drifted towards his belt, but he stopped as Rick coughed roughly. Rick grimaced at himself, aware that the noise he’d accidentally made caused things to become awkward. Goddammit. Couldn’t have just kept the cough in, could he? The dryness in his throat didn’t help very much. Negan raised an eyebrow and looked at Rick. Rick resumed his silence. After a moment, Negan dismissed the sudden interruption.

          “You a southpaw?” Negan asked the teen.

          “Am I a what?” Carl retorted back.

          Rick suddenly hacked roughly once more. Negan paused, then moved back and turned so that he was standing over Rick. Negan looked down at the other man, whose body racked slightly.

          “Damn, Rick. Thirsty?” Negan laughed, tilting his head. Rick kept his glare on the ground. Carl gazed down at his father, slightly concerned at the sudden outburst. Rick said nothing, shaking his head mostly to himself. It was odd timing, really, to get a coughing fit now.

          Negan chuckled lightly. He shrugged, then reached his hands down towards his belt.

          Rick remained adamantly unbroken. Of course, making him hurt his son would most likely change that. And what better way to hurt Carl than to force Rick to cut the kid’s arm off? Now, Negan wasn’t going to actually make Rick do that. He had a bit of a soft spot for kids, even if the kid was some fucking angsty-ass eye-patched teen. Negan just wanted to break Rick to the point of being ready to do it. Negan planned on taking off his belt and using it for the supposed tourniquet on Carl’s arm, which he thought was a damn good idea. A supposed tourniquet would make Rick take it seriously.

          Carl considered crossing the distance between him and his dad and checking on Rick, but decided against it. Best to just do what Negan asked. He cast a look at Negan, whose hands were resting cockily on his belt. Negan observed Rick with an air of amused curiosity.

          Carl was waiting, still watching his dad, when he heard it.

          Normally, that specific sound didn’t really affect him, especially after so much time had passed since that night. Hell, Carl had kind of forgot about it. So when he heard it, he didn’t even know what it was, really. But in this situation, where he was already on high alert and internally fighting panic, Carl was set off. And he had no idea why...except...that noise.

          That noise.

          Carl froze at the sound of a belt unbuckling. The noise echoed in his mind, leaving behind a shocked silence. The stillness didn’t last long, and before he could stop himself, Carl started hyperventilating. He struggled to draw breath, feeling suddenly light-headed. He unconsciously made a confused face and looked down at his ever-so-slightly trembling hand. Why? Why did he suddenly feel like this? He had held it together for so long, and then all of a sudden, this happened. He shaking hands lowered to his sides, forming fists. The fists clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. Carl’s eye focused on the ground before him as some hazy vision of the past flickered across his mind’s eye, in stark contrast with the place he was actually in at the moment. The memory gave him a vague impression of nighttime but, right now, the sun was up, so whatever was in the past was in the past. But that meant nothing. He struggled to differentiate between some nightmarish memory and the present. It felt as if his grip on reality was slipping. Carl grit his teeth, his single eye blown wide. His hair and the Sheriff’s hat hid his expression from everybody else, including Negan. Unaware of the teen’s turmoil, Negan carried on with his plan.

          Negan paused in the middle of unbuckling his belt, still looking down at Rick as Rick gasped for air after his sudden hacking fit.

         “You alright there, Rick? Kinda sound like you’re dying.” He nudged Rick’s side with his shoe, grinning at Rick’s obvious anger, “Can’t have ya fucking dying all of a sudden. That’d be some real shitty timing.”

         Negan nudged Rick again, “Hey, speak when spoken too. Remember that? You good, Rick?”

          Carl glanced wildly about, jerkily twitching his head left and right. Somewhere behind him, a few people made a noise of surprise at the sudden movement. Carl blocked it out. He was too preoccupied searching for….something. He didn't know what. He just felt an overwhelming urge to get to safety. But where was “safety”? Was “safety” even a thing anymore?

          Carl felt a flood of hopelessness rush through him. Why the hell did he feel like this all of a sudden?

          Carl’s fists clenched as he shook. Hard. He scanned the area around him almost angrily, ignoring what he actually saw. All he was doing was searching for whatever was making him feel like this. He fists shook and thumped against his sides as his eyes desperately searched for something, so he’d be ready for an attack, so he could fight back, so he’d sink a knife into whatever came at him, so he’d, he’d, he’d, he’d—

         Carl’s mind stilled as he heard his father hiss something at Negan. His father was there. He’d be fine. If it came down to it, his dad could protect him. Rick had done it before, he could do it again.

..….Why did that make Carl feel so guilty?

         He dropped his head, inhaling sharply. He pulled himself together again, though the web holding him together was mostly just patchwork. Carl could feel himself slipping. He was keenly aware of Negan in front of him and the other Saviors watching. He couldn’t let them see. Negan would only try to use it against them.

         “Are you a lefty?” Negan’s voice wafted towards Carl.

         “No.” Carl uttered back. He exhaled deeply, then lifted his head up to look at Negan. And froze. Again.

Negan raised his eyebrows at him, a bemused expression on his face. He had taken his belt off. He was standing over Rick, who was curled in on himself on the ground.

         The dam broke.

A single memory flashed before Carl like a raging torrent, demanding his attention.

         The road to Terminus. The Claimers.

Carl was vividly reminded of that night. The Claimer had pulled him out of the car and had thrown him down onto the ground, laughing like a maniac all the while. And Carl had just screamed and cried. His dad had said his reaction was completely reasonable, that it wasn’t his fault, given the intensity of what was happening to him, but Carl had felt useless afterwards. Weak. That Claimer had tried to rape him, and he’d just cried.

         Carl finally understood why he had reacted like that. Negan had unbuckled his belt. What Carl didn’t know was that, somehow, that noise had reached into his memories and brought out the sound of the Claimer unbuckling his belt. The two rang in his head, bouncing around the walls of his skull.

         Negan suddenly looked genuinely curious at that point, but that didn’t register in Carl’s mind. All he noticed was that Negan was standing over Rick like the Claimer had stood over Carl. Negan had taken his belt off like the Claimer had taken his belt off. Dad looked as helpless as Carl had felt.

         Carl felt sick. It was like that night all over again. Except, this time, he and Dad had swapped places, because Negan was standing over Rick with his belt unbuckled like that Claimer had stood over Carl and, oh god,  was Negan going to assault his father now, here— he couldn’t! But it was Negan, and Carl barely knew the man and from what he did know Negan wasn’t exactly the best person. Carl felt rage shoot through him, because no, get the hell away from my dad, yet he was panicking at the same time and he had no idea what was happening. All Carl felt was a blinding rage at the scene before him, which mixed terribly with the trepidation already churning within him. He felt lost.

        Negan paused, taking in the state the teen seemed to be in. Carl hands were trembling, his fists clenching and unclenching sporadically at his sides. His face was a little too pale, and good-fucking-lordy, the look on the kid’s face. Carl’s eye had a thousand-mile stare and his brows were furrowed in anger and the kid was glaring at him with a kinda concerning amount of rage, but also panic. But the kid wasn’t scared of Negan, because the emotions on his face were also directed at Rick, in a sense. Negan dropped his hands to his sides and glanced down at Rick. Rick’s head was still bowed and he remained unaware of whatever state his son was in. Negan wasn’t sure what to do. Something about the kid was...off. This here was good ol’ papa’s time to step in.

        “Hey, uh, Rick?” Negan prompting, getting the former Sheriff’s attention.

Rick tilted his head to the side, glaring up at Negan. Negan chose to ignore the fire in Rick’s stare for the time being and get to the issue that was Rick’s son.

         “Is that normal?” Negan gestured with an indicative jerk of his head in Carl’s direction. Rick blinked up at Negan, then tilted his head to look in Carl’s direction.

         Rick let out a shocked gasp. Carl stared back at him, yet not at him. The glazed look in Carl’s eye gave Rick the impression that his son wasn’t really seeing him; Carl’s gaze encompassed both Rick and Negan. He was much too pale, and the raw emotions that were clearly displayed on Carl’s face sent Rick reeling.

         Rick hadn’t seen emotions like that on his son’s face in what felt like years. How long had it been since Carl displayed such evident rage and panic, all at the same time? Rick felt a surge of helplessness followed by a sense of distress that seemed to match Carl’s. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting on his knees, instead of caved in on himself over the ground.

        “Carl!” Rick croaked out, trying to rouse Carl from his stupor. Negan glanced between father and son, his plan momentarily forgotten. Not gonna lie, he was a bit worried about the kid.

        “He doesn’t look too good, Rick. And something tells me that,” Negan looked down at Rick and pointed at Carl, “ain’t normal.”

          Rick’s mind scrambled for some way to diffuse the situation. Carl looked like he was about to wildly attack Negan at any second and that would most definitely NOT go well. Something in Rick ached at the sight of Carl so distressed. His brain flipped a switch and Rick was immediately in parental mode, beyond worried at his son’s reaction. Rick felt a fresh wave of panic which he quickly pushed down. Now wasn’t the time.

  “Get away from him.” Carl hissed suddenly, low and angry. His fists uncurled and clenched again slowly. Negan blinked and tilted his head. Slowly, he turned to look down at Rick.

           “Oh,” Negan grinned, “is that what this is about? Scared for your papa? Huh. I was wondering when you were going to drop that stone-cold bullshit. Gotta say, though, I’m impressed, little serial killer. Almost had me fooled. I almost thought you couldn’t be scared.”

Carl stared at Negan wordlessly. His body was screaming at him to do something, anything, but his brain was too muddled to react.

           Rick extended a shaky hand towards Carl. Before he knew it, he was surging to his feet, staggering forwards towards his son.

           “Carl—!” Rick repeated before he felt a hand grip the fabric of his jacket yank him back. Rick stumbled backwards from the sudden pull, and tried to rip Negan’s hand off of him, “Let me—he needs help!”

            “Sit the hell down, Rick. I didn’t say you could get up.” Negan barked. His hand wrapped around Rick’s arm, but ultimately it wasn’t enough to contain Rick’s parental instincts. Taking advantage of Negan only having one available hand (he was still holding onto his belt), Rick bodily shoved Negan aside and rushed towards Carl. Negan angrily waved off a few Saviors who moved forward.

             Before Rick could get any words of comfort out to his son, Negan jerked him back again, but with a much larger amount of force this time. Rick scrambled for an escape, but Negan successfully yanked Rick back and began pushing him down to the ground. Rick struggled desperately, but his mind and body were too scrambled to work together effectively.

              Rick had to stop things before they got any worse. If Carl snapped, if he hurt Negan, Carl would be hurt too. Rick looked up at Carl, whose gaze had dropped and was firmly locked on the ground below him. His arms were raised as if was bracing for an attack, which, at that point, he probably was. Carl’s body heaved as he breathed deeply. In a few seconds, Rick was shoved down onto the ground. He grunted at the sudden impact.

           “Rick, staying fucking still!” Negan growled. Rick scowled at the leather-clad man, who let him go. Rick attempted to surge to his feet once more, which, in hindsight, wasn’t all that smart.

            Negan slammed him down again. This time, Negan straddled Rick’s back, pushing down on the back of his neck so Rick stayed down. Rick grimaced as gravel dug into the side of his face and futilely struggled a bit. He eventually stopped when Negan threateningly tightened his hold on Rick’s neck.

           “Christ, learn to take some goddamn orders.” Negan snapped.

Rick breathed deeply, not moving. Negan slowly loosened his grip and shifted back a bit. Rick took the opportunity to look up at his son. Carl’s gaze was still focused on a patch of ground a few feet ahead of him. Carl closed his eye, trying to even out his breathing. The clearing was dead silent at that point, as if everybody else was holding their breath.

           “Carl, are you alright?” Rick asked. He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Carl wasn’t alright. But Rick had no idea what else to say. Rick felt like he was drowning. Every time he reached for Carl, Carl was just pushed further away. Rick could sense the timer ticking away in Carl. It was only a matter of time before the boy snapped, and Rick needed to console his son before that happened. Rick needed to protect his son, to keep him from bringing destruction upon himself.

           Rick waited for some sort response from Carl. Negan was still straddling Rick’s back, looking at Carl expectantly for an explanation on why the fuck Carl loozed like he was about to start screaming. Rick looked at Carl with a panicked expression, hoping he would pull himself together long enough to get through this. Carl’s eye opened, and his gaze slowly raised itself from the ground before focusing on Rick and the entirety of the scene in front of him.

           In an instant, Carl’s world slid sideways and then flipped in on itself. His body stopped heaving and was replaced with an eerie stillness, his face going coldly blank with shock.

Carl was reliving that night. Except he was in his father’s place. He could see the Claimer hovering over him, but he was in somebody else’s shoes. That image of the Claimer superimposed itself over Negan, and the image burned itself into his mind’s eye. Negan was straddling Rick, pinning him down like the Claimer had pinned Carl down. Rick stared back at Carl with a desperate expression plastered on his face, the familiar blue eyes shining with a panic that set off blaring alarms in Carl’s head. Carl didn’t know if he was looking at the Claimer or Negan or both or neither but he knew he saw an enemy .

         Carl was practically delirious off the trepidation filling every pore of his body. He felt like he was plunged into an icy lake in the middle of winter but at the exact same time he was engulfed in a raging bonfire. The heat and the cold intermingled, scorching his veins. The almost feverish shaking in his fists traveled up his arms into his entire body. The teen’s shocked face morphed into something else. His expression twisted and darkened, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned bone white. A thin river of red trickled from one of his shaking fists, but Carl showed no signs of noticing. Carl’s single eye blew crazily wide. The shadow of his hat and the eyepatch darkened his face, giving the visual effect of his eye glaring from the shadows. He snarled silently, his body tearing up unconsciously.

           Carl looked deranged.

Rick stared at his son, wondering with all his heart what had done this to him. Carl looked like a wounded animal, ready to lash out at any given moment.

            “Ho-ly shit.” Negan whistled lowly. He slowly shifted back and stood up, looking at Carl curiously. Negan stepped aside so that he no longer stood over Rick, who began to push himself to his knees, “Kid, you should see yourself right now.”

           “Negan.” Rick growled warningly. Carl was going through something, something that did that to him. He looked like he was on the verge of losing it big time. Taunting Carl wasn’t exactly going to help the situation.

          “Rick.” Negan parroted back, laughing at the anger in Rick’s voice. What was he going to do? Attack Negan with the axe again? They both knew how well that worked. Rick seemed to realize that at the exact same time, given the way he stiffened and his knuckles turned white, “Am I wrong? The kid looks crazy. Seriously, anybody got a mirror? He should really see himself.”

          Negan turned, looking at the audience watching. He casually put his belt back on (his original plan was already fucked up, not point trying to stick to it), then swooped down and picked up Lucille. He propped Lucile on his shoulder with flare that was genuinely second-nature at that point.

Negan had put his belt back on, but none of that registered in Carl’s conscious.

          Rick scowled. He glanced back at his son, trying to communicate a sense of comfort to Carl. Carl wasn’t even looking at him. Well, he was, but he wasn't there. Carl was somewhere far, far away, trapped within his psyche. If Rick could just talk Carl privately....but Negan wasn’t the type to just let somebody walk away for a bit if they were having a mental breakdown.

          That’s the word. Mental breakdown. Carl was having a mental breakdown. The word weighed heavy on Rick’s mind and tongue. Rick remembered a few mental breakdowns of his own with dread. The first big one was after Lori died. He’d really dove off the deep end there.

          His mind had just torn itself apart, no different from the way the Walkers tore apart their victims. He’d collapsed in on himself, shutting down everything except the basic function of destroying . Rick remember slaughtering everything that came at him, glad that it was just him down there because he had really, truly lost it . And then he’d found out that Lori’s body had already been eaten. Eaten by some disgusting thing that used to be human but had become so bloated on Lori’s corpse that it struggled to move. Rick had, oddly enough, gained clarity for a split second when he realized what happened. And then he’d broken down again, shouting and snarling and stabbing at the walker. The guilt had been suffocating. Hell, it still was. It was funny how much a mental breakdown could utterly destroy somebody.

          Was that what was happening to Carl? Rick’s heart stopped for a moment. He knew that with the way things were, everybody struggled to cope, but it had never been this bad for Carl. Carl had shut down before, but a shut down and a mental breakdown were two very different things. He had never had the latter until now, and now was probably one of the worst times to have it. But try as he might, Rick couldn’t help Carl. This was another thing on the list of something Rick couldn’t protect Carl from. That list seemed to be getting bigger with every passing day.

          Carl breathed deeply, struggling to breathe with the way his throat had choked up. His head was howling in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. He was back in that place, but he also wasn’t. The memory overlayed his actual surroundings almost artistically, the nightmarish darkness of that night lapping at the edge of his vision. It was day in the clearing he was in, but in his mind it was the exact same night sky above him, the bright moonlight the only thing lighting up the clearing. His vision blurred and focused repeatedly, swimming with intermingling images. He couldn’t….he couldn’t take it. It was too much, too much, his stomach was flipping wildly, every single muscle in his body was wound up, he couldn’t stand it.

          His brain lurched between flight and fight, and his body flushed with shame. He was trying to run from his emotions when his dad needed him. Of course, he couldn’t do anything. A fresh wave of guilt swallowed him up and Carl actually couldn’t breathe.

          Dad had saved him. The first time he had been shot, his dad had carried him all the way to safety, then had given up way too much blood to save Carl. On the road to Terminus, during the clash with the Claimers, Rick was there, tearing through Joe and then the Claimer attacking Carl. His dad constantly went to the edge and back to keep Carl and the rest of his family safe. How much did Rick sacrifice for them? He was always there to save him.

          And the one time his dad needed him, Carl couldn’t do anything. Carl nearly bubbled with laughter at that. It was funny, really. He remembered with crystal clarity the exact moment the Claimer on him had backed off in fear. Fear of Rick. Rick, Dad, who had torn out Joe’s throat to save Carl. And he really remembered the look on the Claimer’s face as the knife tore into his body. What had Carl ever done to help? He probably hurt more than he helped. No, he surely hurt more than he helped, because he remembered what happened after the prison fell. Rick was on the verge of death, and Carl blamed him.

          And here Carl stood, utterly powerless to save his family, Dad, everybody. Hell, Negan could do whatever he wanted and Carl would just have to sit back and let it happen. He couldn’t do anything. Was he always his useless? His dad had saved him, kept him safe so many times. And now Carl couldn’t return the favor.

          Carl felt like he would collapse at any second. But his body wouldn’t allow it. Despite the pounding in his head, his body stood rigid, shaking with a rage he’d never felt before. Something in him was howling wildly. Carl was sure he’d explode with everything he was feeling. His mind was screaming loudly, too loudly, it was TOO MUCH.

          “Yeah, I got nothing.” Negan shrugged theatrically in the silence, “I have no idea what’s up with the kid. You know what’s up with him, Rick?”

Negan tapped a foot against the ground, waiting for a response. Rick ignored Negan, trying to get Carl to actually look at him.

          “Carl. Can you hear me?” Rick uttered, concern lacing his voice. Carl didn’t react.

Negan rolled his eyes. The conversation was annoyingly one-sided. He sighed deeply.

          “You know what Rick? You can take a closer look. Go on.”

          Rick realized Negan was giving him permission to approach Carl, but his body just wasn’t moving. He felt a fleeting moment of betrayal at his own limbs. He guessed his body was just too drained to move. Rick struggled to get up, but his body collapsed so that he was once again caved in on himself over the ground.

          Negan sighed dramatically, “Do I have to do everything around here?”

          Negan spun on his heel and sauntered back towards Rick. He crouched down beside the shell shocked man and wrenched him up by the collar of his jacket. Negan stared at Rick, who simply stared back, before pushing him over. Rick landed on his side, still internally yelling at himself for not being able to move, and grunted softly at the impact. Negan chuckled at how much Rick resembled a rag doll.

          “Are you even in there?” Negan taunted, tapping Lucille against the ground next to Rick’s head.

          Carl’s metaphorical hackles rose at the sight. His mind once again painted the wrong picture. The sirens in his head went  off, blaring and loud, or maybe that was just his internal voice screaming itself raw. Guilt and shame and anger and fear poured through Carl’s very being, until he felt like that was all he was. He could never save anybody. He couldn’t save Mom. And how he was just standing by, not even lifting a finger to save his dad.

          Do something, help him, are you just letting this happen, stop, stop stop STOP!

          Before Rick could react, Negan’s hand wrapped around his throat, crushing softly. Rick choked lightly, his hands reflexively flying up to claw at Negan’s hand. The scene played itself out in front of Carl, who soaked up the image with dismay. The howling in his head got louder and louder, until it was almost all he could hear. Almost. Rick choked and gasped for air.

          Something in Carl shattered.

          The screaming in his head suddenly tore itself out of his throat.

Everybody in the clearing jumped, startled at the sudden sound. But what happened next rendered them all speechless.

          The storm in Carl’s mind funneled into his body and into his voice. His face contorted. In a second, he was hurtling towards Negan in a blur of blue plaid, roaring, “Don’t touch him, I’ll KILL you, don’t touch him, don’t touch him, I’LL KILL YOU!”

         The words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, scratching at his throat as he screamed himself hoarse.

          Negan sprung up instinctively, bracing for impact, but not quite fast enough. Carl got in a surprisingly hard punch across Negan’s face just at Negan got up. In an instant, Carl was clawing and snarling at Negan, hurling his fists over and over at everything he could hit.

          Damn, the kid was stronger than he looked.

          Carl was a deranged animal, snarling and screaming as he threw punch after punch. Negan staggered back under the sudden onslaught. The close range left him unable to use Lucille.

          Everybody was frozen in place.

          Negan slammed Carl back with a grunt. Carl’s body moved with the motion, springing back as intensely as he had barreled forward. He reached down and grabbed Rick, who still lay in shock. Before he knew it, Rick was being dragged back away from Negan and then to his feet, gasping for breath all the while. His vision swam as he struggled to place himself. Carl appeared before him, glaring at Negan with the same deranged look.

          The abrupt end of the attack brought life back into the Saviors who were watching. Dwight stormed forward, bringing his gun up. A clamor of unintelligible indignant shouts rose up from the Saviors. Negan rubbed his face over the spot Carl had punched him, then quickly waved off Dwight and the other lieutenants marching forward. This was still Negan’s show.

          The bemused look on Negan’s face was long gone. Instead there was anger, which faded into shock, and then, slowly, genuine confusion. Negan’s brow furrowed as he inspected Carl and the rampant fury radiating from the now-silent teen.

          Rick simply gaped at his son. He reached forward and touched Carl’s shoulder. Carl immediately grasped his wrist, whirling around to face Rick. He relaxed when his gaze landed on Rick’s face. But instead of letting go, the grasp on his wrist tightened.

          “Kid, what the ever loving fuck?” Negan asked. Lucille dangled at his side, an unspoken threat.

          Rick moved to sidestep around Carl. If he could just get between Carl and Negan, maybe he could keep Negan’s attention on him. But Carl wouldn’t have it. Carl’s hand flew from his wrist to his forearm, holding tightly and almost protectively. The grip kept him in place. Rick looked into his son’s eye, and froze.

          Under the rampant rage displayed on Carl’s face, under the glossed over look in Carl’s single eye, was fear . Real, tangible fear. Carl wasn’t just scared for himself, though. He was scared for Rick.

          The gears in Rick’s mind spun wildly, trying to place the expression on his son’s face. Carl’s gaze lingered on him for a few seconds, before he shoved Rick behind him with distinct protectiveness. The unspoken questions died on Rick’s tongue, and he stared at Carl. Rick’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Rick shook his head and looked at the panic and rage trapezing across Carl’s face, at the fear underlying the dark expression.

He didn’t…..he didn’t understand.

          Throughout the entire night leading up this moment, Carl had barely shown any emotion, let alone such raw distress or anger. Rick had felt proud, if for the briefest moment before he was swallowed up by his own failures, that Carl had remained so strong.

So what had done this to him?

          Rick experimentally tried to remove his arm from Carl’s grip. Carl’s grip immediately tightened. He was still shaking dangerously, hovering in front of Rick. When was the last time Carl had been so scared? Rick filtered through his memories, landing on that fateful night Carl had lost his eye. Could that be it?

          But why would it be? Carl was unconscious after he was shot in the eye. The moment he had gotten Carl into the house, away from all the walkers, that all too familiar rage had settled into his veins, sending him out into the horde, tearing and slicing and slashing at the walkers. Fear shot through Rick as remembered the desperation he had felt at the realization that Carl could die. Not Carl, not Carl, not Carl ….but the fear and desperation had all come from Rick. So that wasn’t it.

          He thought of everything that had happened before that. Before they had found Alexandria, was Terminus. Rick didn’t think anything in Terminus could’ve fazed Carl this badly. Further back, then. The road to Terminus….

          Oh.

The road to Terminus. The Claimers.

          The floor suddenly gave out under Rick. For what felt like the hundredth time since the run-in with the Saviors, his body nearly collapsed in on itself. Carl hadn’t wanted to talk about that night, aside from the first few talks about rape . Just thinking about it made Rick’s mind roar for justice, but that Claimer was long dead. He often wished he’d drawn it out longer, made the Claimer suffer, but in the moment he’d just wanted the Claimer dead and gone. The Claimer was dead and gone.

          It wasn’t enough.

          The familiar sense of failure weighed heavily on Rick’s body. But he brushed it aside. What mattered now was consoling Carl. He didn’t know if it could get any worse than this, but Rick didn’t want to find out. He had to calm Carl down. He wasn’t sure what would come after that, but that didn’t matter. Carl did.

          Rick placed a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. Carl reeled around to face him, set off once again at the unexpected contact. Despite everything, Rick flinched at Carl’s reaction, less out of surprise and more out of dismay at just how much that night had hurt Carl. Carl stared back at Rick with the same deranged, dark expression. Looking closer, Rick realized that the widened eye trained on his face held unshed tears.

          “Carl,” Rick pleaded, “Look at me. Look at me. ”

          The eye blinked a few times, darting over every part of his face before suddenly focusing. Carl let go of Rick’s wrist. Rick moved to gently pull his son into a hug, but Carl beat him to it.

          Carl’s mind suddenly fell silent, clearing almost instantly at the look on Dad’s face. He slammed into his dad, wrapping his arms around Rick’s frame, which drew out a rush of air from Rick. Carl immediately loosened his grip. The last thing he wanted was Dad to get hurt because of him.

          Carl’s body wracked with tremors. He wasn’t crying, just….shaking. He felt too much. Too much anger, too much desperation. His dad hugged him back, albeit much more gently than Carl had hugged him. A hand soothingly rubbed Carl’s back. Carl’s hands clawed at the fabric of his dad’s shirt so that nobody could take his dad away from him. He had to keep Rick safe.

          A soft murmuring drifted into Carl’s ears. Dad. Dad was saying something.

          “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Rick murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Sheriff’s hat resting on the ground. It must’ve fell of Carl’s head at some point. Rick ignored it and navigated his head around Carl's to glance apprehensively at Negan. Negan was exchanging a look with Simon, who looked just as bewildered.

          Negan scanned the faces of Rick’s group. They all looked equally confused, even the samurai chick. She and Rick obviously had a thing going, so that would’ve made her Carl’s stepmom of sorts. She had no idea what happened, and from the previous expressions on Rick’s face, neither did Rick.

          “Carl, it’s okay,” Rick repeated, concern etched into his face. He wasn’t sure why Carl had been triggered like this but he had feeling it might’ve been when Negan took his belt off.

          After nearly being raped by the Claimer, the sound must’ve imprinted itself in Carl’s brain. But it didn’t entirely make sense, because when Negan had taken his belt off, he had been facing Rick, not Carl.

          Carl hugged Rick tighter. Rick was suddenly aware of the eyes drilling into his back. He turned his head to see his people staring at him, unspoken questions lingering in their eyes. Rick simply shook his head. He couldn’t say it here, not in front of Negan and the Saviors. He turned his head back to look at Carl.

          “I couldn’t…” Carl said gruffly. He wasn’t sure if his dad could hear him, but the words were tumbling out nonetheless, “I can’t…. I can’t let him hurt you, not you, I can’t, I can’t, I’ll kill him. ”

          Rick blanched.

          “Hurt...me?” He murmured. The words didn’t make sense. Why would what happened to him matter? Carl was literally shaking.

          “I won’t let it happen, not to you, not to anybody ,” Carl hissed. Rick tried to draw back to look Carl in the face, but Carl just hugged him tighter, definitely protectively. When had Carl gotten so strong? When had he gotten so big?

          In a split second of clarity, Rick understood. Negan had been facing him, not Carl.  He remembered how Carl’s face had darkened when he looked up to see Negan straddling his back. He remembered how Carl had snapped when Negan had pinned him down by the throat.

          Carl had screamed “Don’t touch him”.

Carl had the wrong idea.

          Rick jolted with the sudden realization. The protective way Carl’s hands were twisted in his shirt made sense now. He had to get Carl to understand that it wasn’t like that. Maybe if he did, Carl would calm down.

          “Wait, no no no, Carl,” Rick patted Carl’s back rapidly, trying to get the boy to listen , “I don’t think…..that’s not…”

          “I take it that you’ve figured out what the hell is going on?”

 Negan’s voice tore Rick out of his thoughts. Carl tensed and let go of his dad. He whirled around to face Negan, but Rick grabbed his shoulder before he could anything.

          “ Carl! Don’t.” Rick let go when Carl’s body unwound itself, even if only a little bit. Rick looked at Negan, who was obviously waiting for a response.

          “I-I…” Rick looked down at the ground, steeling himself for the possible repercussions of his response, “I can’t tell you.”

          Negan narrowed his eyes at Rick. Negan glanced at Carl, who still seemed ready to throw a fist or two at him. That sort of pansy-ass, bullshit answer wasn’t going to slide. He wanted answers. Now . And if Rick knew, Rick was going to tell him.

          “Oh, I’m pretty sure you can, Rick,” Negan said lowly, swinging Lucille back and forth threateningly. He strode forward but made sure to keep his space. He didn’t want to have to hurt the kid.

          Rick grimaced. He didn’t want tell Negan about Carl almost being raped, let alone in front of all the Saviors watching. Rick thought of making something up, but with the way Carl had just snapped like that, he knew Negan would see through any half-baked lie Rick could come up with. Rick swallowed nervously. He gently tugged Carl back so that he stood next to Rick. In case Carl decided to attack Negan again, Rick would be able to pull his son back.

Alright.

          Rick didn’t think he could get the words out without choking, especially not in front of the Saviors. Maybe Negan already knew of the Claimers. Rick hoped so, at least. He’d just tell Negan that it had to do with the Claimers, and hopefully the man would get it.

          Negan cleared his throat pointedly. Rick still hadn’t answer, and his patience was running thin. And everybody knew what happened when Negan’s patience ran thin. Depending on what side you were on, very not-good things would happen.

          “Have you,” Rick paused to unscramble his thoughts, “heard of a group called The Claimers?”

          A sudden ragged gasp came from behind Rick. Rick glanced back. Michonne stared back at him, her eyes alight with shock and understanding. The rest of the group glanced at her, then Rick. He closed his eyes briefly. The faces of his family still stared up at him imploringly.

          He’d told them about what had happened that night. Or, at least, the big details. They were his family. They had deserved to know. But only he, Michonne, Daryl, and Carl had been there. They thought of the event as an attack by the Claimers, but the rest of the group that wasn’t there thought of it as something that had happened on the way to Terminus.

          “The road to Terminus.” Rick rasped quietly.

          A sudden dawning realization overcame the curious expressions. A chorus of gasps shot back at him. The shock and understanding in Glenn’s eyes was enough evidence to show that he understood what had made Carl snap…..and what Carl had thought was going to happen. Only Aaron looked just as confused at the Saviors around them.

          Beside him, Carl tensed up dangerously at the mention of the Claimers. His single eye widened again and locked on Negan.

          “Carl.” Rick whispered hoarsely. Carl’s gaze darted towards Rick. Somehow, miraculously, Carl relaxed when he locked eyes with his father. However, he still stood ready to attack. Carl was trapped in his mind. Rick didn’t know how to get him out, but he couldn’t focus on that, not when Negan was demanding answers.

          “The what ?” Negan quipped, “Arat, you ever heard of ‘The Claimers’?”

Negan added air-quotes around the title. Arat shook her head.

          “No. Never heard of them.”

          “So, who the hell are the Claimers?” Negan asked theatrically. Rick fell silent, unsure of how to proceed, “And you better answer me, because I guaran-fucking- tee that I’m bouta lose my shit like your boy did if you don’t give me a straight answer.”

          Great. So Negan didn’t know about the Claimers. Rick thrummed with nervous energy at the idea of having to explain what happened to Negan. He wasn’t sure what Negan thought of rape. Negan didn’t seem like the best person. Something in Rick was scared that if Rick told him, if Negan got the idea, he’d go through with it . A pure flash of fear ignited within Rick, but he quickly tamped down on it. He didn’t care what happened to him, as long as Carl and the rest of his family was safe.

          Rick exhaled sharply, “Can I talk to you privately?”

          Negan blinked. He tilted his head, considering the request. Negan decided yes, why the hell not. He was curious, and if a private conversation gave him an answer he’d take it. But for the sake of just screwing with Rick, he kept quiet in a contemplative silence for a bit longer.

          “Well, shit, if it’s that big of deal, okay.” Negan threw his hands up. He grinned, turning to regard the RV behind him before turning back to Rick.

          “How about we talk in the RV?”

          Rick clenched his jaw, seething. Of course, Negan would do that. Have a conversation about this in that goddamned RV. Rick clenched his fists, then quickly relaxed. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Negan. Negan bemusedly smiled a wolf’s smile, sharp and dangerous.

          Rick really didn’t want to tell Negan about what almost happened to Carl. But he didn’t have a choice. His jaw tightened, but aside from that he made no display of spite at Negan’s words. But how the hell was he supposed to do this? The conversation was going to be a hellish one, that was for sure. Rick’s thoughts stuttered to a halt when he noted Negan shifting his stance, obviously running low on patience once again. Rick exhaled deeply with a new resolve. His family came first, no matter what. He had to tell Negan, for their sake.

          “Okay.” Rick muttered roughly. Negan chortled at the man’s obvious reluctance and gestured with one hand towards the RV door.

          “After you.” Negan twirled Lucille, whistling lightly.

          Rick clamped down on an involuntary shudder at the sound. He was sure the sound of the Saviors whistling from the night before would haunt him for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Rick took a step forward towards the RV. But the moment he moved, Carl moved with him. Rick opened his mouth to express his disapproval at the idea of Carl being in such close quarters with Negan, but Carl simply shot his father a steely gaze.

          Carl had suddenly done a complete 180. The shaking outrage from a few moments ago was gone. In its stead was a icy front, which was familiar, save for the dark, fervent look plastered on Carl’s face. It wasn’t as intense as it had been a minute ago, but it gave off an air of instability, of a crazed beast about to pounce. Carl didn’t know what was happening, truthfully. The last thing he remembered was this feeling of something in him shattering, and then screaming . Then nothing. The time period separating that and this moment was an empty gap. Everything was moving too fast for him. One moment, loud. The next, quiet.

          He no longer felt like he was standing in the center of an inferno. The feeling wasn’t as bad now. But he still felt an almost uncontrollable anger, one that caused his fists to twitch every now and then.

          “Yeah, no, kid, you’re staying out here. Give you some time to cool off and all that.” Negan scoffed at Carl’s attempts to accompany his father. Carl’s head snapped up towards Negan.

          Carl’s body tensed up, his brow furrowing deeply as the single eye on his face widened once again. Carl seemed to slowly grow larger as he bristled visibly. It was like watching a volcano gearing up to erupt. The timer in Carl’s mind was rapidly ticking down again, nearing the next explosion.

          Negan wasn’t blind. He readied himself for another attack. More importantly, he readied to shut that shit down.

          Carl lunged forward again, growling lowly. This time, Rick was ready. He grabbed Carl’s arm and tugged as hard as he could. Carl careened backwards and slammed into Rick. Rick quickly turned Carl towards him, forcing Carl to look him in the eye.

          “Carl. Look at me. I’m here. ” Rick said, using his now-rusty assertive voice. His voice carried a certain parental authority intermingled with a soothing tone. Rick didn’t know if him being there meant anything. But maybe it would mean something to Carl. He hoped it was enough to convey a sense of comfort to Carl but also tell him to stop, just for the time being, “I’m here.”

Surprisingly, it worked.

          Carl blinked at the familiar authoritative look his father gave him. He had no idea why, but it was oddly calming. The tension in his body slackened almost instantly. The assertive look his father gave him took Carl aback. The desperately protective voice in his head quieted. Despite all that happened, Dad was still himself. He wasn't broken. He was just bending. Bending to keep his family safe. Carl had forgotten that.

          “We don’t get weak, that’s not in us anymore.”

          Rick had said that to him when they had arrived in Alexandria. Carl had been scared of getting weak. They weren’t weak. Even now, they weren’t weak. Yes, they lost. But Negan, the Saviors…..they were just another enemy. The group had faced this before. They’d get through it. They were the ones that lived. Even if they were beaten for the time being. Dad would get them through this. Dad would be fine.

          A heaviness that Carl hadn’t been aware of suddenly lifted and evaporated, leaving Carl feeling like he’d just broken free from a prison he didn’t even know he was trapped in. It left Carl mildly breathless. The burning wrath in him cooled. The cold desperation warmed. It was as if Carl was suddenly slammed back into his own body.

          He nodded, not quite sure what he was nodding at. Rick let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He rested his hand on Carl’s shoulder in the brief “We don’t have time to talk but I want you to be okay” sort of touch they’d mastered  over the years.

          “The kid’s calmed down now?” Negan tapped Lucille against the side of his leg, “Alright! Dwight, Simon, keep an eye on the kid while we’re talking. Sit him down where he is. Give him a little more time to cool off.”

          Rick moved to turn away and head for the RV, but paused as Carl grasped his arm. Rick looked at his son, who said nothing. Instead, he communicated in the way they did so often– with wordless eye contact that somehow held a whole conversation. Carl held his father’s gaze, his hand lingering on Rick’s upper arm. Rick gazed back silently. He placed his hand on the side of Carl’s face, brushing some hair out of his face. He stepped back a few seconds later, signaling that they needed to move on. Carl let go of his dad’s arm reluctantly, keeping contact for as long as he could.

          Dwight prodded Carl with his gun, and Carl complied, sinking down to take seat on the ground. He took in the unspoken question on Michonne’s face: Are you okay ? For the time being, he qualified. Carl nodded slightly as he sat down on the ground. Part of him felt almost ridiculed, being sat down in what was essentially centerstage in front of everybody.

          Rick paused at the door to the RV. He looked over his shoulder at Carl, who was plunked down in the center of the clearing. He nervously eyed Dwight and Simon. Rick wasn’t sure about Simon, but Dwight seemed trigger happy. He’d gone for much longer earlier, but that was before Carl had attacked Negan.

          “What are you waiting for? Get on up in there.” Negan ordered, jamming Lucille between Rick’s shoulder blades. Carl looked up just in time to make eye contact with his father as he climbed into the RV. Rick lingered in the doorway, not wanting to break the connection with his son, then turned away and entered the vehicle. Negan followed suite, and the door closed behind him. The clearing was rendered dead silent once more.

          Carl stared at closed door, fighting the growing sense of dread rising in him. Rick was all alone in the RV with Negan. Carl wouldn’t be there to interfere if anything went wrong. He could feel the despair lingering at the edges of his mind, whispering darkly and reminding him of everything that could happen, everything that could go horribly wrong. The rage-induced haze struggled to filter into his head. Fight, it whispered. Protect, it urged.

          Carl shook away the fog, bringing up one hand to grasp at the side of his head. He heard somebody shuffle nervously at the sudden movement. Good. Be scared. Carl glanced up to see a tall, scrawny, twig-of-a-man with a ridiculous mustache (seriously, the guy should’ve gotten rid of that) eye him suspiciously, apprehension glinting in his eyes. Carl studied the man for a second, before moving onto something more important—his family. He focused on the other members of his group, who he realized had been staring at him all this time.

          He met the eyes of each person, flitting from face to face. They wore similar expressions of confusion, worry, and shock. Shock, Carl realized, that was aimed at him. Carl suddenly felt mortified, which he frankly found ridiculous. Admittedly, attacking Negan wasn’t the brightest idea, but he couldn’t just sit back and let it happen. Part of his brain chided him, saying that wasn’t what was happening. But Carl had barely come down from mental collapse, and he didn’t know if he had been wrong or not.

          Inside the RV, Rick stood frozen by the door. Negan unceremoniously strolled around Rick. He settled down at the table and laced his fingers together, beaming impishly behind his hands. Rick belatedly realized Negan had sat down at the same table Rick had sat at. The same table where he’d nearly choked on the defeat looming over him. Rick wondered if Negan remembered. The roguish smile on Negan’s face told him yes. Rick felt a bright flare of anger that was ruthlessly dampened out by the same of feeling of failure. Being back in the RV was practically suffocating Rick. He felt shattered, just like he’d felt during the entire ride.

          “There it is! That kicked puppy look of yours. That shit’s hilarious.” Negan chuckled, idly tapping the table. He flicked his hand towards the seat across from him, “Well, take a seat. That’s a fucking order, so get your ass in gear. Don’t just fucking stand there, Jesus Christ.”

          Rick sighed silently. He complied, taking a seat across from Negan. Another realization struck him—they were in the same exact places too. Negan had everything planned out, didn't he?

          Negan studied Rick, tilting his head contemplatively. When Rick remained taciturn, Negan leaned forward, all jocularity vanishing from his face.

          “You have ten seconds to gather your thoughts or whatever poetic shit you’re doing, then you tell me what the fuck is up with the little serial killer, or I go back out there and somebody’s gonna pay. It’ll may be the kid himself—didn’t really think it through, did he?—but probably not. If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll make him. So. One.”

          It abruptly occurred to Rick that Negan was actually counting down the ten seconds. Rick scrambled for a way to say it without giving Negan any sort of leverage. If he was blunt, he could just get it over with. But he knew he couldn’t be blunt about this. Where would he start? The Claimers. He’d start with the Claimers. He’d told Negan about them. Negan no doubt wanted to know who they were. Rick swallowed dryly. The hopelessness welling up in his throat made it hard to breathe. Just like before, the sense of loss was overwhelming.

          “...Seven. Eight.” Negan was honestly a bit surprised at Rick’s quietness. Was Rick really gonna be that stubborn?

Rick tightened his jaw.

          “Nine.” Negan sighed.

          “The Claimers were a group we ran into on our way to Alexandria,” Rick breathed, his voice grating his throat, “I killed one of their men.”

Negan raised his eyebrows, “Oh, so you only killed one of them, but you went ahead and killed a shit ton of my men? Not really appreciating the special treatment, Rick.”

          Rick glared down at the table. He redirected his gaze at Negan and pointedly continued on, “I killed one of them while escaping by myself from a house I’d been staying in with Carl….and Michonne.”

          Rick reluctantly added the detail about Michonne. He sure as hell didn’t want to, but something told him that Negan would’ve been pissed if he found out Rick was keeping parts of explanation out. Negan would probably find out one way or another.

          “We were trying to find the rest of our group, and one night the Claimers snuck up on us when were out in the open.” Rick grit his teeth. That part was coming up.

          “Okay, but you aren’t really telling me who the Claimers are, or why your kid flipped his shit.” Negan stated, pointing at the door of the RV in Carl’s direction, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally intrigued by your story, but get to it.”

          “The Claimers….. claimed things.”

          “No shit, Sherlock.”

Rick grimaced, “No...they had this system where they’d see something they liked, and they’d claim it.”

          Rick faltered. He dropped his gaze. It was getting harder to form the words. He desperately didn’t want to reveal something like this about Carl to Negan of all people. He wondered if he could last minute change it to something else. Maybe he could say that the Claimers tried to kill Carl, but he knew just how bullshit that would sound. Everybody knew that this far into the apocalypse, people were nearly killed on a daily basis. Somebody or something must’ve tried to kill Carl at least a million times by now. That realization made Rick shudder, overtaken by another bout of parental instinct to protect.

          Rick felt another surge of anger, but this time it was aimed at the long dead Claimers. The world had gone to hell, the dead walked the earth, and that was what they decided to do? He felt sick thinking about what the Claimers no doubt had done to other people, what they had almost done to Carl .

          “The Claimers, they….claim things....and people .”

Rick paused, listening for Negan’s reaction. The RV fell silent. Rick waited for Negan to say something, but nothing came. Rick chanced a look up at the other man.

          Negan looked at him, confusion evident on his features. Negan blinked a few times. He didn’t seem to catch what was Rick was saying. Rick’s eyes darted to the door, then back at Negan. Either Negan didn’t think the big revelation was a big deal, or he didn’t understand.

          “They claimed people. Like how you’d call dibs on shotgun? So the people were their slaves. What, did they make the people they claimed do all the dirty work?” Negan snorted. The idea sounded childish. Yes, people had things that belonged to them, like they claimed them, but the term “claim” sounded stupid.

          Rick took a deep breath. Negan didn’t understand. But that meant that maybe he’d still support what the Claimers did.

          “The people they claimed were basically their slaves,” Rick grit his teeth. Here goes nothing. “But I don’t think the slaves were used for manual labor. They claimed people for themselves.”

Rick crossed his arms and waited, still looking down. Negan leaned back, cocking his head to the side. It took a second or two for him to get Rick’s drift.

          “You’re telling me that the Claimers are a bunch of fucking rapists?” Negan hissed. Rick looked up, startled. Negan sounded angry. Really angry.

          Negan was angry. Negan had leaned forward again, his elbows planted firmly on the tabletop. His brow was furrowed with visible outrage, the dark eyes glinting with anger. Rick found himself gaping dumbly. Negan noticed right away, narrowing his eyes.

          “What, you thought I’d be okay with that?” Negan barked, “I do NOT let that sort of shit fly.”

Rick couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that, so he didn’t. Now he’d have to tell Negan about what happened to Carl.

          “I killed one of them. They ambushed us one night on the road. They wanted revenge for me killing their guy.”

Rick scowled to himself. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the table.

          “One of them tried to…..” Rick uttered hoarsely, trailing off. He looked in the direction of the door again, “....Carl...”

There. Now Negan knew.

          Rick jumped when Negan slammed Lucille down on the table. Rick’s eyes shot to Negan, who was snarling angrily. Rick opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

          “One of ‘em tried to rape your kid?!” Negan raged. Rick almost flinched at the loud volume of the other man’s voice.

          “Tried to,” Rick repeated roughly, “I stopped him before he did anything.”

Negan seemed slightly assuaged by that information. He suddenly sobered up, eyes widening.

          “Oh, shit, I took my belt off. The kid probably thought…Must’ve scared the shit out of him. That explains why he flipped his shit like that.” Negan rubbed his jaw, looking almost sheepish. Rick was dumbfounded. So Negan definitely hated rapists and had a soft spot for kids. Negan.  Rick didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

          Negan sighed deeply, switching back to anger, “You have any idea where the Claimers may been now? I ain’t letting a bunch of fucking rapist assholes just run around freely. How many of them are they?”

Rick realized Negan was probably planning on wiping them out, or something like that. Rick shook his head. He’d already beaten Negan to that.

          “Were.” Rick found himself muttering. Negan blinked.

          “What?”

Rick crossed his arms, slowly dragging his gaze up to meet Negan’s.

          “Were. How many of them were they.” Rick repeated gruffly.

          Negan’s eyebrows shot up. He whistled lowly, “Well, shit. You wiped ‘em all out?”

          Rick simply nodded, “We killed them after they ambushed us. After he tried to hurt Carl.” Rick spat the word ‘he’ disgustedly, clenching his fists at his sides.

Negan was silent for a while. The silence settled around Rick, and he didn’t know if it was calming or suffocating.

          “So I set the kid off. I’m guessing it was the belt thing.”

It dawned on Rick that Negan was expecting a response.

          “I think so.”

Negan just nodded. He dwelled on it a bit longer, turning over the memory in his mind.

          “I wasn’t anywhere near Carl, though,” Negan said. Rick blinked. Carl. Negan had referred to him by name, not just as ‘the kid’. “Hell, I wasn’t even facing him. Maybe it was the damn sound itself. But I was facing you . I was standing by you, not him.”

          Rick instantly made a face, then cursed himself. His shoulders slumped. Glancing up, he knew Negan had noticed the look on his face. Negan could tell Rick knew something. He hoped he wouldn’t have to get to this part. Despite knowing Negan looked down on rape, part of Rick was still wary. It was Negan, after all. The man had dubious morality. Rick’s gaze flitted downwards once more.

          “It wasn’t himself he was scared for.” Rick practically whispered. He resisted the urge to shrink in on himself.

Another stretch of silence. Rick tossed a glance at Negan, who looked confused. Rick looked back down again. Negan would catch on some time.

Rick could practically sense the moment Negan understood what Rick was saying. Negan snorted, resting his chin on his hand.

          “Oh.” Negan said, amusement lacing his voice, “I gave off the totally fucking wrong impression. You definitely didn’t help, with all that kicked puppy shit you got going. Was it just Carl, or did it actually look like that?”

Rick cringed as Negan chuckled.

          “The kid’s got nothing to worry about. I sure as hell don’t swing that way, and I don’t think you do either,” Rick nodded mutely. Negan paused, “You don’t swing that way. Then again, maybe that would’ve been the point.”

Rick almost flinched.

          “Carl didn’t peg me as the protective type, though. And kids normally aren’t protective of their parents. Then again, he’d probably be protective of his one living parent since his mom died.”

Rick’s head bolted upright immediately. The comment was a physical blow, the air leaving his body in one large huff. Something in him wailed loudly. How did Negan know?

          “I had a feeling that was the case.“ Negan grinned knowingly. Rick’s reaction was all the confirmation he needed, “It wasn’t that hard to tell, really. He’s obviously your biological kid. You and the black chick are together, but she obviously couldn’t be the mom because Carl’s pasty as hell. So the birth mom must be….”

          Negan drew a line across his neck with his finger. Rick stared at him wordlessly. He was actually breathless now. Rick felt a familiar heartache he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had accepted Lori was dead, but hearing Negan taunt him about it nearly shattered him into a million pieces.

          Rick knew his emotions were clearly displayed on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Negan chuckled, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Rick wondered if what Negan said was true. Carl watched over Judith, that was for sure, but him? Rick protected other people, not the other way around. He was supposed to keep his people safe (something, Rick thought bitterly, he repeatedly failed at). It was up to Rick to keep himself alive. Carl protected Judith, Rick protected the both of them and Michonne and everybody else. That was the order. At least, that was the order he knew.

          Rick had always known that part of Carl’s protectiveness over Judith was partly because she was the last remnants of Lori. Carl loved Judith as she was, but at the same time, Judith held a piece of his past, back when he still had some innocence remaining. Carl had been furious at Rick for letting the prison fall, but he had been even more mad at him for Judith’s supposed death. But had Negan seen something he hadn’t?

Objectively, it made sense. One parent had died, the child wanted to safeguard the one still standing. But to Rick, it just didn’t add up. He wasn’t supposed to be sheltered. He was the parent, after all. It was his role to defend.

          Negan chortled at Rick’s whole demeanor. The poor fucker was probably overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Mentioning the dead wife might have been a dick move. But he still needed to break Rick. And he was letting Rick get off easy, really. Carl had attacked him, and he’d let it slide. He didn’t blame the kid, now that he knew why Carl had charged, but still. They could’ve been in for a real shit storm.

How long had they been in there? Not that long, but Negan wondered if the little serial killer was getting paranoid in their absence. It seemed like Carl had calmed down, but who knew? They should probably get back out there before the kid went crazy again.

          “Alright.” Negan slapped the table with one palm and stood up, pointing Lucille at Rick, “Let’s get your sorry ass back out there, or your kid may freak out again. Tell him he’s got nothing to worry about. Seriously.”

          Rick grimaced. He was going to do that either way. He stood up, his body creaking in protest, as Negan sauntered over to the door. Negan threw a look back to check if Rick had followed orders. Satisfied with the obedience, the slightly-humane Negan disappeared and was replaced with the heartless showman. He slammed the door open with a bang and stepped out.

          Negan grinned broadly as every face in the clearing turned towards him instantly. The Saviors standing watch over the group on the ground immediately straightened up and pointed their guns at the back of their heads. Huh. The fuckers had relaxed while he was gone. Understandable, but he’d have to fix that later.

          Trepidation was painted across the face of each person seated on the ground. What was the price for what happened? Who was going to pay?  It was obvious everybody was waiting for Negan’s verdict. There was tangible uneasiness in the air, which no doubt meant everybody expected there to be serious consequences. That was good. If they had expected anything else, they’d have been dumb as hell. But they didn’t know what Negan knew.

          Negan regarded Carl, who wasn’t even looking at him. The boy’s eye was trained on the RV behind him, worry plastered across his face. The kid didn’t seem like he was going to lose it, but Negan kept an eye on him, just in case Carl decided to make things worse for his group again.

Rick finally stepped out behind Negan. The disquiet in the clearing lowered a bit at the revelation that Rick was still alive.

          He looked fine, for the most part. Granted, he was sporting a slightly haunted look, but he seemed physically untouched. Carl let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and moved to get up, but stopped when Dwight jabbed him in the shoulder with his gun. Rick noted the apprehension on his family’s faces and his blood ran cold. Now that he thought about it, Negan had never what the consequences were going to be. He’d never specifically said that Carl was off the hook.

Rick wouldn’t put it below Negan to act all sympathetic toward Carl and then kill him. He glanced Negan, who had turned towards him.

          His anxiousness must’ve been clear, because Negan just chuckled in response. He tucked one thumb into a belt loop and swung Lucille at his side in what seemed to be an absent-minded gesture, but was obviously a silent threat. Rick flinched.

          “Today’s your lucky day, folks! Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m letting his,” Negan pointed at Carl, “actions slide! You’re fucking welcome.”

          An instant wave of shocked whispering rippled through the Saviors, coupled with the stunned looks from Rick’s group. Negan put up a hand, indicating that everybody needed to shut the fuck up and listen.

          “Now, this is a one time thing! I’ll have everyone know that next time something like this happens, I won’t be so kind. You’re probably wondering what the hell it is that made me make such a generous decision. Well, you can ask ol’ Rick here, or maybe even the kid himself! They know, or at least Rick does. Though I don’t think he’s gonna tell ya.”

Negan leaned backwards casually. He faced Rick, who had gained back some color in his relief.

          “So, am I going to get a ‘thank you’?” Negan taunted, flashing Rick a Cheshire cat smile. Rick stared at Negan for a few seconds before he comprehended the request, which was more of an order. His jaw tightened, but Rick knew better than to push his luck.

          “Thank you.” Rick muttered lowly.

          “I’m sorry, what was that? Either I’m going deaf or you’re going mute, Rick.” Negan mocked. Rick scowled. He knew Negan heard him.

          “Thank. You.” Rick repeated, louder this time. The whole clearing could hear. He knew that was what Negan wanted.

          “There we go!” Negan exclaimed, one hand snapping into a finger gun and pointing at Rick, “You’re absolutely welcome.”

          Rick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With that over, he focused on Carl. Rick took a step towards Carl, then froze. Grudgingly, he returned his gaze to Negan, looking for clearance. He utterly despised having to ask Negan for permission, but it with what had happened, Rick didn’t want to push his luck.

          “Go ahead,” Negan acquiesced tauntingly.

          Rick strode towards Carl and crouched down beside the boy. Carl instantly grabbed Rick’s arm and dragged his father closer to him. His slightly wide eye scanned his dad, vigilantly looking for—well, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Bruises, maybe. A new injury of some sort, or any incriminating evidence that Rick had been hurt. When Carl found nothing of the sort, his heart finally stopped pounding. His loosened his grip but didn’t let go. Another sigh of relief escaped him. Carl gradually met his father’s gaze, which could only be described as soulful.

Carl’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He shifted almost anxiously. He sat up straighter, his other hand twitching slightly.

          “Dad.” Was all Carl voiced. Somehow, that one word carried across more than Carl could ever articulate in actual sentences. The one word was laden with unspoken thoughts and feelings. Rick understood. It was basically their main form of communication nowadays.

          “Are you alright?” Rick asked softly. Carl stared at Rick. For a moment, Rick thought Carl didn’t comprehend the question.

          “I—I’m okay now, I guess,” Carl said, though it was more of a sigh that happened to sound like words, “What about you?”

          Rick exhaled deeply, “Does it matter? I—”

          “Yes, it does.” Carl interjected angrily. The grip on Rick’s arm turned slightly bruising. His knuckles turned white. Rick was momentarily taken aback. He studied Carl for a moment, briefly at a loss for words. Carl set a steady gaze on his father, “Are you okay?”

Rick nodded. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his hands.

          “Yeah.” Rick muttered. He looked at the hand gripping his forearm. The knuckles of Carl’s hand were slowly regaining color. Carl haltingly released Rick. Rick stayed where he was, looking back up at Carl. Another moment of wordlessly articulate eye contact passed between the two. It was amazing, really, how much they could express without using words. Carl squeezed his dad’s forearm before fully letting go. Rick sat back, making sure to keep close. He started to say something but was instantly cut off by Negan.

          “Well isn’t this just all warm and heartfelt?” Negan interrupted brazenly, “That’s adorable and all, but shut up. I got some shit to tell you sorry fucks.”

          The father-son duo obliged. Both felt too drained to rebel at the moment. There was a  brief moment of quiet as Negan ensured that Rick and Carl had followed instructions. He turned silently and scrutinized the two, before pivoting so that he was facing Rick’s group as a whole.

          “Well, we’re almost done here, but I think you need to hear the rules again. Especially you, kid.” Negan gestured towards Carl. Carl tensed up, leveling Negan with a dark, almost warning glare. Negan decided to let it slide. The kid was getting off easy, but he was probably still all crazy and shit on the inside. Negan snorted bemusedly and carried on.

          Rick, for the most part, blocked out Negan’s words. He remembered the terms of their new “agreement”. Instead, he focused on Carl, who seemed to be tuning Negan out just as much. One of Carl’s arms was propped up on one knee, the other resting on his extended left leg. His unseeing gaze was locked on the shoe of the extended leg. At least, he seemed to be looking in that direction. The gaze was a thousand-mile stare, honestly.

          Rick absentmindedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together. He drifted away from the clearing and into his thoughts, which, to be truthful, didn’t offer much of a refuge. So Negan had let Carl off easy. As much as that relieved Rick, he was worried about what may happen when Negan began seeing through with their ‘agreement’. Carl was no doubt furious about having to give over so many over their supplies to the Saviors. Everybody would be. But Carl was always a bit impulsive and short-tempered, a fact backed up by everything that had happened. And after today Rick had a feeling Negan would be keeping an eye on Carl, probably to make sure he didn’t attack anybody, or, more specifically, any Savior.

          When the time came for Alexandria to fork over its supplies, Carl was, without a doubt, going to put up a fight. Rick didn’t think Carl would react as strongly as he did today, but with Negan keeping an eye on him, they would probably try to stomp out Carl’s rebellion as quickly as possible. The repercussions would most likely be unnecessarily severe. Carl had gotten off easy, but Rick knew more trouble was on the horizon.

          Rick supposed that was life giving him a break, with Carl being let off the hook and all. But the reason for Carl even being put on the hook in the first place troubled him. It’d been a while since they’d talked about the incident with the Claimers. And Rick wanted to know if Carl felt some odd duty to protect him because of Lori’s death. He’d talk to Carl about it later. Whenever “later” was.

          Rick cast a glance at his son. Carl continue to stare unfocused at his shoe, then veered his gaze at Rick with unexpected abruptness. He looked at his father with an startling focus, the single blue eye drilling into him.

          “I—” Carl began quietly to avoid being detected by Negan. He stopped, trying to think of the right words to say what he was feeling, “I’m sorry.”

          Carl watched his Dad’s brow slowly furrow. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. That meant two things—he was angry or confused. Dad’s head cocked, but slightly. That was the confusion tilt. If Rick tilted any further, it meant somebody(ies) was going to die. Carl had noticed, probably alongside everybody else, that Rick tended to tilt his head whenever he was entering FIGHT mode. For some reason, the memory almost made Carl smile.

          “What do you mean?” Rick whispered back. What was Carl sorry for? Rick knew that this, all of this, was all his fault. If he’d just done better, his people would never have been at the mercy of the Saviors.

          For whatever reason, his Dad didn’t seem to understand what Carl was trying to say. Carl just shook his head mutely.

          “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry sack of shits!” Negan’s exclamatory voice cut through their hushed conversation. Around them, Saviors began to leave. Just like that, it was as if a dam was broken. The feeling of numb brokenness evaporated.

Saviors filtered away into their vehicles, packing up and leaving the group they had terrorized kneeling in the clearing. Rick noted that a single truck remained untouched. Probably for them to use to get supplies for the Saviors.

The sound of shoes hitting the ground gradually got closer until Rick felt something poke his shoulder. He looked up to see Negan retracting Lucille, still bearing his practically trademark wolfish grin.

          “Make sure to keep your kid in line next time.” Negan goaded. Carl looked up at the sound of Negan’s voice, his gaze icy and sharp. Negan smiled wider at the contempt-filled look Carl cast at him. The kid could definitely go places.

          Carl shifted forward. He looked close to growling at Negan, his mouth twitching into a snarl. Negan raised his eyebrows. He considered threatening the kid by swinging Lucille near his head, but if he knew anything about Carl, he knew that wouldn’t scare him. Instead, Negan swung Lucille next to Rick. Negan found himself almost admiring how Rick didn’t even flinch. Carl, on the other hand, jumped about five feet into the air. He almost lunged forward, but stopped himself at the last moment.

          “Watch it, kid. I already told you I won’t be this nice next time.”

          Carl glared at him—kid looked kinda fucking insane—but leaned back pointedly. Bingo. The kid was just like his dad. Ohhhh, go ahead and hurt me, but please, not anybody else!!! Negan knew he was pushing the kid’s limits, but that was the point. Carl needed to learn that not matter how pissed off he got, he did not fuck with Negan.

          He understood the kid had nearly been raped, but he expected Rick to talk to Carl and tell the kid to calm down. Or at least not attack. He waited a little longer, watching the father-son duo look like the miserable little shits that they were. It was hilarious, really.

          Negan let the moment pass. He swung Lucille onto his shoulder, taking a few steps backwards.

          “Ta-ta!” He taunted, before finally leaving Rick’s group to themselves.

          Rick let out a silent, shuddery breath. The entire time he’d practically been holding himself together with rubber bands, but now even those snapped. Now what? What did he do now? Everybody probably expected him to find a way out of their shitty situation, like he was supposed to. He was their strong, courageous leader.

          Rick knew that had always been a lie.

He had nothing. He had no idea what to do to escape this. Now he understood why the Hilltop had been so scared of the Saviors. The wind whistled, and he swore he could hear the Saviors whistling with it.

          The Saviors drove off, leaving behind a stifling quiet in the clearing. Rick’s family reeled with shock and grief as the sound of rumbling engines slowly quieted. Eventually, the clearing was entrenched in a bone-chilling silence.

Somewhere up above, a bird chirped. It was too loud.

          They sat there in quietude for who knows how long. Nothing moved, until Carl wordlessly reached for the Sheriff’s hat resting on the ground near him. In one quick motion, Carl picked it up and put it back on. The rim of the hat dipped low, hiding most of Carl’s face.

          “Carl.” The silence was broken when Rick softly whispered his son’s name. The weary voice was louder than the birds chirping, yet somehow not at the same time.

The rim of the Sheriff’s hat rose when Carl heard his name. It rose even higher when Carl looked up at his dad.

          “Why were you...” Rick lapsed into silence. He felt a deep sense of weariness tugging at his limbs, “You said you were sorry.”

Carl’s shoulders rose and fell slowly in what was a deep, muted sigh. He tipped his head back, looking up at the grey sky.

          “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Carl elaborated, his voice a low, hushed grumble. He swung his head back down, “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have attacked Negan. I put everybody in danger. He could’ve killed you for what I did.”

Carl swallowed dryly, now avoiding eye contact. One hand clawed at the fabric of his pants.

          “Carl, it’s not...This, all of this, it’s my fault...so don’t think of it like that. We have to talk about it.” Rick murmured. Carl looked at his dad, tensing up. He didn’t feeling like talking about it. He was pretty sure he was still in it. Rick immediately noticed the tension in Carl’s frame.

          “We don’t have to talk about it now. We’ll do that later, but I need to understand.”

          “I think I know why I snapped like that...it couldn’t have been anything else…” Carl uttered gruffly and tamped down on the urge to break something. He thought of that night, then what he’d seen today. Instantly, he clenched his fists, struggling for control. A flare of pain from his hands surprised Carl.

          Carl unfurled his fists and glared at the palms of his hands, demanding an answer for the pain. The palms of his hands were slightly bloodied with crescent-moon shaped cuts. The cuts weren’t bleeding heavily, but little dots of red still decorated the edges of some of the cuts. The shape of the cuts told him it had been his fingernails that had cut into his skin. When had that happened?

          Carl still didn’t remember all that much from a few minutes ago. Negan had called him over, and he’d just been standing there, and then he heard that noise. Then he looked up, only to see Negan standing over Rick. Everything had slowly derailed after that, up until he saw Negan straddling Dad, his hand wrapped around Dad’s throat. And then everything had just plummeted. The image was still seared into the underside of his eyelids. The rational part of him was in charge now, so Carl knew that he’d taken everything the wrong way. But the image still lingered in his mind. A silent snarl reflexively decorated Carl’s face. He clenched his jaw, trying to reign in the anger that was attempting to rear its head at the mere memory. His vision flickered red. It burned, oh god, it burned.

          Rick watched with a sinking feeling as Carl began to shake. Dipping his head, Rick glanced under the rim of the Sheriff’s hat. A familiar sense of dismay gripped him when he noticed the anger etched into Carl’s face. Carl was slipping. Rick shot forward, then slowed down as he realized that quick movement might only startle Carl.

          “Carl, it’s okay, it’s….” Rick broke off. It was what? Fine? No, it wasn’t.

He gently touched Carl’s shoulder. He latched on, hoping his grip was firm but not uncomfortably so.

          “I’m fine.” Rick said, suddenly aware of how desperate he sounded. He let go of Carl’s shoulder and instead touched his fist. He tried to envelop it in his own, but he couldn’t with just one hand. Carl had gotten bigger one day, and Rick hadn’t even noticed. He settled for gently gripping Carl’s wrist, “I—I….I’m here. I’m here.”

          Carl stopped shaking. His fists unfurled slowly, leaving Rick gently squeezing his open hand. Rick didn’t notice Carl putting himself back together. Carl blinked, looking at his father’s hand placed over his own. It was soothing, really, but to Carl it seemed like his dad was getting desperate.

          “I’m here.” Rick repeated softly, urgently. Negan was gone now— just for now, Rick —he could help Carl. Could he?

          Carl glanced at his father. With a bit of a jolt, Carl realized that Dad needed him to be okay just as much he needed Dad to be okay. But what qualified as “okay” anymore? Carl didn’t know. He knew one thing, though.

          Carl lifted his hand, dislodging his wrist from Rick’s hold, and squeezed Rick’s hand.

          “Yeah. You’re here. I’m here too.” Carl said softly.

          Rick blinked. The wetness pooling at the rims of his eyes finally overpoured. The tears trickled down his face, leaving behind a trail of clean skin in the dirt and blood on his face. Carl’s face lit up with worry, before calming down at the realization that the tears, surprisingly enough, weren’t tears of anguish.

          When Carl blinked, he realized that a few tears had gathered in his eyes as well. Rick rubbed away the few tears of his own that had fallen and cleared his throat. He pulled the boy into a one-armed hug, thankful now more than ever that Carl was alive. Carl immediately turned and returned the hug. The ferocity of the gesture squeezed a huff of air out of Rick.

          Despite everything, a hint of a smile flickered across Rick’s face.

          “Yeah. We’re here.”