A/N Before you go any further, there are massive spoilers from the comic, including this description. Recently, Kirkman started writing the backstory for Negan and I just fell in love with Negan even more. If that's possible. This fic will take place at the start of that comic, going forward through the All Out War arc. Slightly AU since he hasn't finished the backstory, and completely AU after he escapes jail. If you've read my other fics, you know the drill. One line signifies a few days or weeks have passed. Three dotted lines is for a few hours passing. Told from Negan's POV. Going to leave this as a T rating right now, but that will change. Updates on this are going to be slow because I'm still working on Stigmatic. Pictures of the OC's can be found on my profile.
Alright, so I'll be honest. I never thought Rick was actually fucking serious about this jail fuckery. I curl my fingers around the metal and lower my head. "Shit." I have got to find something to do to occupy my time or I'm going to drive myself insane. Damn, don't I get a conjugal visit or something? I don't regret what I fucking did. The only thing I regret is putting a weasel like Dwight as my top Lieutenant. "I know you're on the steps, kid."
Carl reveals himself, yet stays at the foot of them.
"Whatever, I ain't got nothing but time."
"How are you still alive? I watched him slit your throat."
"What can I say? I'm one tough motherfucker to kill."
"I can remedy that, ya know?"
"Ooo, I'm pissing my panties."
"You should be."
"Lighten up, kid. Shit."
"Don't do anything stupid," he warns me before leaving.
Great.
I use my fork to itch some of the spots in my beard.
Carl narrows his eye. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Pulling on my pud. The fuck does it look like I'm doing?"
"Gross."
I break one of the plastic prongs off and sigh.
"Who was Lucille?"
"No one."
"Bullshit."
"Why would I tell you about Lucille?"
"You've got nothing but time."
"Well fucking played, but I'm thinking somewhere along the lines of no fucking way and go fuck your-fucking-self.
"Fine. I'm outta here."
Carl keeps after me about Lucille for the next few months.
I feel like a damn record player. "No," I shout up at him when the door opens.
He slams it shut.
I find his persistence truly fucking annoying.
"You gonna tell me about Lucille today?"
"You know I'm not."
"Is she even a real person?"
"Kid, I'm beginning to think you've got a lapse in your cognitive process. You sure that bullet ain't still stuck in there?"
"Why is it such a big secret?
"Because it's no one's goddamn business."
"Is Lucille and Grey the same person?"
"How in the… how do you know about Grey?"
He points to the small window above my cell. "Anyone outside it can hear what you're saying."
I fold my arms, becoming somewhat embarrassed. I thought that fucking thing was for show.
"Why do you talk to Grey when you're by yourself?"
"It makes me feel better."
"Shit," Carl panics, running up the steps when the door upstairs opens.
I woke up with the worst back pain imaginable. She always knew what to do to make it subside.
Grey, will you do that thing again?
Deep breath.
I try and replicate it, but end up face first on the floor. "Ow, fuck."
Carl starts to laugh.
I expel a breath as I slither towards my cot.
"So.. Lucille?"
"No!"
He drums one of the legs on the metal chair.
"Fine. I'll answer one question a day."
"Is Lucille a real person?"
"Yes."
"Was she your wife?"
"Kid, do you fucking know English? I said one."
"This is so stupid. Either tell me or don't."
"You're the one that wants to know."
He rolls his eye. "Fine, I'll see you tomorrow."
My forehead puckers in frustration. "Yeah. She was my wife."
He returns to his chair, slinging one leg over the other.
"We got married when I was 29. Moved to this small town outside of Baltimore. I coached High School baseball there."
"I'd drop out of school if you were my teacher."
"Fuck you, I'll have you know I was pretty fucking well liked."
"Whatever you say."
"Do you wanna hear the story or fucking not?"
"Sorry."
"It was three years before the outbreak…"