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Chapter Text

Negan slumped onto the pavement; his face covered by his hands as he tried to steady his breathing. Fuck. Lucille had been dead for six months. One day she’d been speaking to him, her voice frail and strained then she’d taken a breath and gone silent, the beeping of the machines had been the only noise in the bright, clinical room. He hadn’t been able to go home afterwards, had felt vile creep up into his mouth at the thought of seeing their things and accepting that Lucille would never come home or anywhere again. 

After, he got in his car and drove. There wasn’t a destination, he just wanted to get far away from home. From the wife that he’d never see again, from the home with all their things. From the mistakes that he’d made along the way. After days of sleeping in his car, Negan had ended up in the middle of nowhere. Georgia, apparently.

He’d cooped himself up in a cheap motel room instead, living out of the small suitcase he’d brought to the hospital. Negan had drunk himself to sleep every night, half-listening to the news as they droned on about strange catastrophes. Cannibalism in major cities. Crops ruined in the country. Missing people cases on the rise. While Negan’s world had ended that day in the hospital, the rest of the world around him had gone to shit. For months, the sound of looting, police sirens and screams were his new lullaby, replacing the beeping of the hospital machines. 

Every day, the news said the same thing; that the government was going to fix it, that the police and the army were doing their best to get the situation under control, and that there was no reason to panic. Negan had stayed inside that room all those months while the world went to hell, using the laundry room a stairwell below his room, eating the hotel food and trying to ignore how the portions got smaller and smaller every week. It had been better than leaving though, than going back home and facing the daunting reality of a lonely life in a fucked up world. Then, the hotel kicked him out along with the rest of the guests and shut down completely, ignoring their pleas and clamours. 

Looking around for the first time in months left him staggered, the stench of death so pungent that he gagged and heaved, slamming his clammy palm against his nose and mouth in a weak attempt to block it out. The streets looked like a scene from a horror movie, splattered with blood, human remains and the ashes of the burning buildings that left the air thick, smoky, and difficult to breathe. “What the fuck is going on,” he muttered, already missing the cocoon he’d shut himself in for weeks. The news had stopped reporting at some point, but he’d barely noticed it through his drunken haze. 

Bins cluttered behind Negan, startling him. He turned, half expecting a rodent, only to be met by bony hands clutching at him. “Fuck!” 

It wasn’t just the hands that were bony, the entire body of his attacker was deteriorating, down to thin, rotting skin that stuck to the bones. The man didn’t talk or ask him for money. He groaned instead; a half wheezed sound that sounded torn from his throat. It seemed pained, desperate but the expression on his face gave nothing away. Negan stayed rooted to his spot, even as the hands grabbed at his wrists, trying to pull him down. His heart beat wildly against his ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape a trap and over that, he heard the sound of teeth clacking loudly. Negan jumped back, remembering the headlines he'd barely heard. Cannibalism in major cities. Could cannibalism make someone look like this, though?

“Get the fuck off me,” Negan snapped, pushing the thing back. “I don’t know what the fuck you are…but get the hell away from me, you got it?”

He’d heard of cannibalism before but apart from severe cases of trauma, he’d never heard of it turning humans into monsters. This thing was something out of a horror movie with rotting skin peeling, revealing bone and muscle like the textbooks he’d had to memorise to become a gym teacher. His attacker looked, well, dead. 

The thing didn’t give in, trying to grab him even as Negan scrambled away, dragging his palms on the pavement painfully. He ignored the burning against his skin, blindly looking for something to defend himself with and half wishing he hadn’t drunk that much whisky tonight. Negan let out a shaking sigh when he found a shard of glass, probably from the bottle he’d smashed. He turned to the thing again. 

“Look, man. If you don’t move the hell away I’m putting this into your neck. I can claim self-defence, asshole. One last chance.” 

Threats didn’t frighten the strange man, if anything he seemed more spurred on, foaming at the mouth as if he was something delicious to bite one’s teeth into. The man threw himself on top of Negan, groaning as he tried to bite into his stomach. Negan didn’t think twice, tightened his hand around the shard and plunged into the man’s neck, dragging it across the rotting flesh with a cry. He shuddered, shutting his eyes as he felt the thick, red liquid dripping down onto his own skin. He pushed the maniac away with a shudder and scattered back until his back hit the wall. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Now I have to call the cops, don’t I?” 

Groaning made him look up. 

It wasn’t dead. It sat up again as if Negan hadn’t just sliced its neck. It growled at him as if he was the one being difficult. Negan’s jaw dropped as it got closer, snarling like an animal. “Fuck,” he mumbled, blindly feeling the pavement for something else to defend himself with. He reached for the metal pipe, stuffed between the two bins, and pulled. Negan held it in his hands, ready to hit it until the thing went down. 

“The neck won’t do. You have to aim for the head, or they’ll keep coming!” 

Negan swerved around, trying to spot his saviour but found nothing. Empty streets, empty, burning buildings. He turned back to the thing that was getting closer with each breath he took. Negan stood up with a grunt and squeezed his hands tightly around the metal pipe. He walked towards the half-dead thing and pulled the pipe back as if it was a bat and lunged forward, hitting it in the chest. It toppled over and Negan took the change to aim for the knees until he heard the bone crack. With a trembling breath, he aimed for the neck, closed his eyes, and imagined he was in the gym hitting a ball and not a human head. He squeezed his hands around the pipe again and aimed, hearing the squelch of skin bursting when it made impact. 

The groaning ceased and Negan opened his eyes again. 

“Well, shit.” 

Whatever that had been, it wasn’t anything anymore. Its head was smashed across the ground like someone had blown it out, leaving nothing but blood and brain matter splattered on the concrete. He crouched, trying to breathe despite the tightening of his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Had he just killed someone?

Quiet footfalls made his head snap up, aware of how guilty he must look. Negan half expected to see a cop with handcuffs at the ready. Instead, a lanky teenager was holding a revolver and bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. The kid looked down at the body then up at him as if he’d dropped something instead of just smashing someone’s head in. After he noticed the revolver, he noticed his eyes. Blue and bright, like jewels. 

“Are you okay? You seem shaken up, was that your first?”

Negan wondered if he was dreaming or if he’d just bumped into a serial killer. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation. “Kid, tell me you’re joking. No, I’m not okay. I just killed someone!” 

The teen’s brows raised and his hands splayed in front of him as if trying to calm a wounded animal. He took a step towards Negan, pocketing the revolver. “You can’t kill someone already dead. If you hadn’t gone for the head, he would’ve killed you and then you’d be like him too. Just another freak hungry for human flesh. Is that what you want?”

Negan blinked. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but I need to call the cops.”

The kid broke the pretzel bag open and started biting on one. 

“Do you live under a rock? There aren’t any cops anymore. No army either. It’s just us and them. And if you don’t start aiming for the head, you’ll be them soon enough.” 

He let out a shaky breath and leaned against the wall, processing everything the kid had said. Dead people eating alive people. No police, no army. Just survivors. Negan wished he’d just died with Lucille, but maybe this was his punishment for having been a terrible husband while she’d been alive. He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “Right. Thanks, kid. I guess I missed the world going to shit.”

“The world’s been shit for a while,” he replied as if he were an old man rather than a teenager. “Also, you swear. Like a lot. By the way, I have a name, you know. Not kid, it’s Carl.” 

Negan’s mouth twitched. “I’m Negan.” 

Carl looked him up and down as if trying to figure him out. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “Are you any good with a gun?”

Before he could reply, the bins clattered a few steps away and Carl jolted, his hand flying to his holster. “More walkers, I think. We should go, it’s not very safe here in the city.” 

Negan couldn’t imagine that the army and the government had made safe places for ordinary citizens. For themselves, probably but for ordinary people? Unlikely. “Is there anywhere safe anymore?” 

The kid shrugged and signalled for him to follow, taking quick steps through the long, winding alleys. “Nowhere is really safe but some places are safer than others. Out here? Very unsafe. A place with walls and snipers? A lot safer.” 

They walked for a long time, through alleys and driveways, hopping over fences in an attempt to avoid bumping into more of the undead. Carl had a gun with four bullets and Negan had a metal pipe. Their odds weren't exactly the best and Carl said that noise drew more of them. According to his watch, they’d been walking for almost an hour. They’d gone from the city towards the suburbs which looked a lot calmer but just as empty of normal people. Negan needed the kid to talk again before he started going on a tangent. He didn’t do good with silence. 

“A lot of people with you?”

Carl snorted, looking at him over his shoulder. “What’re you, FBI?”

“High school gym teacher.”

He scrunched his nose for a second then shrugged. “Some, I guess. It’s no army but there’s a few of us. Shane, my mom Lori, and others we found along the way.”

Negan nodded, half-listening. Every turn they made on the abandoned streets was a tense one. He kept expecting to see another one of those things, half-rotted, and half shot to death, ready to take a bite out of him. He really wished he’d died with Lucille. Fuck. Thinking about Lucille, especially now that he was sober, brought an ache like pressing on a tender bruise. Negan's heart dipped painfully in his chest, and he bit his lip, desperate to think about anything else before he started crying in front of a kid. He cleared his throat. “What about in general? A lot of normal people left?”

Carl shrugged again. Negan got the impression he did that a lot. “You don’t know?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “I’m seventeen, not psychic.”

The snipe made Negan’s lips twitch and he was glad for the distraction. Carl was smiling too, a sharp little thing that he was trying to bite back. “Truth is, I’m not really sure. We’re still trying to fix the radio, so. Shane thinks there’s still army and that Fort Benning’s our best chance.” 

He looked around as he spoke, taking in the solitary suburbs. “Oh. We’re here, just down the hill until we get to the field. See that RV?”

Negan squinted where the kid pointed, seeing a small white van on a large, green field. There were colourful triangles around it – tents if he had to guess. He nodded and Carl grinned. “Home sweet home. Oh, and let me talk to them first, they’re a bit spooked by new people at first.”

Great. Negan resisted the urge to groan and fell behind, following the kid’s lead. 

As soon as they came into view, a man was running towards them with a gun in hand. He had a stern, almost smug look to him and Negan instantly felt his jaw clench. The man ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling Carl into a half hug. 

“Carl, finally. I was starting to worry, son. Who’s this?” 

The kid made a face at the word though he didn’t comment on it. “Shane, this is Negan. I found him a few streets away.”

Negan raised a brow but didn't call him out on it. Interesting.

Shane raised a brow, motioning him to continue. “And?”

“And I thought he needed help. So, I helped.” 

Before Shane could complain, a smaller woman approached them, hovering near them as if wanting to prevent a fight but not wanting to get involved. Lori, Negan assumed. She gave Shane a look and ruffled Carl’s hair. “I’m glad you did, sweetheart. We’ll be more than glad to have someone else with us, won’t we, Shane?”
 
He didn’t seem pleased but nodded anyway, plastering a smile on his face. “Sure. Welcome to the group, Negan.”

Chapter Text

Negan liked to think of himself as a quick learner. In the world, everything had rules and traditions – spoken or unspoken. Kevlar jeans were good for riding motorcycles, maple bats had the best impact, ears were for listening and eyes were for seeing. The new world order was no different. 

Carl liked comic books and would gladly take up another shift if he was given one. Shane and Lori were clearly together and pretending not to be. Ed was beating his wife, Carol and maybe their kid, Sofia. Daryl had a complicated relationship with his brother, Merle. Women did traditional women’s work; cooking and cleaning while the men scavenged for food and defended the camp. Well, most of them. Ed didn’t do a damn thing. These were all things that went unspoken. 

Shane was the leader, something that was uncontested even by the other men in the group like Ed, Merle, or Daryl. He was in charge either because he used to be a cop or because he was the only one with somewhat of a plan. Whatever the reason, he was the one in charge of everything; rations, plans, rescue missions and, well, everyone in the group. If Shane sent you on patrol at midnight, you went on patrol at midnight, which was why Negan currently found himself exhausted and on patrol duty at an ungodly hour. Five am, according to his watch. 

“It’s not all bad,” Carl joked beside him, not even pretending to patrol as he flicked through his newest comic. He was right though. Negan preferred to put up with Shane’s passive-aggressive punishments like late patrols and shorter rations if it meant he was with other people and weapons instead of alone in the city surrounded by rotters. 

The rest of the group were good people, though somewhat naïve. Carol snuck some extra soup to him when rations were suddenly cut. Lori offered to wash and dry his blood-soaked clothes for him after patrols. Amy, Andrea, and Dale taught him how to fish by the creek where they swam. Glenn helped whoever he could, making jokes that cleared the air when things got too tense. The Dixon brothers tended to avoid him and anyone else, for that matter. 

And Carl…well, the kid could be a sweetheart when he wasn’t being the stereotypical teenager. 

“No,” Negan agreed, putting the binoculars aside. “It could be a whole lot worse; I know that. You really saved my ass.” 

Carl nodded, putting the comic aside. “Shane’s just being Shane, he likes to be the leader and he’s just trying to be careful. He’ll probably ease up on you soon, you should’ve seen how he was with Daryl and Merle when they came.” 

“You have problems with him too,” Negan guessed. “You lied to him the other day.”

“Not exactly a problem,” Carl replied slowly as if thinking his response through as he spoke. “Shane is like my uncle, my friend. He’d take care of me when my parents were busy or on dates. He taught me to shoot. It’s just…I see they look at each other. My dad just died and they’re acting like…I don’t know. They try and hide it like I can’t see it. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Negan couldn’t really comment on the cheating aspect. Pot, kettle. Was it cheating though? He wasn’t really sure, but he understood the frustration the kid must feel. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah, I know. You’re a smart kid.”

“Not a kid,” Carl reminded him. Negan felt a smile grow on his lips. 

Before he could tease him further, Shane whistled from below the RV, calling everyone to him. They exchanged a look before climbing down from the roof and walking towards him. If Shane was tired like them, it didn’t show. He clapped his hands together, ignoring the yawning of the group. “Alright. I need some of you to go into the city and scavenge for supplies. We are low, dangerously so.”

Carl raised a hand and Shane immediately shut him down, followed by Lori. 

“No.”

Negan watched his face twist into frustration and put his hand up in support. “I could go with him.” 

Shane shut him down too. “Yeah, no, you’re not going either.” 

In the end, the man picked five; Glenn, T-Dog, Merle, Andrea, and Jacqui. The choice surprised him. He hadn’t exactly picked the best fighters or the best shooters, not even the people that got along. The group walked towards the car, already arguing about who would be driving. Merle, of course, won. 

“Interesting choice.”

Shane stared at him for a moment before answering. “It wouldn’t do any good to send our best fighters. We need our best here, defending the group. Glenn is smart and he knows the city, he can lead them. T-Dog is strong. Merle will do anything to survive which means as long as they stick with him, they’ll be fine. Andrea and Jacqui are smart too and they go on and on about wanting to do more. Here’s their chance.” 

His words were final, and Negan knew better than to poke the bear. For now. He walked away, throwing Carl a look over his shoulder as he climbed back up to the RV, waving to Dale as he did. 

Carl’s arms were crossed, and he looked no more pleased than he had been before the explanation. He waited until Negan walked away to argue. “You could’ve sent me.”

“No, son, I have to watch over you and I can’t do that if you’re God knows where.”

“No,” Lori agreed, pulling him close to her chest. “I’m not sending you out there. You’re my son, the only one I have. I’m going to protect you until the day I die.” 

Something flickered over Carl’s face as he pulled back from the embrace. “I can handle myself.” He turned to Shane. “And you’re not my dad.” 

Carl felt his face flush, knowing how childish the words sounded. He walked away before they could call him back, frustrated by himself. He’d spent these months trying to prove that he was grown up, mature and that he could handle himself but every time he argued with Shane or his mom, it was like being ten years old again. 

He sighed, leaning back against the RV. Deep down, he knew it wasn't just Shane that bothered him. Or even the way him and Lori looked at each other. Carl was scared to forget his father. When this had started, Shane had protected them and promised that it would be over in a few weeks. Two months without the army and police had passed, and there was no sign of it ending any time soon. His father was in a hospital, somewhere in Atlanta, forgotten. Shane had locked him in but hadn’t felt a heartbeat. He was lucky his mom still had those photo albums, as stupid as it sounded. On nights where this was especially hard, he’d go through them, staring at his father’s face in desperation to remember, to cling to the good memories before this. 

When he thought of his father, Carl thought of warm hands lifting him into the air when he was younger, of fresh lemonade and M&M’s that his father would give him after school. He thought of comforting words after their parents argued and fascinating stories where his dad caught the bad guy. Carl thought of the awed silence of his class when he brought Rick into school for Career Day. His dad had been a hero, his hero, and the thought of calling Shane his dad, replacing his own, made him feel sick. It was dishonouring every memory he had, it was a lie and his dad hated when he lied. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Carl’s head snapped up to see Negan opposite him, holding a glass of whisky. He raised a brow. “It’s six in the morning, Negan.” 

Negan grinned, shrugging. “It’s happy hour somewhere. Now come on, don’t make me drag it out of you. What’s up your ass?”  

He grimaced at the language; half tempted to tell him off. Carl bit his words back, not wanting to sound like he couldn’t handle it. He had no idea why he cared about what the man thought but he wanted to impress him as dumb as it sounded. He cleared his throat. Be cool. “Nothing, just Shane being annoying. Can I have some?” 

He winced at the eagerness in his voice. Way to be cool, Carl. Negan chuckled, swirling the glass around. “You ever drank before, kid? Wait, you’re seventeen, right? Pretty sure I can get jail time for sharing.”

Carl rolled his eyes, trying to grab the glass from his reach. “Oh my God. I’m eighteen next week, no one’s going to arrest you. Now, give me some.”

“Ask nicely.”

Well. Carl hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. The guy had a voice like a siren’s call, hypnotising with just enough edge of teasing that made you want to do exactly what he told you. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “May I please have some?”

“What,” Negan pouted, lips twitching from the effort to hold back his grin, “no sir?”

“Now you’re just pushing your damn luck.” 

If this was Shane, he would already be telling Carl off, reminding him about manners. Instead, Negan threw his head back, laughing as if Carl was the funniest person he’d met. His own lips twitched at Negan’s amusement, but he bit back the smile, rolling his eyes instead. Still chuckling, Negan pushed the half-empty glass into his eager hand, watching him carefully as he drank it. 

His first reaction was to spit it out and gag at the taste, but he restrained himself and took another sip, emptying the cup. He pushed it back into Negan’s hand with a shrug. “Not bad,” Carl muttered, ignoring the way his throat burned. How people drank that for fun, he would never understand. 

His lips were stretched into a grin as if he knew Carl was lying. “Not bad, huh? Well, look at you. Should get you to chug next time.” 

Carl had no idea what that meant. “Sure,” he replied. “Can’t wait.” 

Negan snorted, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re really something, kid.”

Thanks, he thought of saying. Or, not a kid. Or maybe even, “and you’re hot, even though you’re kind of old.” 

In the end, Carl didn’t get to say any of those because the second he opened his mouth to reply, an engine roared a few feet away from them. Negan put the glass down on the grass, pulled his gun out of the holster and turned to the cars coming up towards them, ready to shoot if necessary. Carl was proud considering that he’d been a terrible shot when he’d first got here. He’d had fun teasing Negan every time he missed the target, not that it had lasted long. Two weeks of training from Shane and he’d mastered a gun. 

Glenn hopped out of a red sports car with an alarm as loud as a wail. Shane was on his ass immediately, yelling and waving his hands around like an angry parent. He kind of reminded Carl of Lori when she’d yell at Rick in the mornings before he left for work. Do you even love us anymore?

“Sorry,” Glenn yelped, “I kind of had to steal it. Don’t arrest me.”

“Pop the hood,” Shane snarled. “Pop the damn hood, Glenn!”

“Yes, alright!” 

The alarm stopped and Carl breathed again. Next to him, Negan whistled. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks, man.”

Shane wasn’t satisfied. “Are you crazy, trying to bring every walker for miles here?”

“It’s fine,” Dale soothed, squeezing Glenn’s shoulder. The action reminded Carl of his dad and he looked down at the ground, feeling his eyes water. If Negan noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Carl was glad for it. Morales grinned at them, pointing to the open door of the truck. “Come meet the new guy, he’s the only reason we made it out. Crazy as hell and just as smart. Oh, and a cop, just like you.”

The truck door shut, and the man stepped out, coming into view. Carl felt his heart stutter in his chest. It couldn’t be. He squinted, raising a hand over his eyes to see clearer. It was. It was. 

“Oh my god,” Lori whispered, stepping away from Shane and towards the truck. 

“Dad?”

Carl was on his feet in seconds, running towards his father like he was a little kid again, eager to be lifted and spun around. He didn’t care what anyone thought or about seeming older. His dad was alive and real. He almost slipped on the dirt in his rush, but Rick’s hands were there to catch him, firm and strong. Rick pulled him to his chest, squeezing tightly as if making sure he was real. 

“Carl,” he breathed. “Carl.”

Lori was hovering near them with her hands at her sides, unsure. Rick turned to her and wordlessly pulled her into the hug, running a hand through her hair like Carl had seen him do a hundred times. The action was gentle and familiar, grounding him. The world as they knew it was over, but his dad was here, he’d found them and that meant he could do anything. 

Shane was watching them, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. His hands were twitching at his sides as if he wasn’t sure whether to join the hug or pull them apart. 

Carl cleared his throat, his face still stretched into a smile so wide that it hurt. “Dad, come meet everyone.” 

He introduced him to Negan first. 

“Hi, I’m Negan. Everyone, apparently.” 

Carl snorted, grinning when Rick squinted, unsure. “Rick Grimes. I hear my boy saved you.”

“Oh my God, dad.”

Negan’s grin didn’t waver, instead, it grew. “No, he’s right. Saved my ass a few weeks back and didn’t let up on me until I was the best sharpshooter for miles.”

Carl pouted. “The best?”

“One of the best,” Negan amended, chuckling fondly. 

Rick watched their banter with a raised brow but shook the man’s hand, nonetheless. He turned to Shane with a smile and pulled him into a half hug. “Shane. Thank you, for everything. You took care of them while I couldn’t.”

Shane cleared his throat, patting Rick on the back. “It was nothing, man.” 

Lori watched them a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, and Carl wondered if it would get worse before it got better. Part of him wanted to go to his dad, to pull him away and tell him what he suspected but his feet remained rooted to their spot and when Rick laughed at whatever Shane had said, Carl knew he couldn’t. 

Negan’s hand was at his shoulder and his eyes were knowing. “Carl, come on.” 

“Where?” His voice sounded bleak to his own ears, and he hated it. 

“Anywhere. Come on.” 

He let himself be led, eager to let someone else take the wheel for once. It was exhausting, trying to be the grownup, the one who saw everything and said nothing. Negan’s hand was firm on his back, leading him towards the woods and Carl leaned into it, feeling his knees wobble. Moments ago, he’d felt happier than he had in months and now he just felt exhausted, wanted to collapse on the grass and forget it all. 

“Come on. Talk.”

Carl all but stumbled onto the ground. “Hmm?”

“It’s all over your face, you need to let it out. So, talk.” 

He shook his head, willing his eyes not to water. “I’m fine, really.” He had to be, had to be strong and fine because that’s how survivors were. That’s how his father was, that’s how Shane was, and he wanted to be like them. Strong. Useful. Brave. Carl doubted that strong men cried in the woods in front of someone else. 

“Okay,” Carl whispered, a confession. “Maybe I’m not okay but I need to be.”

Negan’s expression was piercing, like he could read right through him, before it turned softer. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I want to be like my dad, like Shane. Strong.”

He wanted his mother to be proud of him, to give him a second of her time. That was too embarrassing to confess though, so Carl bit his tongue, feeling self-consciousness bubble up inside him again. When he held a gun or practised with his knife, he felt powerful like the other survivors but talking like this, crouched, and looking up, he felt like a kid all over again. It wasn't the feeling of being safe in his father's hold earlier but rather like being talked down to, being seen differently. Weaker. Carl hated the thought of being weak.

Negan scoffed. “Last time I checked, Shane wasn’t exactly exemplar. There’s more than one way to be strong, Carl. You’re a kid surviving and learning to shoot instead of hiding away and crying like most people would. You’re already strong.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Negan’s grin was sharp, almost wolfish. Carl thought he looked handsome like that, confident and smiling. Not that he’d ever tell him. The man already had an inflated ego that grew wider every time someone looked at him for too long. It was obvious, from the way he held himself to the way he sauntered. Shane was in charge, but Negan looked it. His confidence was contagious, maybe that's why Carl felt drawn to him. The belief the man had in him made him feel good like he could shoot a moving target thirty feet away if Negan said so. Like he could walk on water if Negan suggested it. It was powerful, it was terrifying. 

“What’s on your mind now? You ever give that head of yours a rest?”  

Carl had no words to explain what he’d just felt, and he wasn’t about to wax poetic to Negan. Instead, he took the man’s hand and let himself be pulled up from the grass.

“Nothing,” Carl replied, smiling. “Just really hungry.” 

Negan snorted. “Yeah. Me fucking too. Let’s head back.” 

He listened to the tune that Negan whistled as they walked, a sharp thing that made his ears snap to attention. He watched as Negan slung his leather jacket over his shoulders carelessly. As he shot a walker ten feet away without slowing down his pace. Confident. Strong. Negan moved and Carl watched, fascinated. 

Chapter Text

Rick had been gone for four hours, twenty minutes and thirty seconds. Not that he was counting. 

“Why would you agree,” Shane snapped, rubbing at his temples. “All you had to do was say no and he would’ve stayed. Now we’re short on four men. Four.”

Carl didn’t reply, watching the frogs hop in the water. How could he beg his father to stay when that meant denying everything his father stood for, everything that made him special? The world was becoming a lot smaller and a lot crueller, it needed someone like Rick Grimes, eager to save people, no matter who they were. 

“Listen, I have to go back. There’s a man there with a son. They saved me and I told them to follow me after. If they go into Atlanta, they’re dead. I have to warn them, I owe them my life. There are guns too, lots of ‘em. This isn’t just about Merle Dixon but that matters too. Maybe he would let me thirst to death but me? I can’t let that happen. Me.”

Don’t leave me, had been on Carl’s lips but he bit the words back. He didn’t like it, but he understood. So, he’d agreed, even as Lori stormed into their tent and Shane looked at him in disbelief. If he was braver, he’d try and explain it to Shane; that saving people was just as important as surviving, that there was no point in being alive if you couldn’t live with yourself, that if the group was so eager to abandon others so early on, what would they be like years from now? 

“Carl. Do you know what that means? How hard it is to protect this place now?”

He doubted Shane would understand, so he didn’t reply. Negan didn’t have the same attitude. He was at Carl’s side in seconds, arms crossed. 

“Hey, what crawled up your ass and died? Did you miss the part where Rick is also bringing us a bunch of guns, or do you just hear what you need to hear to bother someone else?” 

“Do you,” Shane continued, ignoring Negan.

Negan wasn’t someone to be ignored though. He stepped in front of Carl, tilting his head so that he was out of view. “Hey, asshole. Give it a rest, will you?

Shane, clearly eager to argue, took a step closer. “You wanna repeat that?”

“Oh, so you are deaf. Alright.”

Carl bit back his grin. 

Before Shane could reply, screams rang from the creek. They ran towards the cries, guns ready to fire on walkers if needed. Not walkers, Carl noted. It was Ed, pulling Carol away from the rest of the women gathered there. She was facing the ground, ashamed to look back at her friends. At the cruel sight, his hands tightened into fists. Andrea stepped towards Ed, snarling at him to let her go. 

“Stay out of this,” Ed snapped, pushing her back. Negan stepped forward, snarling an insult at him. She stumbled to the ground and Jacqui stepped forward, lifting her in seconds. Carol’s arms were wrapped around herself, biting her lip as Andrea pushed Ed back. “She’s not your property, she’s your wife!” 

Ed’s hand rose, ready to strike, but Shane was there first. He pushed Ed to the ground like he’d done to criminals a hundred times as an officer. Ed didn’t have a chance to fight back as Shane punched him again and again until his nose began to bleed. Carol begged him to stop when Ed stopped moving, laying there with his face puffed up. Negan, who’d been watching, tried to pull Shane off to no avail. 

It was as if he’d become someone else. 

Shane threw one last punch that broke Ed’s nose, and pushed Negan’s hands away, muttering a few words to the unconscious man before storming off towards the woods. 

Carl had no idea how to feel. 

Andrea was at Carol’s side again, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Don’t you worry about Ed when he wakes up. We’re not going to let that pig put his hands on you or Sofia ever again. I promise.”

Carol seemed conflicted like she wanted to cling to Andrea forever and defend her husband all at once. The others must have picked up on it because they didn’t push the matter, leading her to the campfire and distracting her with whispered jokes while Negan dragged an unconscious Ed back. Sofia flashed a small smile at Carl before following Carol back to the campfire and showing her mother the flowers that she’d picked for her. Carol cupped her face with a gentleness that made his heart ache in his chest. He turned away, embarrassed.

Lori watched him; her arms at her sides, helplessly. She looked scared.

“You’re mad at me,” she finally spoke, “is it because of your dad?”

He turned back to her with a scoff. “I’m not mad that you’re worried about Dad,” Carl began, stunned. “I’m mad that you’re a liar, that you act like I’m an idiot. I know you were with Shane before Dad got here.” 

There. It was said. The words lay heavily between them like an undigested meal. 

“Baby,” she mumbled, stepping forward. “You knew?”

Carl ran a hand down his face, willing himself not to cry. When he’d imagined confronting her, Carl had thought he’d feel relieved, brave. Now that he’d said it, he felt like the little kid he used to be, clinging to her legs on the first day of school, begging her to stay even as all the other parents left. Helpless, and desperate for her to make it better. “Of course, I knew. I saw the way you two looked at each other, the way you’d sneak away God knows where. Christ, mom.”

She winced, clutching his shaking hand in hers. “I thought Rick was dead. I did.”

He wasn’t sure whether to squeeze her hand back or pull away. “That doesn’t make it better,” he muttered. “It doesn’t. How long did you think he was dead before you got with Shane?”

Her lip quivered and he pulled his hand back. “How long?” 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, shrugging helplessly. “A week. Two weeks.”

“Fuck.”

She frowned, a tiny furrow between her brows. “Carl, don’t swear.”

Carl laughed, crouching on the ground. “The world’s over, you cheated on Dad and you’re telling me not to swear?”

“I didn’t cheat on him. I thought he was dead. I was alone, scared and I needed comfort, okay? It’s not a crime to need someone, to want to feel alright. It’s not like I…fell in love with him. I just needed someone to take care of me. Someone to tell me that things would be okay. Can you understand?”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “I can. Because I needed that too.”

Lori flinched and sat next to him on the grass, ignoring the way it stained her dress. “Baby. I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know how to make it better.”

“There’s nothing you can say,” Carl muttered, his voice hoarse. It was a terrible truth to be aware of. “You weren’t alone. You had me; you had a son. I’m not just mad at you and Shane, I feel like I’m guilty too. I feel it every time I’m around you, every time I’m around Dad. Like this weight that never goes away.”

The way Shane had acted in these few weeks had been a strange sort of mercy. It was easier to be mad at the man when he was so difficult to be around, ordering him around like he was a soldier at his command. It would’ve been harder to stay mad at him if he’d thought of the Shane who would pick him up after school and take him to get ice cream or the Shane that would let him use the siren on the police cruiser when he’d had a hard day. Strangely, Carl was glad the Shane he knew was gone, even if he missed the man terribly. 

“It’s not your fault, Carl. What we did…is what we did.”

“But I know it,” he argued. “I know it and I haven’t told Dad even though it kills me to hide it from him.” 

“Why haven’t you?”

Carl laughed, a bitter, mirthless sound. “How can I? You’re his wife. Shane is his best friend since he was in school. How can I tell him when he loves you both so much? It would kill him like it’s killing me.” 

Lori stared at him for a long moment before looking towards the creek. Clearly, there were no more words to say. He stood and brushed himself off, walking back towards the camp, the lump in his throat aching terribly. 

Negan’s tent was half open and Carl could see him sitting there, reading one of Carl’s comic books. He walked towards him, drawn like a moth to a flame. The second Negan saw him, he waved Carl over, unzipping the material so he could crawl in easily. 

“So, that was some crazy shit, right?”

Carl’s lips twitched watching Negan flick through the comic. “Yeah, crazy.”

“Shane is kind of being like Batfreak here, beating people to a pulp.”

“Batman,” Carl corrected, rolling his eyes. 

Negan snorted; eyes lit with amusement. “You’re such a nerd, kid.”

“No one even says nerd anymore.”

A scream brought their banter to a halt. They gave each other a look before running out of the tent, towards the screams. They came from the campfire, a few feet away and Carl felt his heart stutter when gunshots rang out as they got closer. He reached for his own gun, ready to threaten Ed if he was acting up again. 

It wasn’t Ed. 

Walkers had breached their weak defences, knocking down cans and wires in their desperation to get flesh between their clacking teeth. 

Shane was firing like a one-man army, holding Sofia behind him. The rare protectiveness reminded Carl of the Shane before this; friendly, funny, and kind. The sight was like pressing on a tender bruise he’d forgotten was there and he felt his breath hitch. Carl wondered what it was about him that made Shane treat him differently, as a soldier rather than his best friend’s kid, the kid that had looked up to him for years. 

The sound of a bullet firing a few inches from him made him snap up to attention. A walker had dropped behind him, and Negan was standing in front, his gun cocked. 

“Thanks,” Carl whispered. 

He half expected a firm speech on responsibility or never letting his guard down. The kind of thing that made him look down at his shoes, embarrassed. Instead, Negan flashed him a smile; a real, rare one before turning back to the other walkers. 

“Anytime.” 

Carl fired, again and again, dropping walkers to the ground. Every time he got one, another seemed to take its place. He groaned, eager to rest. He pulled the trigger, but it clicked. He fired again. Nothing. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. 

He was out of bullets and there were four of them, walking toward him as if sensing his sudden weakness. Carl pulled out his pocketknife and pulled the nearest walker towards him, kicking at its knees. Always go for the head. The blade met skin, making a squelching sound that was barely audible over the rapid thud of his heart. He could barely see the rest of the group, scattered between the walkers. 

Carl lost count of how many rotters he put down as he pushed past them, eager to find the rest of the campers. One of them followed him, even as he walked a few feet away, eager for its pound of flesh. He cursed and turned, ready to stab its head. It rushed towards him, almost running, foaming at the mouth. It was stronger than the others he’d killed, almost frighteningly so. It was less deteriorated than the rest of them as if it had been bitten recently. 

The heavy weight made him stumble to the ground with a gasp as its hands tried to scratch him and open him up. It was dark, the only light was the campfire, far away from him. Carl could barely see it, but he could hear it; the pained groans, the clacking of rotting teeth, desperate for flesh. His hand scrambled for his knife in the dark while the other pushed the walker away as much as he could. Its sights were set on Carl’s stomach, and he imagined it biting him, tearing into his organs like he’d seen them do to animals. 

The thought made him want to scream for help but before he could get a sound out, the walker was struggling, turning his biting teeth to someone above him, growling and grasping at his saviour for a few long seconds until it stopped moving. 

Negan was barely visible in the dark, but Carl recognised his silhouette. The man lifted the walker off him as if it weighed nothing and offered his hand. Carl took it without a second thought. He raised Carl easily and steadied him with firm hands. Carl looked down at his shaking ones. 

“You saved me,” he breathed. 

There was an unfamiliar feeling in his chest that he didn’t know what to do with. There was so much he didn’t know what to do with. It was an overwhelming feeling that left him breathless and rooted to the spot. 

“Twice,” Negan teased. Then his grin turned softer, affectionate. “You saved me first,” he replied as if it was as simple as that, like he hadn’t just risked his life to save Carl’s. 

Negan’s palm was still wrapped around his, and Carl was suddenly glad for the nearly consuming darkness that gave cover to his warm face. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, hands holding each other up as they caught their breath. It was only the roar of an engine and a few more gunshots that made them pull apart, walking towards the ruckus. 

Rick was back and Carl let out a relieved sigh, running towards the man who waited with his arms open for him. When he pulled back, he noticed Ed on the ground with two bites on his skin. Amy was next to him with a small bite on her neck. Andrea was crouched on the ground, her face stricken with agony. He thought of how nice Amy had been, always smiling and distracting him and Sofia when things got tense. The unfairness of it made his stomach tighten.  

“Carl, are you alright? Nothing scratched you or bit you?”

He shook his head, unable to speak. 

Even Shane couldn’t bring himself to tell the others off for taking so long. He watched the bodies warily and sighed, running a palm down his face. “Everyone get some damn sleep. Someone else will keep watch with me in case they turn. Tomorrow, we talk.” 

Despite the pain lodging itself in Carl’s heart, he could appreciate small miracles. His dad had made it back again and they had guns. No Merle Dixon but no one brought that up either, not even Daryl. 

Back in their tent, Rick told them the story of how he found them. It was a welcome distraction. “Disoriented,” Rick whispered, still clutching Carl close. Lori rested her head on Rick’s shoulder, absentmindedly stroking his hair. “I guess that comes the closest. Fear, confusion, that too. I woke up and it was like another world, one where you were both gone. I felt like I’d been ripped out of my life and put somewhere else.” 

Carl looked up at Rick, wondering if this was another dream. “Mom said you were dead.”  

Lori’s hands stilled in his hair. If Rick noticed her freeze, he didn’t comment on it. He smiled, patting his shoulder gently. “She had plenty of reason to believe that. So did Shane. I’m glad they were here to look after you while I wasn’t.”

Carl wanted to scream, to say it and get it over with. Lori’s hands dropped to her lap, and she kept them there, locked over each other tightly, stiffly. Her wary eyes were on him, waiting for him to speak. Rick sighed, sounding exhausted but relieved, like coming home after a long day. It reminded Carl of those summer days when Rick would come home, smiling at him tiredly from the sofa as he drank sweet tea that Lori made. Back then, the worst thing had been a robber, not people coming back from the dead. 

“I knew I’d find you,” Rick breathed, leaning back against the cushions on the sleeping bag. “I knew I’d find you alive.”

Lori laughed, and Carl startled at the sound. “You’re getting cocky now, a little bit.”

“No, no. I knew. When I got back home and saw it empty, I knew.”

“How?”

Rick pointed to the albums poking out of the bags. “The photo albums. Everything was gone and I almost believed it could be someone else but when I saw the albums were gone, I knew you were out there.” 

Carl smiled, laughing a little too. 

“Baby, I really thought I’d never see you again, I’m sorry. I wanted to take it all back after. The anger, the bad times. The…the mistakes.” 

Rick’s hand squeezed hers and Carl looked away, rising to his feet. He couldn’t listen anymore. He needed air, needed to get away before the guilt came again.  Lori was tracing the ring on her finger, but Rick saw him move and frowned. “Carl?”

“Patrol,” he muttered. “I have patrol duty so…”

He pushed the flaps open and stumbled out, taking a lungful of air as soon as he was outside. Shane was on the roof of the RV and looked away as soon as he saw Carl, but it was obvious what he’d really been looking at through the binoculars. Shane didn’t bother to explain himself as he climbed down and walked past. 

From below, he could see Negan on the RV roof, half illuminated by the moonlight. His boot-clad legs were spread, and he was sprawled on the roof, binoculars in his grasp. There was a grace to his movements, no matter how mundane. It made Carl stare. Negan noticed and waved him over. His hand caught the moonlight and the ring on his left hand winked at him. 

Oh.

Carl had never really noticed it before. He moved half sluggishly towards the RV, climbing up in slow, careful steps. He suddenly felt exhausted. Negan’s hands caught him, steadying him on the slippery roof.

He swung his legs around and stared at the tent below. Carl wondered what Shane had thought about when he’d done the same moments earlier. Had he thought about what he’d had with Lori these past few weeks? Or had he thought about Rick; how long they’d known each other, what their friendship meant? Had he thought of Carl at all, how he felt? 

Next to him, Negan eased towards him, slow as if not to frighten him. The careful movement would’ve had him raising hell if it had come from anyone else. Carl wanted to feel brave, not like he was made out of porcelain. Still, sometimes there was a gentleness that replaced the smugness surrounding the man and Carl could never bring himself to complain when it was directed at him. 

“Carl,” his words were slow like there wasn’t a joke waiting on his tongue. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, shuffling closer. It was a scary feeling, being unsure of everything and everyone around you. It made him feel small. “I think I’m just worried everything’s going to go wrong when we go to Fort Benning. Or the CDC, like my dad wants.”

He hummed, drawing the sound out. “Yeah. Living in this world is fucking scary sometimes. Still, whatever comes next has to be better than this. Our defences are shit, we can’t keep staying here.”

“You’re married,” he mumbled, thinking of the way his ring had sparkled like one of the stars above.

Negan blinked at the sudden change of topic and cleared his throat, looking down at the ring. 

“Was, yeah.” 

Negan’s mouth opened and shut as if he’d thought better of it. He placed the gun in Carl’s hands carefully and pointed below, where a lone walker was edging on their perimeter. Carl gripped the gun tightly and fired, wondering why it was easier for people to fire a gun than to talk about how they felt. 

Chapter Text

In the aftermath, he went to find Sofia.

She was down by the creek when Carl found her, staring at the water and hugging her knees to her chest. He wondered how she felt; losing both father and abuser in one day. Carl crouched next to her, clearing his throat. It had been a while since they’d talked. In the earlier weeks, he’d spent most of his days with her, exploring the perimeter and swimming by the creek when Ed wasn’t around to yell at her. 

When Negan had arrived, most of his time had been spent with him; training, exploring, and teasing each other until Shane told them to cut it out and focus. Carl wondered if Sofia felt somewhat abandoned. He hoped not. 

“Hey.”

She flashed him a small smile, like usual. No bitterness or judgement behind it. His heart dipped painfully in his chest at the sight. “Hi, Carl.”

She swung her legs, letting the water brush against her feet. 

“I, uh. I wanted to ask how you were. I’m sorry, that’s a dumb question.”

“It’s not,” Sofia soothed, slowly like she was trying to figure it out as she spoke. “I don’t know how I feel. Ed was a bad dad and a bad husband. Always horrible to me and mom for no reason. I hate him, I do, but it’s this weird thing. I don’t know to explain it.” 

Carl had been blessed with his parents in comparison, but he understood what it was like to care about someone who turned cruel. Shane had been like his uncle, taking care of him when his parents couldn’t and in days, he’d become a dictator to him. He nodded. “You hate him, but he was still your dad.”

“Yeah,” Sofia whispered, like it was a terrible secret. “The only one I had; you know?” 

“You can make your own family,” Carl promised, squeezing her hand. “The one you get isn’t the only one you can have. You find good people along the way, people who care about you. Just because he was your dad doesn’t mean you have to forgive him.”

Sofia flashed him a watery smile. “Thank you.” She noticed his hesitation and spoke up again, still quiet. “Was there something else you wanted to ask?” 

“I don’t know if you’re up for it, but I was wondering where you picked those flowers yesterday. I was thinking maybe we could pick more, for Amy.” 

Sofia had taken to Amy as Carl had. She was nice like Andrea but younger, only a few years older than them. When Ed had made things tense or Shane had started shouting, she’d distracted them by teaching them how to swim or by telling them stories about her travels before the world ended. Japan had been Amy’s favourite, she’d told them, because of the baby blue flowers that were there all year round. 

“I’ll take you.” 

The flower field was by the edge of the perimeter, hidden by trees that towered over them. There wasn’t a lot of visibility and Carl gripped his knife in his left hand, ready for trouble, like the good soldier he was being trained to be. Sofia didn’t seem to notice or care. Instead, she crouched down and began picking the wildflowers, gripping them delicately in her palm. She pressed some into his hand, bending his fingers gently. “Don’t squeeze them too hard,” Sofia told him. “Or they’ll wilt too soon.”

They took one last look before heading back. “I wish I could’ve shown Amy this yesterday, I think she would’ve liked it.”

Andrea had been crouched by Amy’s side since they’d woken up, even as most of the bitten had been burned and buried. She sat there for hours, staring at her sister’s body as if she could bring her back to life by wishing it. By the time they got back, she was still there. Amy looked untouched; if it weren’t for the bite on the crook between her shoulder and neck, she could be mistaken for being asleep. People had been trying to get to Amy all morning – Lori, Shane, and Rick. All three had ended either with silence or a snarl to get away. 

When Daryl suggested shooting from a distance, Dale stepped in. “Have some sympathy, will you? You of all people know what it’s like to lose a sibling. Let me talk to her.” 

He walked over slowly and crouched next to her, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Did I ever mention how I lost my wife?”

“Cancer, wasn’t it?”

Dale nodded. “Yeah. I dragged her to every doctor, every test. Even when she wanted to stop, I kept going, kept trying to keep her alive. I couldn’t let her go. In the end, she was ready, she accepted it. But I never could. I spent years being angry and feeling cheated. You girls were the first people I cared about since. I know she would’ve cared for you too.”

Andrea cracked a saddened smile, wiping her tears with her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Just let me do one last thing. Then you can have her.” 

She pulled out a dainty necklace; a gold chain with a glittering mermaid charm. It was beautiful, the kind of thing that belonged to someone like Amy. Andrea’s watery smile grew as she tied it around Amy’s neck. “She loved mermaids,” Andrea explained. 

“Today was her birthday. It was always this weeklong affair; parties, gifts, the whole shebang. Somehow, I always missed it. I was away at college or too busy for kid’s parties. She’d always call me all excited, even if I’d missed it the year before. I always said I’d make it home and she always believed me. I really always meant to, but I never made it past that phone call.”

Dale squeezed her shoulder gently. “This is bad enough without adding guilt into the mix. You loved her and she knew it. In the end, that’s all that really matters.”

He walked away, letting Andrea say her final goodbyes to her sister. 

When Amy’s eyes opened, the group startled, their weapons ready. She gasped; a hoarse, throaty sound and looked at Andrea, not seeing her sister but food. Shane cocked his gun, walking towards them, determined to end it. Carl took a step before him, placing a hand on his chest. "Andrea’s got it,” Carl insisted. For once, Shane listened and stood down, watching them warily.  

A single gunshot rang out and Amy fell back to the ground one last time. 

"Good call," Shane told him, his hand flexing as if he'd almost ruffled Carl's hair but thought better of it.

They buried their dead, but Andrea was the one who buried her sister, insisting it was her job to do. Carl walked over to her, the wildflowers still in his palm, and placed them around the dirt where she’d been buried. Sofia crouched next to him, ignoring the way the dirt stained her clothes, and placed a few flowers of her own. 

Andrea watched them with teary eyes but didn’t speak until they were done pressing them to the ground. Blue, pink and yellow were all around her. “Sofia and I picked them out,” he mumbled to her. “We thought Amy would’ve liked them.” 

“She would’ve,” Andrea whispered, crouching next to them. “She really would’ve.” 

A few feet away, Daryl handed Carol an axe and she slammed it over Ed’s face again and again until it was unrecognisable. Sofia turned away, unwilling to stare at what had once been her father’s face. When Carol collapsed on the floor, Daryl squeezed her shoulder gently and pulled the axe from her shaking hands. Carl had never seen the man be kind before, it suited him.

Hours later, the group was scattered around the campfire and in their tents, silent as the graves they’d dug earlier. Carl hadn’t seen Negan all day, even when Shane ordered him to come out of his tent and help dig. Carl wondered if this ordeal reminded Negan of his wife; if he couldn’t handle watching someone else being buried into the ground. 

The sad thought pulled him towards Negan’s half-open tent but not before grabbing a plate of food. He hovered by the tent, unsure. “Hey, can I come in?”

The unzipping of the tent was the only response he got. 

Carl crawled through and sat next to Negan. He was sitting in the dark, uncharacteristically silent. Carl had become familiar with Negan’s moods in the past few weeks; his anger, his happiness, his impatience, his frustration. He had an expressive face which gave them all away like clouds on a sunny day, but he’d never seen him like this. When he finally mustered the courage to speak again, Negan spoke first, his voice hoarse. Carl wondered if he’d been crying.

“Did you bury them yet?” 

“Yeah. Sofia and I picked flowers for Amy too. We thought it might be nice.”

There was a sniff and then a creak as Negan turned the flame of the oil lamp up. In the light, Carl could see he’d been right; Negan had been crying. He was twisting the ring around his finger, a grim expression on his face. Carl’s eyes were drawn to it again and he wasn’t quite sure what he felt when he stared at it. 

“That was nice,” he spoke again. “Did Andrea like it?” 
 
“She did.” A beat and then, “I brought you food if you want it.” 

Negan sighed, his expression turning softer. “Carl.” The word was like a caress, and it made him freeze halfway as he handed the plate to him. “Thank you,” the man continued, not noticing the way his face flushed. “It’s been kind of lonely,” Negan admitted. “Without you, it would’ve been a lot harder. You’re good, kid. Don’t forget that.” 

Carl wanted to do something or say something that would make him smile but he wasn’t sure what. The lump around his throat ached like he’d swallowed his own heart when it leapt in his chest. He never had to step around eggshells with Negan, but this was different; a side to the man that he’d never seen before. He didn’t want to mess up, but he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do either. It was like playing a game without knowing the rules. 

“You’re good too,” Carl whispered back after a few seconds of silence. 

He didn’t look up at Carl when he answered. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do. Hey, I do.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Negan’s lips, and he counted that as a victory. 

Carl’s eyes wandered to the tattoo on Negan’s lower arm, and he brushed his fingertips against the skin without thinking. “Why’d you get that?”

“The skull or the word?” 

He shrugged, leaning closer. “Both, I guess.”

Negan dragged his hand down to the skull on his lower arm and Carl tried not to jolt at the touch. “I got the skull because I thought it looked pretty fucking cool. I had no idea what I was gonna pick, it was my first but the guy that did it said it would look good and it did. The word means kiss in French, I got it after my dog.”

“You had a dog?”

Negan chuckled for the first time that day and Carl felt his shoulders relax at the low sound. “Oh, I had way too many over the years. I kept rescuing them and bringing them home with me, no matter how many times I got told off. Bisou was my favourite though.”

Carl smiled at the thought. There was so much of Negan he still didn’t know, mostly about his life before. Every time the man told him a little detail; it was like adding another piece to the puzzle.

“I think we’re leaving tomorrow,” he mumbled, watching Negan as he finished his food. His eyes fell to Negan’s lips as he licked them slowly and then to his own hands, embarrassed. Being like this; in his tent and hidden from everyone else felt intimate like the way his father crawled into Lori’s tent when Carl was gone. Or the way that Shane and Lori had snuck into the forest when they thought he couldn’t see them.  

Negan hummed, oblivious to the thoughts unravelling in his head. “We should join them then. Lead the way.”

When he stood and crawled out of the tent, it was on shaking legs. 

Rick and Shane were standing by the campfire, looking more friendly than they had the past few days. Shane squeezed Rick’s shoulder and smiled at him before sitting on the log, a few inches away from Lori. To Rick, who still didn’t know, there was nothing odd about it. To Carl, who knew too much, the awkward distance said it all. 

When he saw them, Rick smiled and waved them over. 

“Hey, we were waiting for you. We’ve come to a decision, but of course, everyone is welcome to do what they believe is best. Listen, we had a good thing here but…we can’t stay. The more walkers that come from the city, the more in danger we are. Yesterday was proof of that. The army’s gone which means that Fort Benning is out of the picture, but the CDC isn’t. If there’s any government left, they would’ve protected that place. All the scientists would be there. It would be well protected and it’s our best chance to survive. Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads and Shane stepped up. “Alright then. Rick and I both think it’s for the best to leave tonight. The more time we spend unprotected in the dark, the more exposed we are. So, everyone pack your things and load up. We have two cars and the RV, it’s more than enough room.” 

Rick and I. The words rang around Carl’s head like gunshots. It felt like something from a lifetime ago when they had been best friends, partners that had each other’s backs no matter what. Rick and I are going out, you wanna come?

Lori walked towards the tent, turning towards them from time to time as she packed, clearly expecting an outburst or a confession from Shane. Rick and I. It had clearly affected her too. She seemed to be walking on eggshells, scared that the pin would drop at any second. 

Negan leaned against the tree, watching Carl with a lazy smile. “Looks like everyone made up in the end.”

“I guess,” Carl shrugged, still uneasy. “Aren’t you going to pack?” 

When Negan scratched his head, alarms started ringing in his head. “You are coming with us,” Carl said slowly, “right?”

Negan’s sigh sounded like it had been torn from his throat. “I think I’m better off alone, it’s less complicated.”

Carl took a step forward, crossing his arms. “You don’t want to be alone. You don’t, not really. Just because it’s easier to be on your own doesn’t mean it’s better. It’s worth being with people, even if it’s scary.”

“I don’t know, kid. Everything that happened yesterday, I don’t think I can handle seeing that shit again.”

He’d spent weeks with Negan, getting to know him, and he’d never once considered the possibility that he might leave. Now, it felt too sudden like there wasn’t enough time to do or say what he wanted. He stammered, stepping closer. “That’s gonna happen anyway, wherever you go.”

“Yeah. But at least I don’t have to see it happen to someone I care about,” Negan insisted, crossing his arms too. “Look, you figured out that I was married, not that I was hiding it or anything. She died, recently. Losing her was hard as fuck, I was considering biting the bullet before you showed up. You’re…I care about you, Carl. What I saw yesterday? I don’t want that to happen to you. I don’t want to see it.” 

Carl wasn’t sure whether to shout at him or start pleading.

“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted, digging his nails into his palms. “I care about you too.” 

The admission made his face heat up; it was so unlike anything he’d done in the past few weeks. Even before the world had ended, he’d never imagined saying something so intimate. It went against everything he’d been taught; be cool, don’t be emotional, act like you don’t care. Cool Guy 101, Shane had called it. It’ll get you all the chicks, he’d promised. 

Negan wiped a hand down his face, sighing. “Jesus Christ. Fuck.”

“Please, Negan.”

He laughed, shakily and nodded after a few tense seconds. “Fine. But you better not die, Carl, or I swear to God I’ll bring you back and kick your ass.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to try and be cool, not at that second. Carl grinned and threw his arms around Negan’s shoulders, bringing him into a half hug. Peppermint and whiskey, that’s what Negan smelt like. He leaned back after a few seconds and scrunched his nose. “You’ve been drinking again.”
 
“God, you’re a nag.” 

“Go pack,” Carl insisted, rolling his eyes so hard they hurt. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sofia packing with Carol, placing one of the flowers they’d picked behind her mother’s ear gently. It was wilted but it was still pretty, bright against Carol’s hair. The woman smiled, brighter than Carl had ever seen, before pressing a quick peck to her cheek. It was sweet to watch them like this, without Ed’s shadow hanging over them and making them miserable. 

“They look happier, don’t they?”

He whipped around, coming face to face with Shane. Carl nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t remember the last conversation he’d had with the man that didn’t include orders or a telling off. Shane crouched next to him on the log, clearing his throat. 

“I know I’ve been hard on you,” he began, looking at the ground instead of up at him. “I want you to know that it’s nothing you did. I just…I’m tough on you because I know you can handle it, because I want you to know better.” 

Carl scoffed. “You can be tough and not be an asshole.”

He frowned at the language but didn’t comment. “I do care, Carl. More than you know. That’s why I’m tough on you, that’s what I’m trying to say. I…I want you to be strong, I want you to survive.” 

Shane’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently, like old times. “I know you know about me and Lori. I appreciate you not telling Rick.”

“I didn’t do it for you, I did it for my dad because it would break his heart.”

His answering flinch gave Carl satisfaction and made him ache all at once. It was odd; to love someone who you were angry with. Like wanting to shout at them and then apologising for it. 

“I know,” Shane muttered, oddly quiet. “Still.”

A second of silence passed between them and Shane spoke again. “You wanna ride with me? It’s no police cruiser but I’ll let you drive if you want.” 

Carl remembered the first time that Shane had let him drive the cruiser. It had been years since that warm summer’s day. Rick and Lori had been in the back, cheering him on when he parked perfectly outside of the station. They had been happy then, with no arguments or silent distances between them. It had been a barbecue for some event that he couldn’t remember but on the way back, when the city was asleep, Shane had let him wail the siren and Carl had felt all grown up. 
 
He ached to agree, to drive and laugh with Shane again, like old times. 

“I should go with my dad,” he muttered instead, walking away before he could see Shane’s face fall. 

Back in the car, Rick and Lori were waiting in the front, and he slid into the back with Negan who’d been arguing with his dad about which station to put on. Rick argued for country music and Negan argued for rock music. After a few minutes, Lori groaned at their antics and shut off the radio altogether. 

It was a quiet drive; the only noises were the occasional bumps on the road that jolted the car and the crackling static of the radios as the group communicated about which routes to take and when to pull over. 

It wasn’t long before all the trees and the road names began to blur in front of his eyes. Before Carl knew it, his head dropped against Negan’s shoulder. Exhausted, he mumbled an apology and sat up again. The man’s hand was there in a second, pulling him back to rest on his shoulder. Carl felt Negan’s hand brush his hair back once, so gentle he thought he’d imagined it out of sheer exhaustion.

“Sleep,” Negan insisted. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Chapter Text

“We’re just gonna leave?”

 It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Lori was pacing around the room, hands dragging through her messy hair. She’d been up all night packing; clothes, food, and photo albums. It was funny, really. The world was ending, and she was taking the family albums with her. 

“Mom.”

Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, from exhaustion or crying he couldn’t tell. 

“I think that’s Shane pulling up,” Lori muttered, stumbling towards the windows. She squinted at their driveway, waiting for the engine roar to stop. “It’s him. It’s him, Carl, baby, get your bags.”

Carl’s feet felt rooted to the ground as if there was quicksand pulling him down. This was their home; they’d lived in it his whole life. His father was half an hour away at that hospital, hooked to the machines. “We can’t leave,” he breathed.

The door slammed open, and Shane walked through, his eyes wide. He was mumbling under his breath, grabbing their bags, and hoisting them over his shoulder like they didn’t weigh a thing. “You got everything?”

“Yeah, I packed what you said. We…we’re good to leave?”

Carl’s nails dug into his palms. “Stop, stop talking about leaving. We can’t leave! My dad’s still there. Did…did you see him?”

Shane crouched down, ruffling his hair. “I went, buddy, I did. Listen, I tried. I tried to pull him out and wheel him out with me, but I couldn’t. I listened for a heartbeat but…I’m sorry, Carl. I am.” 

“No.”

“We have to go now; I have to keep you safe.”

A hand ran through his hair and Carl sat up, squinting at the bright lights. 

“Carl, we’re here.” 

The second they left the car, Carl noticed two things; the stench that almost made him gag and the dead bodies that littered the floor. He’d seen a lot of corpses in the past few weeks but never like this. Once, they’d learnt about the bubonic plague and about how there were so many dead bodies, that people had begun to dig mass graves. This time, he thought, they didn’t even dig graves.  Flies buzzed around the feast of flesh and bones and Carl brought his hand to cover his nose before he could start gagging. 

They threw glances at each other, then at the ground and quickly formed a line; Rick at the front followed by Shane and Lori. Rick pointed to the ground and then pressed his finger to his lips.

Quietly. 

Walking through the corpses was like walking through a minefield and Carl could feel his heart thud against his chest at the thought of the dead waking up beneath their feet. Everyone moved slowly and carefully, aware that at any moment, the dead might start to move. 

As they crossed the corpse-filled street, Carl thought about what might happen if they were to die right now. He thought of Amy and how she’d died so suddenly without any last words or wishes. Carl didn’t want to go out like that; he wanted to go out fighting, to tell those he cared about how he felt. He wanted to hold his father close and tell him the truth, he wanted to fix things with his mother, and he wanted things to be less complicated with Shane again. 

Carl looked down at Negan’s hand, took in how big it was compared to his own, the bruises on the knuckles and the way it tensed every time he stepped over a body. What would happen if we touched, he wondered, what would happen if I reached across right now and grabbed his hand? 

Without thinking, Carl linked his fingers with Negan’s and squeezed. 

He wasn’t sure why it had felt so frightening to reach across and grab his hand. It had almost felt like the world would end again in those few seconds before Negan squeezed back. When he did, it felt as natural as breathing.  

By the time they reached the doors, Negan’s fingers were still tight around his. 

“I don’t think anyone’s here, Rick,” Shane muttered, holding his gun close. 

Daryl nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “He’s right. This is a goddamn graveyard, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Rick refused to listen, banging on the steel doors even as walkers began to twist their heads towards the sound. There was no answer on the other side, even as everyone yelled. 

Bang. “Rick.” Bang. “Rick!” Bang. “Rick, we have to go!” 

The rotters were coming towards them, fast as if they had just been turned. They were foaming at the mouth, snarling, and clacking their teeth even before they could bite into their skin. Some of the dead on the ground began to rise too, their fingernails scratching against the rough concrete in their desperation to reach them. 

“Dad,” he muttered, clutching onto his arm. “They’re coming, we have to go.”

Rick paled at the fear in his voice and banged his rifle against the steel door. “Hey! I know you’re in there. I can see the camera moving! There are kids here, families. If you don’t open these doors, you’re responsible, do you hear me?” 

Lori’s hand came to rest on his arm, pushing the rifle from the door. Her wide eyes moved from Rick’s face to the walkers, only a few feet away from them. “Honey, no one’s here. Let’s just go back while we can.”

As soon as she spoke, the doors lifted. 

The bright lights made Carl wince and throw his arm over his face to cover his eyes. He’d become so accustomed to sunlight and moonlight, the only difference being his flashlight. The others narrowed their eyes too, bringing their hands over their eyes to squint through their fingers. 

Rick yelled for them to move, and they did so without thinking, running past the gates with the others before the walkers could scratch at their arms. Negan’s warm hand was still locked in Carl’s own as he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. In the past few weeks, this small group had become almost a family and on instinct, he looked around to make sure everyone had made it inside. Carol and Sophia were on the floor, Daryl next to them and muttering something under his breath. His dad, Lori and Shane stood in a corner, looking strangely protective of each other despite it all. Dale and Glenn were crouched by Andrea, not so subtly checking up on her. Jacqui and T-Dog were by the doors, equally out of breath but holding onto each other with the fierceness that came with surviving. 

Carl shut his eyes for a second, relieved, and when he opened them, a doctor was in front of them staring as if he wasn’t quite sure they were real. Not a good first sign, Carl thought. 

“Why are you here? No, forget that. Are any of you bit? Hell, even scratched?”

The man looked hopeless, tired, not exactly the image of a future that they’d been hoping for. Carl couldn’t help but think that this man either had no answers or that the answers were nothing to be hopeful about. It felt like they’d reached the end of the road. At the bitter thought, he suddenly ached to be back out there, ignorant, and hopeful. 

Rick stepped up; his hands splayed as if to calm him. “I’m Rick Grimes, these people are with me, and I can assure you that none of us is bit. We’re a group that’s fought a lot to get here. We’ve had some bad losses and we just want a chance.” 

The doctor’s brow raised as he observed them for a moment before answering. “A chance is a lot to ask nowadays. You’re sure you’re not infected?” 

Shane walked forward, stopping just next to Rick. “Yeah, man. We’re just tired, alright? You can see, we’ve got young ones with us too.” 

The doctor introduced himself after that. Jenner. He checked their arms and necks first, eyes narrowing as he looked for bites and scratches. Carl wasn’t sure how long they stood there being checked. It could’ve been minutes or hours; it was only when Negan’s hand slipped out of his that he focused again. 

“There’s hot water upstairs and a rec room down the hall. I’m sure the younger ones will like it. Enough books to read for years,” Jenner muttered, still sounding too downcast for his liking. Hot water, a rec room, food, and protection from the dead. It was everything one could want nowadays but Jenner’s face was clouded, his lips pulled downwards as he spoke. 

Carl drifted towards the rec room, peeking in curiously. He half expected a walker to turn the corner, ready to bite his arm off. 

“I saw a pretty badass car out there,” Negan whistled from behind him, tapping his fingers against the bookshelf he was leaning on. “You were too busy holdin’ my hand to notice but it was bright red, kind of like the sports car Glenn stole back when we met.” 

Carl bit his cheek at the reminder. “I’m gonna take it, drive it, and make you go in the back.” 

Negan snorted, “Not if I steal it first.” 

Carl could feel himself pout before he could stop it. “You have to let me drive it sometime.”

“If you’re good,” Negan shrugged, his grin wide. 

“I’m never good.”

Negan’s laugh rang throughout the library, and he stifled it with his palm, the corners of his eyes still creased in laughter. “Then I guess you won’t be driving my new car any time soon, kid.”

Not a kid, was on his lips again. Instead, he mouthed you suck. 

You suck more, Negan mouthed back, his eyes bright with mischief. 

Before he could retort, Shane sauntered in. His face was pinched in frustration like he’d had another passionate argument with either of his parents. As soon as he saw them, Shane’s eyes narrowed, and he beckoned Carl over with two fingers. “Dinner’s ready. It’s spaghetti, your favourite.” 

Negan rolled his eyes and Carl wondered if there was something he was missing. He’d been so caught up with his parents and Shane that he’d never even considered that there might be tension between Shane and Negan. 

When he hesitated at the door, Negan flashed him a quick smile. “I’ll be there in a sec, don’t worry.” 

I’m definitely missing something, Carl thought, fidgeting with his sleeve. Shane’s hand was on his back, leading him through the hallways down to the dining room. He was tense, almost stiff as he walked. Carl’s heart thudded fast as it had outside with the walkers. His hand twisted around the doorknob, but Shane’s was there before he could turn it.

“Carl.”

Please don’t be about Negan, please don’t be about Negan. 

“Yeah?”

Shane crossed his arms, leaning against the wall across from him. The movement felt practised, like all the times he’d interrogated criminals with Rick at the station. Carl felt like a criminal now, caught with nowhere to go. He could push past him, turn the doorknob, and pretend nothing was going on but then Shane would know. 

“I don’t know how to say this, man. Just. You and Negan seem pretty close.”

Be cool. Carl shrugged, crossing his arms too. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Shane sighed, running a hand through his hair. It reminded Carl of the time that Shane had gotten him out of trouble. It had been his first and only fight in school. Afterwards, Shane had talked to him, his arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. I don’t want to have to give you a talk again, Carl. After, he’d run a hand through his hair and crouched down, placing his cap on Carl’s head. Alright, next time make sure to actually get a hit in. You wanna get some ice cream? 

He didn’t crouch this time, but his face softened slightly. “I just think maybe you should hang out with people your own age; you know? Like Sophia, she’s a sweet girl.” 

“I do hang out with Sophia,” Carl argued, “I just hang out with Negan too.”

“You’re just eighteen, that’s all. You know, just because the world is over doesn’t mean anything can fly.” 

Carl groaned, his cheeks heating up. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Then I guess I didn’t see you holding his hand earlier.” 

“That was for safety,” Carl snapped. “Can I go now? Damn it, I’m hungry.”

“Language. Yes, you can go.”

Carl stumbled into the dining room and sat at the first seat he saw between Rick and Glenn. They’d been drinking while he was gone and the atmosphere around the table was giddy, nothing like the tense vigilance from a few moments earlier. The more spaghetti he ate and the more wine he drank, the calmer he felt. Dale was halfway between telling a story, but he could barely focus, relieved to feel something other than nerve-wracking fear. 

If he pretended enough, it almost felt like the world hadn’t ended at all. He could pretend that this was another event for his dad’s work, somewhere fancier this time. Maybe it was a promotion and he’d treated them and his co-workers to a fancy restaurant instead of a barbecue on the basketball field. 

Negan strolled in a few moments later; clean shaved and hair slicked back, and the image faded away to nothing. He couldn’t focus enough to pretend any longer, and he wasn’t sure where Negan would’ve fit in that life. Carl probably wouldn’t have been encouraged to talk to him; Negan was too crass for his parent’s liking and holding hands would certainly not have been acceptable. 

The world had to end for that to happen, wasn’t that a sad thought?

The wine that had made him feel so relaxed moments earlier felt heavier now and he swirled it around, looking at himself in the red liquid. He wasn’t sure what he felt around Negan, but the way Shane had made it sound like it was something strange and wrong, made his stomach tense. 

Rick looked around; his face softened with tiredness. He tapped his fork carefully against the glass and raised it. “Let’s thank our host, shall we? No, more than our host, our saviour. We might’ve died out there earlier if you hadn’t let us in. Thank you.”

Jenner nodded, still not quite smiling. 

After the cheering around the table died down, Shane leaned forward. “I, I gotta ask, doc. What the hell happened here? All the other doctors that were meant to be here figuring it out, where are they?”

Lori and Rick exchanged a quick glance across the table. “Brother, I don’t think this is the time. We’re celebrating, alright? Don’t need to do this now.”

All at once, everyone’s smiles seemed to fade. Maybe they’d been imagining a different life, like Carl had, where there weren’t dead people walking outside, ready to bite into them. Shane’s reminder felt brutal, like a knife dragging across flesh. He cleared his throat and continued, despite Rick’s look. “No, come on, man. We came here for answers, right? How come it’s just you?” 

Jenner waved off Rick's concern like swatting a fly. “Things got bad and most of them left, they wanted to be with their families for as long as they could before…well. Before.”

Andrea’s expression was the same as when she’d buried Amy. The giddiness that had been at the table had brushed across her face for a few minutes and it was gone again, replaced with a bitter sadness. “All of them left?”

“Not all of them,” Jenner hesitated for a moment. “Some of them took their lives too.”

Suddenly, Jenner’s expression at the gates made sense. Carl let out a shaky breath, squeezing the tablecloth between his fingertips. If doctors hadn’t stayed behind to cure the disease, it was because they couldn’t. If some had killed themselves, it was because there wasn’t anything to hope for. 

He looked down at his plate, unable to stomach any more food. 

“Jesus,” Glenn muttered turning to Shane after a few minutes of dreadful silence. “You are such a buzzkill, man.”

Carl considered walking away from the table and going up to the roof before anyone could see him cry. He wanted to be alone, wanted to feel the cool air on his skin as he cried. It was hard to be brave in a world where there didn’t seem to be any hope. He could vaguely remember the stories his mother had told him at bedtime; stories of knights or sheriffs that were brave, fought enemies and rescued a girl. He wanted to be brave like the people in those stories, but the enemies seemed endless and there wasn’t a happy ending where he could walk off into the sunset. 

Jenner stood up and motioned for them to follow. “I’d like to show you something.” 

He stood on shaky legs, following everyone through the bright, almost claustrophobic hallways. 

“Vi, give me a playback of TS-19. Look, do you see that? That’s a brain. Those lights you see, they’re a person’s life, their memories, their experiences. Everything that made them who they were.” 

The screen changed, the lights flickering until it the brain was almost completely dark. Empty of all its previous synapses. It was as if black roots had grown inside, taking over every corner until almost all of the light was gone. 

“That,” Jenner continued, “is what people become when they’re infected. The disease infects the brain, shuts down your organs and you die. Or, the part of you that made you special dies. Some part of you stays, but it’s not the same. They can move, they can eat. That’s pretty much it. This…this was my wife.”

“You have no idea what it is, do you?” Andrea’s jaw was clenched as she spoke as if she was holding back tears. Carl wondered if she was thinking of Amy in her final moments, the way she’d turned from a sweet, caring girl to something hungry and vicious. Something that saw her as food rather than a sister. 

“Jesus,” Negan muttered, turning away from the computer. He looked exhausted, agonised like when Carl had found him in the tent, twisting his wedding ring. 

Jenner laughed; a quiet, bitter thing. “It could be anything; microbial, viral, parasitic or even fungal.”

“Or the wrath of God?”

“That too. The communications shut down a long time ago, I have no idea if there’s anyone left working, trying to find out what this is. Soon enough, the power will shut down too.”

Carl bit his lip, his voice shaking even as he fought it. “What happens then, when it runs out?”

Jenner was quiet, leaning back against the computer with his head in his hands. Carl had heard a hundred things about scientists, especially in Georgia where everyone seemed so opinionated. Once, at church, he’d heard an old lady say that scientists were just men who liked to play God. Jenner looked nothing like God, he seemed terribly human and afraid, like Frankenstein after facing his own monster.

“Decontamination,” he finally responded. “The air goes off and so do the lights. Then, nothing. This place will explode, just like the others. Not long now.”

Daryl scoffed and handed Rick his gun. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I agree. Get your stuff and let’s go, now!”

Shane was at Rick’s side, hauling their bags over his shoulder and muttering to him. He turned to the group, motioning with his hand. “You heard him, get your things, your weapons and let’s get the hell out of here before this place blows.” Glenn hadn’t waited for Rick’s order; he’d run to the door the moment Jenner had explained. He pressed the button over and over, slamming his fist on the plastic. His eyes were wide when he turned to them. “Guys, he locked us in. He just locked us in!”

Daryl slammed his hand on the button twice before running towards Jenner, his hands digging into the doctor’s shoulders until he cried out. T-Dog was shouting too, running to the gates with an axe. He slammed it on the metal, but it didn’t even dent. 

“You son of a bitch! You locked us in here!”

Jenner spoke up again, despite Daryl’s clawing hands. “It’s quick, I promise. It’s one second and that’s it. No more pain, no more fear. You’ll never have to worry about anything again.”

Sophia was clinging to Carol, looking younger than she was. She looked up at her mother with wide eyes; the same expression Carl had seen on her face whenever Ed got too close. This time, Carol’s expression hardened, and she turned to Jenner. “You can’t decide for us, we deserve a chance. My daughter can’t die like this, she won’t.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Rick cut in. “I think there is hope out there, somewhere. You must think so too, or you wouldn’t have stayed. Why did you stay?”

Jenner shook his head, unable to meet their eyes. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does, it counts for everything. Why?”

“I promised my wife I would try until the end. She was smarter than me, better. She wanted me to keep going, to never give up. How could I refuse her? It was her last wish. So, I stayed till the end, even when no one else did.”

Rick stepped forward, pressing his hand to Jenner’s shoulder. “Give us a chance. Please.”

He looked around, unsure. 

“We’re fighters,” Rick continued. “Give us a chance to make it out there. We’ll be grateful for that, always.”

Jenner nodded and walked towards the keypad, sliding the thin card through the slot, and quickly punching in the code. The doors slid open, and everyone began running through. He turned to Rick and almost smiled. “The day will come when you won’t be.”

“Thank you for this.”

Shane pushed everyone through the doors, leading them down the hallways. “Come on!”

Jacqui lingered and so did Andrea, but Dale pulled her towards the doors even as she cried. Through her tears, Carl could hear her mention Amy and wanting to be with her again. The sight ached and he looked away, unable to watch her suffer, desperate to die. T-Dog was crouched next to Jacqui, whispering, and pleading to her. Carl watched her caress his cheek and whisper something back before pushing him away gently. He hesitated for a moment, watching her as if hoping she’d change her mind, before following Shane through the gates. Carol held Sophia’s hand, smiling at her as they ran through the gates after T-Dog.

“We’re getting out, sweetheart, we have a chance now.”

Negan had been too quiet, watching on the sidelines, for his liking. Carl linked his hand with Negan’s again, eager to pull him out before he decided that he wanted to die there too. Rick rummaged through his pockets, muttering something to Shane. He grinned quickly and handed Rick a grenade, squeezing his arm. “You got this, man. Let’s get out of here.”

“Everyone, stand back!”

His father threw the grenade against the glass, and everyone shuddered back at once, crouching under the wooden desks for cover. Carl took another look around in case they didn’t make it. He thought of his father’s bravery, his mother’s terrible pancakes on Sundays, Shane’s laughter before the world ended and the way that Negan’s hand felt in his. He shut his eyes and when he opened them, the glass shattered, spreading over the floor.

Glenn took the first step outside. “Walkers!” 

“Alright,” Shane raised his gun. “Rick, you and I shoot ‘em. Daryl, you fire at ‘em. We’re gonna make a path we can walk through. The rest of you, use your knives but do not fire.”

Lori towards the RV, slamming the door open. “Come on! It’s open, let’s go! Carl, baby, come on.” Walkers came from every side, caging them in. Lori pressed on the horn, drawing some of them away and towards her. She honked again, yelling. The group of rotters thinned out, some still walking towards them while some walked towards Lori, snarling. Carl drew his knife with his left hand, his right still tight around Negan’s. He took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd, hitting walkers on the knees to save time. Always go for the head. His knife squelched as it poked through their rotting skin, but he barely heard it over the yells and the thudding of his own heart. 

It almost felt like he was watching himself move. It wasn’t until Negan pushed him to the ground that the world came back into focus. Carl blinked, raising his head from the concrete in time to see the explosion. The heat blasted from inside the building, shattering the rest of the glass and setting fire to everything nearby. Tanks, trucks, and walkers exploded, leaving scraps of metal and body parts strewn across the street and when Carl pressed his palm to the ground, he felt it move. 

Everyone was stunned, leaning against their cars. No one spoke as the building went into flames, leaving no trace of Jenner and Jacqui inside. He hadn’t known Jacqui very well, but he’d caught glances of her during their time at the camp. It felt like another loss, even if she’d chosen it. 

Dale sighed, turning away from the flames. “Come on.”

Glenn, Dale, and Andrea climbed into the RV while Daryl, T-Dog and Sophia headed into the truck. Negan’s hand dropped from his own when they got into the car and with Shane in the seat next to them this time, Carl couldn’t bring himself to reach for it again. Quiet country music was the only noise in the car as they drove as fast as the car would go. Carl wasn’t sure how long the silence lasted until he whispered. “Did you want to stay, like Andrea did?”

Negan’s answer was just as quiet as his question. “A little. When that Jenner guy mentioned his wife…then he talked about dying so peacefully, I was tempted, kid. I won’t lie.” 

Part of him had expected that answer but it was still disappointing to hear. He stared out of the window, half-listening as Shane and his father talked about Fort Benning. Carl thought of Negan’s answer; the way he’d craved to stay behind and die a peaceful death. Carl thought about how he’d considered it too. Not for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to answer. His parents and Shane were quiet now and any response seemed too personal, too intimate. Carl stared at his hands, thought of the way he’d felt safe when he’d held Negan’s, and dug his nails into his palms in frustration. 

Rick smiled tiredly at them from the rear-view mirror. “It’s not over. There’s still hope out there, you’ll see.”

Carl shut his eyes, leaning against the seat cushion instead of Negan’s shoulder. Images of Amy and Jacqui flashed behind his eyes. He thought of the hope they’d had before Jenner had told them the truth. Carl wanted so desperately to hope like that again. When he opened his eyes again, they had left the city far behind. Even miles away, the smoke was still visible high up in the sky. 

Chapter Text

“Do you think we’ll make it? To Fort Benning, I mean.”

They’d stopped for gas half an hour ago and most of the group was walking between the parked cars, crouching by the windows to look for supplies. 

Sophia was sat on the hood of their car, swinging her legs back and forth. She seemed more relaxed nowadays; Ed’s presence had been like a constant shadow holding her back and now that he was gone, she smiled more. Carl was glad for it.

“I think we can do anything,” he replied, sitting next to her on the hood. “We made it this far. We survived that night at camp, and we survived that explosion. It’s a scary world but I think as long as we have each other, we’ll make it.” 

She hummed, still thoughtful. “I think so too but I keep having this dream that I don’t make it. I’ve had it every night since camp. It’s like I’m outside of my own body, looking down at myself and I can’t scream or cry for help. I can’t do anything. I’m just gone.”

When he sucked in a breath, she smiled. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ruin the mood or anything, it’s just, that I can’t exactly tell my mom that. I think she’d have a heart attack, she’s a little superstitious.” 

“We’ll make it,” he swore, squeezing her hand. “You’ll see.”

Sophia grinned back, as bright as the sun above them. “I’m glad you’re here, Carl. I’m glad you’re my friend.” 

Carl hadn’t had many friends back home, he preferred to keep to himself most of the time. He got on easier with adults too, like Shane. You need friends your own age, Rick had told him once, smiling gently. It had been fine until he’d gotten to high school and found that making friends so late wasn’t easy, especially in a small town like theirs. In some way, there had been some upsides to the world ending. He’d finally made friends. Now it’s just a matter of keeping them alive, he thought. 

“Me too,” he replied and meant it. 

The clouds moved and the sun shone down on them, burning across their skin. He groaned, swallowing on instinct. It was hot, too hot, like most summers in Georgia tended to be. Carl spent most of them in the inflatable pool that his father put in their garden or lying in the living room with the AC cooling him down and a glass of lemonade that his mother had made for him. He’d never spent them like this; out in the heat fighting dead people without a drop of water. 

“I’d give you my bottle of water,” she mumbled, “but I drank the last of it earlier.”

Negan walked up to them with a bottle of water and threw it at him to catch. “Glenn found like a hundred of these, just left behind in some van, if you can believe it.”

“Here, can you hold my bunny?” 

The second he took it, she jumped up from the hood and ran towards Glenn, who laughed when he saw her coming and threw a bottle towards her, ruffling her already messy hair. Carl watched her walk over to her mother, showing her the bottles as if they were trophies on a museum display. 

Before he could turn back to Negan, Rick ran towards them, hushing them. He pointed to the walkers coming their way in a neat line. At first sight, it didn’t look like many but as they spread across the gaps between the cars, the more of them he saw. They groaned, bumping into car doors and mirrors in their eagerness to feed. Some looked new, almost human, while some were already rotting. Under the heat, the stench was worse than usual. The sick smell stuck to his lungs when he breathed in, like rancid tar. It brought a wave of sickness from within that he held back by covering his mouth with his clammy palm. 

His father’s eyes were wide when he turned to them. “Christ. Get under the cars, get under the cars now.”

Carl listened without a second thought and crawled under the car, wincing at the sharpness of the concrete against his tender skin. It burnt like the sun had earlier, but he ignored it and shuffled further until he was completely hidden from sight. He turned to the side and saw Sophia in the car opposite him, pressing her palm to her mouth. Her knees were bleeding from when they’d scraped against the ground, and he could see the tears forming in her eyes. It’s going to be okay, he wanted to say. Carl shook his head, reaching his hand through the gap to press against her shoulder. 

The rotters passed by, there was a massive crowd of them. More than he'd ever seen before. Carl’s heart lurched in his chest and his stomach tensed like the knots that Shane had taught him at the thought of being dragged from his hiding place and devoured by the group. He shut his eyes and pressed his hands to his ears to block out their hoarse growls. Next to him, Sofia sobbed, unable to hold her hand to her mouth any longer. He sucked in a breath, ready to make noise too, but it was too late. 

A walker turned, shuffling towards the car she was hiding under and collapsed to its knees, eagerly dragging its rotting flesh against the burning concrete to reach her. He could barely hear Carol’s gasp and his mother shushing her above the thudding of his heart. Sophia. He thought of her ending up like Amy; another friend torn apart and eaten by those monsters and felt a sob build in his chest. 

She turned; her wide, teary eyes meeting his for a second. Carl saw her mouth something that he couldn’t make out before she crawled out from under the car and ran towards the tall trees that led to the forest. That urge to be brave took over him again and he considered running after her, leading the walkers away for a long second before Negan’s hand brushed against his arm. 

Negan was in the car in front of him, facing him. He shook his head, a small furrow between his brows. Wait, he mouthed, pointing to the crowd of walkers that were getting further and further away. Negan shuffled closer, wincing at the rocks that scratched at his skin, and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. 

After a few seconds, Rick moved from under the truck, running after her. A few minutes later, when the herd had thinned out, Daryl followed. Carl tensed, desperate to be brave and help. 

Wait, Negan mouthed again.

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, holding hands under the cars. It might’ve been a few minutes, but it felt like hours until the horde passed through. Occasionally, one of the rotters would stop as if sensing them but every time Carl sucked in a shaky breath, Negan squeezed his hand, grounding him. 

When the last of the walkers passed through, he rolled from under the car and pulled his gun out of the holster, ready to follow his father into the woods. Ready to be the hero from the stories he’d grown up listening to. 

Shane’s hand was firm against his chest. “No, buddy. We gotta stay here and wait for Rick. He knows what he’s doing.” 

A scoff tore through his throat before he could stop it. “He might need help. Two of them were after her and he can’t shoot, not with the walkers so close!” 

“Exactly. They are so close. What if they come back, huh? I need you safe, here. I need you to keep the rest of the group safe here.” 

Carol pushed past Negan and Lori; her eyes wide. “No, no, no. Carl’s right! We should all be out there looking for her! Please, it’ll get dark soon.” 

“Maybe a group of us could go,” Negan argued. “Just in case.” 

“No. Daryl went after them, that’s more than enough.”

As soon as Shane spoke, Rick came into view. He was sweating like he’d run a marathon, his clothes torn and stained with blood. There’d clearly been a struggle. Carl sucked in a breath and Carol sobbed, running towards him. “Sophia? You…you didn’t find her?”

Daryl was a few steps behind him, his eyes narrowed. “Her trail went cold. I don’t get it, man. She did just what Rick told her to, she made it back here to the clearing then her tracks just stop. Like she got spooked and ran back or somethin’.”

“She’s young,” Shane muttered, looking at Carl for a moment. His gaze softened slightly. “Maybe she got scared, wasn’t thinking. We…we should pick up the trail tomorrow.”

Carol shook her head, pulling at her hair as she paced. “But she’s too young to be out there alone. She can’t…please. We have to keep looking.”

“Not at night,” Daryl grunted, though he looked upset too. “Someone else could get lost and it’s harder to track. It’s no good.”

The desperation on her face was too much too bear. Carl knew what Carol was thinking of; it was the same he’d thought when he’d seen those walkers run after her. She was thinking of how Ed and Amy had died back at camp. Determined, Carl stepped forward until he was next to her. “Well, it’s not night yet. Not for a few hours, right? I say we keep looking for her.” 

A glance at Negan was all it took for the man to agree. “I’m with them.” 

The church bells rang and echoed like thunder, cutting through their discussion. No words were needed between them as they ran towards the sound, passing past roaming walkers, trees, and crumbling buildings to reach it. Carol called out to her until her voice was raw, stumbling towards the church. Daryl ran to her side, hovering as if he wanted to stop her but wasn’t sure if it was alright to touch her. Maybe he’d thought of Ed, the way that he used to grab and push her around camp. Instead, he pressed a finger to his lips and stepped forward first, clutching his crossbow close. 

The stench of candied rot and burned incense settled over them and Carl coughed before he could press his palm to his mouth. Worshippers – now dead – were still bent forward on the wooden church pews. The church that his mother had dragged them to every Sunday had been a simple one with white walls and wooden pews. It had looked like four walls and a roof. This one was different; there was a soft, red material across the floor towards the altar, softly carved statues, and stained-glass windows. 

Kneel down, pray and repeat.

Carl remembered his eagerness for the sermons to finish, the way he’d cast a glance to Rick who was already smiling knowingly at him, mouthing a promise of takeout after. It was strange to imagine that some people had willingly stayed, that they’d been so devoted to the sermons and God that they’d chosen to die here. 

“You lookin’ at the statue?” 

Negan’s voice was rough from all the yelling he’d done on the way, but it still grounded him, reminded him of what they were doing here. It was easy to get distracted sometimes, to get lost in memories from life before this. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Negan sucked his cheek, smirking a little. When he spoke, his voice was laced with the usual mix of teasing and condescending that Carl had grown to secretly adore. “Ah. This one here’s called the Sacred Heart. It’s a pretty crazy story, there’s a virgin nun, a hallucination and Jesus with his heart out. Apparently, if you pray to it and if what you ask is worthy enough, it’ll be granted. Or some shit like that.” 

Carl snorted, throwing him a glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t take you for such a believer.”  

His voice grew a little softer and his grin stretched out over his lips. “Nah, not me. I was the kid who rode around in motorbikes and got in trouble one too many times with cops like your daddy. But, uh, in the hospital, lots of religious people would come and talk to Lucille. You know, in case she wanted to devote herself to God last minute.” 

“Did she?”

Negan’s laughter was fond, and his eyes were bright with delight. It was the first time he’d seen the man happy when talking about Lucille. 

“Hell no.”

When Carl shut his eyes, he saw Sophia swimming in the creek, her cheery laughter ringing in his ears. He saw her with Amy, dancing around the camp when Shane scavenged snacks for them. He saw her crouched and picking wildflowers, placing them in his palm. Don’t squeeze too hard, she’d said. Or they’ll wilt too soon. Carl hoped she hadn’t wilted. 

I don’t know if you’re real, but if you are, please let me find her. Let me bring her home. 

It was a simple prayer, the only one he had to offer. 

Negan’s eyes were curious when he opened them. “What did you ask for?”

“To find Sophia,” he admitted, feeling strangely childish, like when he’d asked his parents if Santa was real for the first time. 

The smile on Negan’s face was kinder, gentler than he’d ever seen and when he squeezed Carl’s hand again, it felt like a prayer of their own, for which no words were necessary. “I hope we do.” 

They stood there until Rick whistled, calling them back to the gates. “Alright, new plan. She might’ve heard the bells too so let’s split into groups. Carl, Negan, you’re with me and Shane. Let’s stick to a three-mile radius, alright? And when it gets dark, we go back to the highway.”

Carl nodded and drew his gun again, alert as soon as he stepped out of the small church. The woods were strangely quiet without walkers at every turn. Rick and Shane walked ahead of them, just as alert as he was. They were talking quietly though Shane’s frustrated retorts grew louder until Rick hushed him. It was strange, the way they seemed so at odds at some moments and so close the next. He was never sure what to think or what to expect with Shane; some days it looked like he wanted to pull a knife on his father but on others, it seemed like all he wanted was to protect him. 

He cast his eyes down to the floor, watching the bright green leaves spin around with the wind. Part of him suddenly wished that they had all stayed behind at the CDC, that way it would’ve been quick, and they would’ve been together in their final moments. It would’ve been better than this; to run around, trying to convince himself that Sophia was still alive and had somehow hadn’t heard them yelling for her or the church bells. 

Her bunny in his pocket felt as heavy as his heart. 

As if he’d heard Carl’s saddened thoughts, Shane turned to him and pointed ahead. He lifted his head; half expecting to see Sophia there amongst the trees, waving and smiling at him. It wasn’t her, but a deer that was just as beautiful. Carl had never seen one so close, real, and alive. The closest he’d seen was a head of one hung up in the hunting cabin of Leon, a work friend of Rick and Shane’s. He could still remember the way he’d stared at it, sad to see it that way. 

Carl’s hand shook as he walked slowly towards it, eager to brush his hand across the soft fur. He could hear Rick, Shane and Negan murmuring fondly behind him, encouraging him to move closer. The deer didn’t startle or run; it simply watched him and let him come closer as if he wasn’t a threat. Carl shut his eyes and lifted his hand, confused when it didn’t brush against the deer’s fur. 

At first, it felt like he was falling backwards. 

Then he felt it; a strange burning like hot coals were pressing against his stomach. He was burning all over, struggling to breathe. Carl tried to speak but all that came out was a mumble when he felt himself getting numb. It was as if his arms and legs had suddenly disappeared, leaving him like one of those walkers that had to drag itself across the ground. 

His mouth opened and shut, trying to call out as he stumbled back on the grass, pressing trembling fingers to his stomach. When they came away bloody, he gasped, trying to look down. When the pain hit, it was like being stabbed every time he sucked in a breath. Carl didn’t hear the rapid footsteps of his father or Negan and Shane’s loud yells as they ran towards him, trying to pull him up. 

“Hey, hey. Kid, come on. You promised me, alright? You gotta stay awake!” 

It sounded like Negan was about to cry but Carl couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words to comfort him and make it better. 

He could barely think but there was one thought running around in his head. He wondered if Amy had thought the same, if Sophia had. I don’t want to die like this. Please don’t let me die like this. This isn’t how brave people die.

“Carl, Carl. Son, look at me. Stay awake.”

Shane was yelling at someone, hurling insults like Carl had never heard but he couldn’t lift his head to see what was happening, couldn’t even keep his eyes open anymore. 

“Carl!”

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since Negan had carried anyone. Thinking back, he could remember carrying Lucille past the door when they’d gotten married and her pained laughter when he bumped her head against the doorframe. The last time he’d carried Lucille had been a few days before she died; she’d been stubborn till the end, getting out of bed to walk around even when she knew she’d never make it far. Lucille had felt frail in his arms, there had been no laughter shaking her like on their wedding day; she’d been still and resigned. 

Holding Carl felt a lot like holding Lucille that day in the hospital. 

“The deer,” Carl mumbled, his words slurred. “Did you see it? It was so beautiful, Negan. It wasn’t…it wasn’t afraid.”

Negan squeezed his eyes shut for a second and pushed on. 

“That’s how I want to be,” he continued, gasping. “I don’t wanna be afraid.”

“How far,” Rick snapped, breathing hard through his tears, “How far?”

“Just up ahead there,” Otis gasped out, trembling against the gun that Shane was holding. Negan couldn’t even bring himself to defend the man – idiot – that had shot Carl. 

“How did you not see him?” Negan snapped, cradling him closer. “He’s a teenager, not a kid!” 

Otis stammered out a response that he couldn’t be bothered to listen to. 

“There! Those girls there, their father is Hershel. He’ll fix your boy up.”

If this was a better time, Negan would’ve stopped to look at the scenery. The farm was old, but well taken care of, surrounded by huge green fields and some of the tallest trees he’d seen. There weren’t any walkers to take out, it was peaceful. He looked down at Carl in his arms and whispered, “You’re gonna be fine, you hear me? You gotta be, you can’t miss this.” 

Negan grunted, stumbling onto the farm’s porch. He didn’t let go of Carl, even when the two girls offered to help carry him, even when their father invited them in and called for medical supplies. Negan only let go of Carl for a moment, to lay him down onto the bed as carefully as he’d laid Lucille down on the hospital crib. Rick’s lip trembled the second he saw them, and he was crouched beside the bed in a blink, reaching for Carl’s hand. 

He knew what Hershel was going to say even before he said it, he’d been to too many damn hospitals in the last year. 

“I need the room. Rick, look at me. I’m going to do everything I can to save your boy, but to do that, I need the room.”

The last thing he wanted to do was leave Carl’s bedside, it felt like abandoning him, but part of him couldn’t stand to be there either, looking at him in that condition. Negan tore his eyes away and moved to the other side of the room before he felt tempted to reach for Carl’s hand again. 

“Hey, man. Come on, we gotta…we gotta give them space, alright?”

By the time Negan had met Shane, the man already become tough. Negan had become familiar with the man’s moods, his bruised fists, and sharp, cutting glares. He’d never seen Shane be gentle before, had never met the man that Carl described those nights on patrol. Still, as he watched Shane pull Rick away slowly, he could almost see the man that he’d been before the world had ended. Shame it made him such a goddamn asshole, Negan thought. 

“He needs blood. Do you know what his blood type is?” 

Rick stumbled from Shane’s hold and nodded. “A positive. Same as mine, take it from me. Please, whatever he needs, just take it from me.”

Carl’s sudden shout cut through his rant and drew everyone’s eyes back to him. He’d sat up in a blink, in a lot of pain if the agonised look on his face was anything to go by. Carl’s face was scrunched up and his teeth were gritted as if he was trying to hold his screams back. Noise draws walkers. Even shot and delirious, he knew the rules. Negan slid a palm down his face, turning away. He couldn’t bear to look; to see him that way, hooked on an IV and screaming in agony. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Hold him down! Someone, hold him down!” 

Lucille’s eyes were bloodshot from the crying and the sheets were crumpled in her shaking fists. She’d been better a few hours ago, taking small steps around the room and smiling as he read to her. Now, she was biting her lip bloody as the pain took over. Negan wasn’t sure which was worse; the pain that she begged him to stop or the cold that he hugged her through, to no avail.

“Do something,” she begged, frantically trying to tear out the IV in her arm. “Please, it hurts!”

He crouched next to her, pulling her trembling hands from the IV. “I can’t, baby. You know I’d take the pain away if I could. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to do the treatments anymore,” Lucille gasped out, squeezing her eyes shut. “You don’t mean that, baby. You don’t. We’re doing so well.” Her eyes snapped open at the sound of nurses running into the room. “No, no. No more.”

“Stay still, we just need to check- “

“No!”

“Hold her down, please.”

“Negan, do something. Please!”

Rick stood just as helpless, biting back a sob when Carl started seizing. 

Sobs were tearing their way out of his throat as he started shaking on the bed, gripping the bed sheets tightly in his fists as he tried to sit up. His eyes were wide, scanning around the unknown room and then down to his wound. When Carl saw the bleeding, he thrashed again, trying to tear himself away from Hershel’s hands. 

“I got him,” Shane muttered, walking over to his bedside as quickly as Negan had left it. He pressed down hard, even as Carl shrieked, begging for the pain to go away. Shane was muttering to him, whispering promises as bruises formed on Carl’s wrists from the force it took to keep him still. 

“He needs blood,” Hershel repeated, as soon as Carl dropped back onto the pillows, passed out from the pain. Negan stared out of the window, unable to turn back and look. The urge to do something reckless was building up in him, just like it had those last days in the hospital. He wanted to do something; the idea of standing by and watching someone else he cared about die made him want to scream until his throat was raw. 

“Take it,” Rick whispered, “Please. I’ll give as much as he needs. Whatever he needs.” 

Two transfusions later, Negan was close to tearing his own hair out. 

Rick was doubled over a chair, pale in the face. The first transfusion had taken a lot out of him; he could barely move without Shane lifting him up. Still, when Carl had woken up again, Rick had thrust his arm forward and demanded that Hershel take more blood. The man looked worn and ragged, but he didn’t complain, he sat through it all with gritted teeth and a grip on Carl’s hand. Like Negan, he kept looking back at the bed as if he was scared that Carl would fade away if he took his eyes off him. 

After half an hour of tense silence, Rick spoke. 

“Lori needs to be here. She should know that Carl’s been shot, that he’s here.”

Shane hushed him and squeezed his shoulder, still hovering over him. “You gotta take a breath, alright? You’ve given a lot of blood, take it easy.”

“She’s his mother,” Rick continued like he hadn’t even heard him. Maybe he hadn’t, he was lost in his own head from the looks of it. Muttering under his breath, Rick spoke again. “I gotta find her, I have to tell her. Shane, Shane, you gotta help me up.” 

If Negan had stayed turned away, he might’ve missed the tender moment. Shane bumped his forehead against Rick’s, squeezing his shoulder again despite the blood there. “No, man. Leave it to me, alright? I’ll handle it but you’re staying. Rick, do you hear me? You are staying. Your boy needs you, so you have to be strong, damn it.” 

Rick nodded, unable to speak. 

“If you left now and something happened,” Shane continued, “you and I both know that you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself, alright? You’d be beating yourself up until the day you died, man. I’m not letting that happen to you. You stay, damn it.” 

“You’re right, I know you are.”

Shane’s grin was almost boyish. “Man, when have I ever been wrong?”

If it was an attempt to cheer Rick up, it almost worked. Rick’s laugh was shaky but it was there and he smiled a little, bumping his head against Shane’s in response. 

“Leave it to me, alright?”

“Alright.”

Shane turned to Negan, raising a brow at the look on his face. “Think you can manage to stay here with him, make sure he’s alright?”

Negan wasn’t sure whether he meant Rick or Carl, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he could manage it. Staring outside of the window at the beautiful scenery helped. There weren’t any walkers nearby and if he pretended hard enough, it almost felt like the world had never ended. Every time he turned back and saw Carl, it felt like there was a knife opening his chest inch by agonising inch. 

He could vaguely hear Hershel talking to Shane, muttering on about internal bleeding, bullet fragments and a bunch of other shit that he didn’t want to hear. Negan wished he could close his eyes and make it all go away; to have Carl in front of him, snipping at him as he read his comic books and then grinning softly a second after. 

No. Negan couldn’t manage it. This was why he’d wanted to leave in the first place, even if it meant dying torn apart and alone where no one would bury or remember him. Anything was better than witnessing this, not knowing if Carl would even make it. 

“I need a respirator, the tube that goes with it, the extra surgical supplies, drapes, and sutures. If I have all that, I can try and save him.”

Try, wasn’t that a kicker?

Negan took one last look at Carl; the way his brow furrowed, clearly in pain even when he was passed out, and decided. “I’m going with you.” 

“No, man. I need someone here looking after Rick.”

He scoffed, regretting his words the second he said them. “Rick’s a grown man, he can look after himself. I’m going.”

Shane’s face twisted, looking more like the Shane he’d seen in the past few weeks. His fists clenched at his sides, and he took a step forward, “You wanna say that again, asshole?”

“Hey, it’s alright. Shane, it’s alright. I can handle it from here, take him with you.”

“Did you hear what he-“

Rick silenced him with a look. Shane’s jaw clenched but he jerked his head. 

“Fine.” 

Hershel’s eyes flickered between them, a strange look on his face as if he was considering throwing them out the moment he could. He turned back to Carl and adjusted the IV on his arm. “The high school’s your best shot,” he said slowly, “our last hospital went down a few weeks back. They set up a shelter there, but it was overrun from what I heard.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Negan cut in, sliding his gun back into his holster. He needed to be out there, putting bullets in brains and kicking ass, not here. He couldn’t stand to be here one more second. “Think you can draw us a map?”

Otis smiled. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you myself. I’m responsible for what happened to this little fella, it’s not right to just sit by while you two risk it out there.”

The urge to kick Otis’ ass dwindled, just a little. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Before Negan knew it, he was turning back to the bed. What if Carl died while he was gone and he didn’t get to say goodbye, just because this was too painful? What if Carl woke up and wondered where he was, why he’d left?

He sighed, crouched down next to the bed, and whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me, kid. You’re gonna be okay, I know it. I know you. You’re the strongest, most stubborn kid I’ve ever met. Sorry, not a kid. That’s what you’d say. You gotta pull through, you hear me? Don’t you dare die on me, you promised me. I’m gonna kick some ass and risk my sorry ass to get you some damn medical supplies, so you better be breathing when I come back.” 

Negan stood on shaking legs and pushed past, leaving the room before he could be tempted to stay. 

Chapter Text

Negan was pretty sure that he’d twisted his ankle running away from the rotters occupying the yard by the school. Whenever he took a step, it hurt like hell, and he had bitten his lip bloody trying to keep quiet. 

The school was overrun, just like Hershel had warned. Negan crouched behind a wall, poking his head out to look at the blood-splattered hallway. There were at least twenty of them, wandering aimlessly in the tight space; groaning, and growling at any sudden sound. Students, just like the ones he’d taught before the world had gone to hell. Kids. He sucked in a breath and leaned back against the blue lockers, gripping his handgun tight. Shane was next to him, brow raised. 

“Well?”

“Twenty of ‘em, at least.”

Shane ran a hand through his hair and cursed, looking tempted to throw him to the walkers. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “We could draw them out, thin the herd while someone else gets the meds.” 

“Let me guess,” Negan drawled, “you’ll be the one grabbing the meds while I fight ‘em.”

Shane’s grin was sharp like a shark smelling blood in the water. “That’s right. Otis, you’re with me. We’re going to get into that gym.” 

Otis glanced at him apologetically over his shoulder but didn’t disagree. Maybe he’d figured, like everyone else around him, that it was best not to confront Shane head-on. He hobbled after Shane, slipping into a nearby classroom to hide until Negan could find a way to get rid of twenty rotters. Negan cursed, tempted to slam his fist against the locker. Shane’s problem with him was going to get him killed one of these days. 

“Okay, you fuckers,” he muttered, standing up. “Come get some.”

One loud bang of his gun against the lockers was all it took for the rotters to turn to him, eager and rabid. He didn’t know them, but he immediately knew who they were; the popular kids, who walked the halls as if they had been built in their honour, the nerdy ones who wore lopsided glasses and an unfortunate teacher who’d been stuck with them. They’d probably been in class when the infection had spread, and they’d been unlucky enough to die here. 

Negan had two guns – thirty bullets, he could easily take them all out now. 

His vision was disfigured and for a moment, it was like looking through a fish-eye lens. It was as if the rest of the hallway had faded away and all his eyes could see were the rotters moving toward him. He gasped out a breath, trying to fight the tight feeling in his chest. 

One of the walkers moved, limping forward. She growled, snapping her sharp teeth together. From the looks of it, she had been a cheerleader. His eyes fell to her slashed up chest, and he winced. Had she been bitten and then stabbed by a desperate classmate? Or had she been stabbed and too weak to fight a bite? Neither of them was favourable and all of them made his chest ache. She couldn’t be much older than Carl, than some of the students he’d taught gym to. 

The rotters didn’t share his hesitation and moved forward like chess pieces, stumbling towards him. Negan took a step back and slipped on the blood trail, his fingers tapping against the gun in his holster. He could do it now if he tried hard enough. Maybe if he squinted hard enough, he could pretend that they hadn’t been kids once, that they were just monsters, targets to hit like the ones at camp. 

“Fuck.”

Every second that he hesitated, was two steps taken by the walkers. Negan grunted and tried to stand up again, only to slip back into the thick, red, liquid staining the floors and walls. His hands were slippery, his ankle was twisted and there wasn’t a damn thing to grab onto. The cheerleader was in front, and she slipped into the same pool of blood, but it didn’t slow her down. She crawled towards him, groaning so loudly that it almost sounded like a shriek in the hallway. 

Negan muttered an apology and pulled out his gun, finger on the trigger. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

A hoarse sound tore its way from her throat and when she tried to move towards him again, her engraved gold locket caught the light. Inches away from his eyes, he could make out the words. Love always. 

It was stupid, really stupid to let something like that stop him, but he knew what it meant. The gold locket was no different to the ring he wore on his finger, the leather cord bracelet that Carl wore, or the necklace that Andrea had given Amy. Someone had loved her once. 

Negan kicked her back instead of shooting, and she fell against the rest of the rotters, groaning weakly. They kept shuffling forward and he kept sliding back on the blood-stained floor until his back met the door leading to the courtyard. Negan shut his eyes tightly and thought of Carl; bedridden and wounded. The painful image gave him enough strength – or anger, he could never tell – to pull himself up off the floor despite his bruised ankle. 

“Come on,” Negan yelled, slamming his gun against the door as he pulled it open. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shane and Otis running out of the classroom and down the hallway to the gym. They’d make it, that was good enough for him. He tried not to look at the walker’s eyes – frozen between life and death – as he led them out into the courtyard. 

There had been a massacre outside too. The concrete was splattered with dried blood and in the corner, there were several corpses stacked on top of each other. Negan avoided the corner, knowing that the pile of corpses might move at any moment. 

He moved as quickly as he could, leading them around the small yard. No matter how many turns he made, he couldn’t lose them. They were starving, desperate for flesh and he was the bait. Negan ran in circles around the obstacles in the yard and crouched behind the fences to thin them out. The cheerleader was still in front, snapping her rotting teeth and dragging her hands across the concrete. 

Negan stepped back, keeping his front to them and his gun in his hands. When his back hit a fence door, he jolted and then grinned. All he had to do was open it, shut it, and circle back around to Shane and Otis. He jiggled the small handle, cursing when it wouldn’t budge. “Come on, come on. Don’t do this now.” He kicked the fence and pushed his entire weight against it, but it remained stubbornly shut, not even allowing him a gap to crawl through. 

The sudden weight on top of him brought him back to reality. The walkers had moved back together without him to thin them out and they’d rushed towards him. The cheerleader had jumped on his back in his distraction and her rotting, snapping teeth were currently inches away from his bare neck. 

“Jesus!” 

Negan held one hand against the door, still trying to push it open while the other held her away at arm’s length. Even with both of their weights, the door wouldn’t budge. It was stuck or frozen, not that it mattered which. What mattered was that he was stuck with twenty walkers pressed up next to him. He couldn’t hop the fence, especially not with his ankle in the state it was. Negan grunted from the effort of keeping the rabid thing off him as he tried to slip his hand into his holster. 

“You know,” he muttered, kicking her back. “I really didn’t want to do this.”

They had been kids once, there was no point in denying it. That was why pulling the trigger was so goddamn hard. Negan thought of Carl again, the way his fingers had tightened over the bedsheets and his teeth had gritted to keep himself quiet. If he died now and got bit, it would be over, but he’d be just another problem for someone else. Maybe if he was extremely lucky and all that afterlife bullshit was true, he’d see Lucille again. Not Carl though, his mind nagged. If he died, who would make sure that Shane and Otis had made it, that they had the meds? 

It was as if his body made the decision before he even realised it. The gunshot was as loud as a scream in the quiet yard, echoing all the way back to the high school. The cheerleader’s teeth froze, and she dropped to the concrete without a sound. Negan sucked in a breath and pushed down the tightening of his stomach. It was done, it was what he had to do. 

Negan pulled the trigger again and the jock fell next to her. Another gunshot and the cheerleading captain stumbled to the ground, her head on the cheerleader’s shoulder. He squinted and fired, over and over. Three. Four. Five. When the first gun ran out of bullets, he pulled the other one out of the holster and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. 

It was done. 

He gripped his knees, fighting the vile rising in his throat. It felt like he was being choked and all the air in the world had been sucked out. He gasped a breath again and leaned against the fence, sucking in a lungful of air that felt empty. Negan’s heart pounded in his chest, too fast like he’d been running a marathon. He groaned, slumping next to the corpses on the ground. 

“Can’t fucking breathe,” he muttered, slamming his numb fist against the concrete. 

Time passed by torturously slow until his body warmed, and he could breathe again. The numbness faded, replaced by tiny pricks against his skin as he clung to the fence to stand on his feet again. He was covered in blood, from head to toe, and he stunk of death. There was nothing Negan wanted more than to rip his clothes to shreds and rub at his skin until it was red, but he kept moving, keeping his eyes away from the new pile of corpses. 

The last thing he wanted to think about were those students on the floor or the gold locket around that cheerleader’s neck, so instead, he thought of Carl again. Not injured on the bed but before that; running around camp with Sophia and Amy, reading his comics with a flashlight instead of sleeping and teasing him every chance he got until Shane told them to cut it out. It was nicer to think of him that way, like rubbing balm over a wound rather than salt. Negan thought of Carl laughing at one of his jokes and the way his nose scrunched when they got too lewd. It made him limp forward faster all the way towards the yard outside of the gym. 

Negan tapped his fingers against the gun in his holster. Ten bullets left. 

“Shane? Otis?”

It was too goddamn quiet. 

“Negan.”

He whirled around, gun ready, to find Shane looking no better off than him. The man’s face was splattered with blood and his clothes were torn in places like he’d been cut. He was panting, eyes wide, gripping the bag of supplies like a lifeline and Otis was nowhere to be seen. 

Negan froze, looking him over. “Where’s Otis?”

He turned his head towards the gym and hooked the bag over his shoulder. “Gone.”

“The hell do you mean gone? What happened?”

Shane took a step forward, teeth gritted. “I mean he’s gone. He fell behind but I got what we came for. Now, do you care more about some idiot who shot Carl or Carl?”

“You know how much I care about Carl,” Negan snapped, “but Otis helped us get here and he took us to Hershel. If he’s stuck, we can at least go back for him.”

He turned to Negan slowly and laughed; a dry, bitter thing. That should’ve been his first sign that something was wrong. Shane waved his hands around wildly as he spoke. “Man, you’re not hearing me. Otis is gone. Dead. The only thing you’re gonna find in there is a walker, if that.”

It was as if Negan’s body had gone cold and numb again. He squinted at Shane, studying him like a high school textbook. The way he talked about Otis was too defensive, too sure. Negan spoke slowly, almost afraid to say it aloud. “You saw it happen?”

Shane cocked his head and bared his teeth, more animal than a man at that moment. “Why don’t you just say what you really want to say, huh?”

“Man, don’t.”

He took a step closer until they were almost nose to nose and pressed against the wall. Negan vaguely thought that the walkers sounded too close to them, snarling as if sensing them nearby. Shane huffed out a laugh, though his eyes were deadly serious. “Say it, just say it. Go on.”

“Did you kill him?”

The silence was deafening, and it was all the answer he needed. It froze him to the bone and set him alight all at once. Otis had been alive, and Shane had killed him. Otis hadn’t been a walker and Shane had still killed him. After Otis had apologised profusely and led them to the high school, they seemed to be fine and trusting enough to have each other’s backs. 

And isn’t that more than can be said for me and Shane?

The thought made his heart jump. It was as if Shane could read his mind. He stared at Negan blankly, his jaw tense. “I didn’t kill him,” he finally replied. “I shot him in the leg and left him to the walkers. Killing him would’ve been a mercy and I didn’t have time for mercy.” 

For a second, he considered shooting Shane in the leg and running before Shane could do the same to him. But what would the group say when he got back without Shane or Otis? What would Carl say? Negan ran a hand down his face and held back a shudder. “For fuck’s sake. What were you thinking? You’d let a man die?”

“I would do anything to keep Carl safe. Anything, you understand me?” 

“Me too, but you didn’t have to shoot a man in the leg, Shane!”

Shane’s eyes narrowed. “You’d do anything? Really, that’s funny, man. You couldn’t even take those walkers down earlier.” 

“They were kids.” 

“Were,” Shane snapped. “Were! They’re nothing now and if you can’t take a walker down then you’re weak. If you’re weak, this world will chew you up and spit you out, man.”

Negan’s jaw clenched at the words and his hands tightened at his sides. Before he knew it, his fist collided with Shane’s nose, splattering blood on the concrete. “You’re wrong. I took them down; I did what I had to do. You shot a man and left him to die. That’s not doing what you have to do, that’s crossing a damn line. When does that line end for you now? Are you gonna shoot everyone who gets on your nerves?” 

Shane chuckled drily, holding a hand to his bleeding nose. “Man, you’re lucky I’m out of bullets.”

He scoffed and stepped back, needing to get far away from Shane. The hand gripping his elbow stopped him before he could get far. “I can’t have you telling the group,” Shane said slowly, “not when I’m so close to fixing things again. These meds? What I risked? It’ll fix everything with Rick, Lori and Carl. I can’t have you ruining that for me.” 

“I’m not keeping your dirty little secret,” Negan bit back, tearing his arm away. 

“No. I didn’t think you would.” 

Shane kicked at his ankle, and Negan hissed, falling to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man running but not before slamming his gun against the car, drawing walkers toward them. Was this how Otis had died, afraid and weak? 

“Fuck,” he gasped out, crawling between the other cars for cover. “You fucking asshole.” 

That’s how I want to be, I don’t want to be afraid. 

Carl had said that, but Negan understood it now more than ever. Shane was driving off, leaving him for dead and for the first time since this had begun, he realised he didn’t want to die like this. He wanted to go out fighting, like Carl wanted to, like Lucille had. The rotters could smell him, and they were stumbling through the yard, bumping into cars in their eagerness to find him. Their rotting skin was torn apart as they walked through obstacles, but they kept walking, uncaring and unfeeling. 

Otis limped among them, half of his face bloody and caved in. 

Chapter Text

When Carl dreamed, he dreamed of finding Sophia. Not anyone else in the group but him. She’d be in the woods somewhere, hidden between the trees or waiting in a cabin nearby and he’d bring her home to the group. He dreamed that he was strong, never afraid and that they’d come back to warm food and safety. 

When he woke up, Sophia was always still gone. 

That morning, Carl woke up feeling dead, with a pit of dread in his stomach. He slid his hands beneath the covers, fidgeting with the bandage covering his abdomen. He’d half expected to find the wound infected and himself rotting and festering from the inside out.

Today, he had a new visitor. The girl – Beth, he reminded himself – was at the door, cradling small flowers to her chest that were just starting to wilt and he shut his eyes at the sight. It reminded him too much of Sophia picking wildflowers in the field, on the day that they’d buried Amy. One of the last times they’d spoken. Carl’s stomach tightened at the thought. 

Her blonde hair was neat and tied back, not sticking to her forehead with blood and sweat as it had a few days ago. She’d been there by his bedside, speaking to him faintly whenever he was conscious and cleaning his wound. The only evidence that she’d done so were her red-rimmed eyes. From tiredness or crying, he couldn’t tell. Carl imaged it was the former, he couldn’t imagine why someone who didn’t even know him would cry for him.

Apart from that, Beth looked neat and nice, like the women that would come to drink sweet tea and gossip with Lori while Rick was at work. She smiled at him and placed the flowers on the bedside table. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Carl wasn’t sure how to answer that. His mouth opened and shut a few times and he shrugged instead, wincing when his wound strained. 

“You shouldn’t move too much; Daddy says your wound still needs to heal.” 

He needed to move, needed to get out there and find Sophia. 

“Um, are my parents here? Or Negan?”

When he spoke, it was strained, and his words sounded slurred like he’d drunk one too many glasses of whiskey with Negan. If Beth was bothered by how long it took him to form a sentence, she didn’t voice it. 

“I think your parents are on the farm,” her voice dropped low like she was telling him a secret, “My daddy isn’t sure whether to let you stay or not.” 

“Oh.”

She smiled, brushing a hand against his hair gently. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t kick you out or anything until you’re better. My daddy’s a fair man, you’ll see.”

A fair man, that was a nice thought, except Jenner had seemed fair too. Carl didn’t tell her that it was best not to trust anyone these days, that someone who gave you a piece of food was likely to lead you into a trap to steal whatever you had. Beth seemed sweet and he didn’t want to pluck that out of her, the way it was being plucked out of him. 

“I’ll go find your parents. And some lemonade while I’m at it.”

He watched her leave the room, feeling dizzy the second he sat up. Lemonade. Food that wasn’t canned. No walkers nearby. It felt like a dream where the world had never ended. But the CDC had felt like a dream too. 

The frightening reminder pushed him to action. Carl pressed his hand against the table and forced himself off the plush bed, wincing when his wound began to burn. He’d been bedridden for the days and the sudden movement made his body slump forward with every step he took. Carl hobbled towards the door, feeling like a bug in the playground after children had curiously taken its legs off. 

He jiggled the door handle, cursing under his breath when the door creaked. 

It was quiet, too quiet. 

Since their first day together as a group, they’d been loud. When he’d run around with Amy and Sophia, he’d laughed until his stomach ached. When it wasn’t their laughing, it was Ed’s shouting or Shane’s orders echoing across the field. When Negan had joined their small group, his curses had woken them up in the middle of the night. 

Across the room was a large kitchen, clean and clearly still in use. Were those pancakes? 

Carl sucked in a pained breath and pushed forward until he reached the backdoor. The second he pushed the door, he instinctively reached down, expecting to feel his holster with his gun and pocketknife, only to find it missing. They took it off to perform surgery, Carl reminded himself, trying to stay calm. 

Still, without his gun and knife, he felt naked, vulnerable. Without them and injured, he was useless to defend himself and the group. Carl gritted his teeth and walked outside, narrowing his eyes at the brightness. He wasn’t sure what he expected; walkers, blood, a sign that someone in the group had been hurt or taken. 

Instead, he found Glenn barbecuing chicken and laughing at one of Dale’s stories. They were crowded by the RV as usual, this time Carol and Daryl sat nearby, listening in. Carol’s smile was faint but there and strangely enough, Daryl was grinning too, muttering, and making signals with his hands. He’d never seen them all together before and never so happy. Glenn had been nervous around camp, probably because of Shane’s tendency to order people around. He’d never seen Carol very happy either, not until those last few days of camp when Ed was gone, and certainly not Daryl who’d moped around the entire two months they’d been together. 

The grass moved in steady waves as he walked across the field, pressing his palm to tree bark when he needed to stop and catch his breath. The green under his soles had been warmed by the shining sun above and it felt like a gentle tickle against his legs as with each step he took.

When Carl heard the branch snap, he looked up and reached for his holster again, cursing when he remembered it was gone. Then, the blue between the trees caught his eye; the same colour as Sophia’s shirt. He frowned and hobbled closer, tracing his fingers against the piece of fabric. It was a small strip that had been torn and caught between some branches. 

Carl kept going, following the sound he’d heard only moments earlier until he saw her. He wasn’t sure if she was really there, a few feet away from him or if this was another strange dream. Maybe he was still in that white room back at the farm or maybe he’d fallen somewhere between the farm and here and she was just a figment of his hopeful imagination. 

Sophia was far away, down by the creek and turned away from him. Her brown hair was tangled, dancing in the wind like a strange halo. He’d always seen it neat; Carol insisted on brushing it every day, not much different from his own mother’s insistence of cutting his hair when it grew too long.  

His mouth felt so dry, and his feet felt stuck to the ground, so different from the dreams that he’d had of finding her. It almost felt like she’d disappear if he moved any closer. 

“Sophia?”

Carl wasn’t he’d said it and she didn’t seem to hear him. She kept walking down, slumping more on one side until she was gone from his line of sight, hidden by the tall, thick trees and the vast green around them. 

The gentle hand on his shoulder broke the spell and he could move again. Rick’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. You should be in bed.”

Carl let himself go slack, falling back into his father’s strong grip. Between his desperation to see if the group was okay and wanting to find Sophia, he hadn’t realised how exhausted he felt. His legs ached like he’d run a marathon rather than having walked a mile at the most. Carl groaned, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. 

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Rick smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s go back.”

He looked back at the creek where Sophia had been only a few moments ago. His feet felt stuck to the ground again. “I saw Sophia,” Carl muttered. “Or I thought I did, I don’t know. There was a piece of her shirt stuck to the branch and I swear, I saw her down there.”

Lori’s brow furrowed and she turned to Rick, mouthing something that he couldn’t quite make out. When she turned back to him, she smoothed a hand over his forehead, checking his temperature like she’d done when he was little. 

“I don’t have a fever,” Carl mumbled. “I’m fine. Well, apart from being shot.”

“That’s not something to joke about,” Lori reprimanded, smoothing his hair. “Here, honey, I brought your shoes.”

Carl blinked and looked down. In his rush, he’d walked out without them. He crouched but Lori was there first, ignoring the way that the grass stained her white dress green and tying his laces quickly like this was his first day of school. Part of him ached for that innocence. 

When she was done, Rick’s hand was firm, leading him back to the farm. Still, he couldn’t get the sight of Sophia out of his mind. 

“But what if it was her? Shouldn’t we at least check? Dad.” 

Maybe it was wrong to appeal to his father’s necessity to save others, especially when he was so concerned with everything else, but Carl couldn’t get rid of the image of Sophia hobbling through the woods, lost and on her own. Rick stared at him for a long moment then nodded, smiling. “Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to Daryl and get a team going to look for Sophia again. Shane won't be happy but we’re not giving up on her, not until we find her.”

Lori nodded and offered a smile of her own. “I think Andrea might like to help. Let’s just say that she’s not happy doing the cooking or the cleaning.” 

“Maybe Negan could help too,” Carl whispered. It had been a while since he’d seen Negan at all, and he didn’t understand why. He could vaguely remember Negan carrying him across the field, yelling at him to stay awake. He remembered Negan at his bedside, talking to him. Then, nothing. 

His parents came to see him often, reading to him and bringing him food. Glenn came too, waving at him and hoping he’d feel better. Dale told him stories when the hours dragged on. Andrea didn’t come over much but these days, she was mostly keeping to herself, and he didn’t blame her after Amy. Carol came sometimes to talk to him but there was always a sadness in her eyes that he couldn’t bear to see; when she looked at him, she saw Sophia and then she remembered that she was missing. 

Shane came too, a lot at first and then not at all. 

Beth came often, bringing him lemonade and cleaning his bandages. She opened the windows when it was sunny and pushed back the curtains, bringing fresh air into the room. She sat by his side and talked to him about the farm, about her day, about her boyfriend. Her sister – Maggie, who Glenn seemed to always stare at – came by sometimes too to check on him and bring him something to read. 

Everyone had come, except Negan. 

His chest tightened at the thought of Negan being mad at him, maybe even hating him. Carl had begged him to stay at the camp, he’d promised to be careful and then Negan had seen the opposite. The guilt felt as heavy as the words uttered in church confessionals. His parents were quiet, staring at each other, and that made it worse. Maybe they knew that Negan hated him too. 

“Let’s get you back,” Lori insisted. “We’ll talk about it soon.”

The walk back to the barn was silent apart from Rick and Lori occasionally whispering about Hershel and Shane. Carl couldn’t keep up with the conversation; his mind kept landing back on Negan and the desperation on the man’s face the last time they’d seen each other. His stomach felt tight and in knots at the thought of having to face Negan or seeing him angry. 

When they got back, it was almost dark and there was no one outside anymore. The lights were turned on, illuminating the home and the barn nearby. Hershel was waiting at the porch with Beth and Maggie in tow. The moment Hershel saw them, he beckoned Rick and Lori closer. 

Beth was waiting with her arms crossed and Carl winced, ready to be told off.  

“You shouldn’t have run off like that, I was meant to be looking after you.”

“Sorry,” Carl muttered, not knowing what else to say. “I just really wanted to find my friend.”

“Did you?” 

He blinked. Carl thought it should’ve been obvious, considering that no one had come back with them. Still, Beth was clearly curious and waiting for an answer. 

“No.”

Maggie stepped forward, rolling her eyes at her. “Come on, Beth. Leave him alone, it’s not like you got in trouble with Dad. Carl, come in. There’s dinner on the table.” 

Carl slipped past Beth and closed the door, letting the sisters talk. He moved sluggishly, still exhausted from the walk. The dining room was set up and the group was scattered around the room, peeking curiously at different things. Dale was sitting by the piano, butchering a tune, while Glenn snickered over his shoulder. 

When he saw Carol, he froze, the same way he had back in the woods. Away from prying eyes, she was quiet with a pang of sadness that slouched her entire body. She was at the stove, piling food onto the plates but every move was mechanical, it was like she wasn’t even there. Part of him wanted to tell her about Sophia, about the possibility, but he was terrified to get her hopes up. Instead, he offered to help.

“Hey. Can I help with anything?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No, sweetheart, that’s okay. You’re still healing.” 

When he didn’t move, Carol’s eyes flickered back up to him. “Was there something else?”

In the last few days, he hadn’t spoken to anyone else about Sophia, it never felt like they understood. Apart from them, no one had known her well enough and all he ever got were pats on the shoulder and promises that didn’t come true. If anyone would understand, he knew it would be Carol. 

Still, Carl wasn’t sure how to tell her that he missed Sophia too, that he wanted to find her more than anything, that the loneliness never went away, even when he slept. But how could he, when she’d lost more than a friend?

“No,” he whispered, feeling foolish. “Nothing else.”

“You don’t have to say it, I know. You’re sad about Sophia. And Negan.”

He blinked. What the fuck?

“Negan? I don’t…”

Carol’s lips were moving but it was as if she wasn’t speaking. There was a roaring rush in his ears, like a silent scream that blocked off everything she said. Amy. Sophia. Negan. He tripped towards the door, ignoring the way his laces came undone and slammed it shut behind him. 

Negan was gone. He hadn't come to see Carl because he was dead. 

It didn’t feel real. Death felt like something that happened to other people. He was too strong, too confident to just be gone. 

The wind was colder now, a harsh whip across his skin but the reality felt much harsher. He didn’t have a picture of Negan to look back on, there were no photo albums like the ones that his mother carried. He hadn’t had anything except the clothes on his back and his gun – there wasn’t anything of his to keep, to hold and cherish. 

Only days ago, he’d been laughing with Negan and Sophia at the highway. Now, they were both gone with no traces of them left behind. 

Death wasn’t new, not really. Carl knew what it meant; it meant that when he woke up and ran to Negan’s tent, expecting to see him there, it would always be empty. It meant that he’d never get to joke with him until his stomach ached and his cheeks were red. It meant slowly forgetting what he looked like, what his voice sounded like and what he smelled like until there wasn’t a trace of him left in the world. 

He hadn’t known Negan that long and yet, in a world like this, those two months felt like a lifetime. 

When the tears burned his eyes, it felt like they would never stop. Like there was a tsunami behind his eyes, ready to pour out of him. Carl groaned and curled in on himself, resting his head on his knees. His chest ached as if there was a hand clawing its way into it and squeezing around his heart. 

Behind him, Beth cleared her throat, and he resisted the urge to yell at her. This isn’t her fault; this is her home. You’re the one crying on the steps. Carl didn’t turn to face her; his face felt too red, and he didn’t want to cry in front of her. It felt like one final indignity. 

She shuffled closer but didn’t sit next to him. Desperate to fill the terrible silence, he spoke. “Did you lose someone too, in this?”

“My mom, Annette,” she whispered. “And my brother, Shawn. They were my comfort, my home. I miss ‘em, all the time but daddy says that they’re never really gone. They live inside you, and they guide you. As long as we live, they live too.”

The more she spoke, the more he relaxed. Carl finally turned to her, and whispered, “It hurts when they’re gone but that’s not what scares me the most. I’m scared that I’ll forget them, that I’ll keep living and they’ll be gone.”

Beth was quiet for a moment before sitting next to him on the steps. “Tell me about ‘em.”

“I met Negan after this. He’d been holed in some hotel, didn’t even know that the world had ended, and I told him how to survive. After that, we were always together. We patrolled together, he gave me whiskey to try, and he’d bring me back things from supply runs. I had my eighteenth birthday in this, and he went into the city like an idiot just to bring me this limited edition comic I wanted and a box of Birthday Cake Pop-Tarts. You know, because we couldn’t have an actual cake.” 

She grinned, giggling a little. “He sounds really cool.”

“Yeah, the coolest. Um, but he totally knew that. Sophia was…”

Carl trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of his flannel. “I don’t know if she’s dead,” he sighed, wiping his sleeve harshly across his face. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

She didn’t judge him or tell him off. Instead, she shushed him and knocked her elbow against his. “You don’t mean it, not really. Like when Maggie used to get mad at me and my mama. You say stuff when you’re sad but it’s not what you feel.”

“No,” he admitted. “I think I’m just scared. Either way it’ll hurt, you know? If she’s dead now, it’ll hurt so bad that I won’t know what to do. If she’s not dead now then she will be someday because that’s how this works now. And that means someday I’ll have to feel like this again.”

Beth’s voice was gentle when she spoke again. “Or, maybe there’ll be a cure and you won’t have to feel this way ever again. Maybe in a few months, this will all just feel like a bad dream.”

Carl couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Jenner or the CDC. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about how their hope had gone up in flames. He sniffed, biting his tongue before he could say something that he’d regret.

“Then maybe, you and Sophia can visit me, and we can have fun on the farm without being scared.”

He thought of Sophia after Ed was gone; the way she’d smiled at every little thing and the excitement she’d had at something so small like finding a few water bottles. Sophia would love it on the farm; the peace, the animals, and the vast fields to explore until the sun went down and their legs ached. “Yeah,” Carl whispered. “That would be nice.” 

Beth nudged her elbow against his again. “Come on, let’s go inside. The food will get cold otherwise.”

The last thing he wanted to do was eat. Carl wanted to scream until his voice went raw, he wanted to drag his nails across the itchy bandage on his stomach and let the wound do its job. He wanted to ask how Negan had died. More than anything, he wanted all of this to end. 

Instead, Carl smiled and followed her inside.