This is mostly from Carl's POV. I thought, what would happen if Negan were to win and the Saviours were to take over Alexandria? So yeah, don't jump to conclusions about Rick at the end, it'll be solved probably next chapter. The beginning is pretty much taken from the comic, but that will be the last time of me referencing the comic, it's all AU from here.
Chapter I: At Fault
He was behind the walls of Alexandria, watching attentively as his father fought off the son of a bitch that killed Glenn. Everyone was watching. Rick had drawn his knife and slit a fine streak into Negan's throat. The large fuck clutched his throat in pain, trying to stop the blood streaming from his neck. He fell hard onto his knees, obviously defeated. "Heh," Carl smirked to himself. There wouldn't be any problems anymore. Justice had been served.
"It's done! This war is over!" Rick announced, "We have a doctor who can save his life!"
Wh-what? Carl thought. His father couldn't be serious! That fuck was a danger to their community and this was against everything his damn father worked for!
"Surrender and allow us to take him, and we will not attack," the fearsome leader continued, "You can appoint a leader and return home. Decide now before he dies!"
Carl smirked to himself once more. There was no way that the Saviours were going to surrender. They had too much pride on their hands. A few more minutes of this and their leader would be lying lifeless on the ground, drowned in his blood. It was karma.
Carl's thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud. Carl jumped up in alarm. Negan had tackled Rick to the ground. The nerve of that guy! His assertion was just going to make him die faster! The preteen just wanted to experience the pleasure of watching that man die a slow, painful death.
"Oh god!" Maggie screamed, "Get the snipers on the wall! Hurry!"
She was silenced by Dwight, "stay back. Let them fight it out."
Carl gulped. This wouldn't turn out well at all. And he was right. All hell broke loose once Michonne, Jesus, Ezekiel, and the others ran in to intervene. As strong as Carl wanted to be, there was no way he could watch anymore of his friends die. He couldn't even look anymore. Carl needed to act now! He ran towards the tower, grabbing a rifle on the way. His eye wasn't even open at this point, he was just running, running –then stopped. The fuck now? Carl thought. It was Maggie. She wanted help, why is she pulling me back? "Let me go!" he screamed, "you're not my damn mom! Stop acting like fucking Rick and let me go!" She was a lot stronger than she looked. When she failed to ease away, the boy took a hard bite at her bony arm.
"Ow! Fuck!" Maggie yelled, letting go of Carl. He saw his opening and made a break for it. "Dammit, Carl!"
Carl wasn't far now. He kept his eye on the ladder that pressed firmly against the walls of Alexandria. He just hoped that Andrea wouldn't be a bitch about him helping. Carl was strong too. He could do this himself! The boy climbed up the ladder as quickly as his small legs would let him. The adrenaline was pumping in his blood like gas in a car. He should have been heaving at this point, but his tiny lungs could take it. Carl was strong. He looked up to Andrea with assuring eyes that said, "don't worry, I know what I'm doing." He looked over the wall to see that Negan had cracked Rick's leg in half and still wasn't done with him. "Fuck you," Negan bellowed. He was on Rick in a position that was difficult for Carl to make out what he was doing. Negan continued beating up his father until blood rained from his father's mangled body. It was clear that his father was dead. Carl blinked. No. He stood back, almost falling off of the gate. Andrea had to prop him up. He couldn't even look at her face. It would make him cry. Carl had learned to mask his emotion just as his father did. Carl was strong. And now it was clear that he was even stronger than Rick. But this wasn't fucking over.
The large menace stood up, hands on his hips, cackling at his own work. The fighting between the groups had stopped, though Carl didn't know exactly when. All he could see was the stunned faces of the Saviours, people of Alexandria and the Hilltop. He forced himself to watch, not even wanting to look at what that crazy son of a bitch had done to his father. Negan turned around to face Alexandria, his pearl white fangs gleamed in the sun, showing the predator he truly was; Negan was the shark, they were the meal.
"I guess the war is over!" Negan yelled, smiling more gleefully than he should have after just murdering another damn person who was close to Carl. After he orphaned a child- made him watch his whole family die. "It's a damn fucking shame that you wouldn't agree to our rules. Maybe now you will get the hint that if you fuck us, we'll fuck your assholes so hard your anuses with fall the fuck out –kinda like Ricky right here." He lightly kicked Rick's foot. "See? You need us…." He continued.
Carl couldn't listen to this fucker for one more second! He raised his rifle up to his eye, aiming directly at Negan's head. "Hey Negan!" he yelled. "You kill, you die!" He abruptly shot at the lug. A single bullet brushed right through Negan's shoulder. Negan barely flinched. What?! There was only one bullet in there?!
Negan paused his speech and directed his attention to the confused boy. "I said the war is fucking over! Kid, I know you have a hole in your head, but I know you have a brain in there! I've seen it for fucking fuck's sake!" Negan smirked. Bastard. "Now someone fix my neck. Thank fucking Christ on a cock that he missed my fucking jugular!"
Carl had to come to terms. He was defeated. Alexandria was defeated. The hilltop was defeated. The kingdom was defeat. Rick Grimes was defeated. He felt a hand grasp firmly on his shoulder. He looked up at Andrea, smiling more crookedly than her scar, trying to keep tears in. She opened her mouth and whispered, choking back tears, sounding as if she was drowning, "it's okay to cry." He felt his eye water. He tried to hold back, but it was too strong. It hurt. All of it hurt. His stomach was wound tighter than Michonne's braids, his brain pounded as if it were a drum in a marching band. He held onto the older woman, who was closest he had to a mother. He would not let go. He held tightly onto her shirt, allowing his tears to soak through as hers was soaking his hair. It's my fault…all my damn fault.
