Greetings! This story is the result of how I felt after reading the canon backstory that was written in the graphic novel (Here's Negan). It just didn't give his character enough weight, in my opinion, and I felt like it was too generic and easy of a backstory, so I thought I'd try to come up with my own and maybe twist the perceptions of his character a bit. He's my favorite and I wanted more for him (ugly cries). I did what I could to tie bits and pieces of the backstory into the current season of the show, but I wrote a lot of this before he was taken prisoner. I am gonna write through to the show events and then divulge from canon at some point, I'm just not sure where yet. But there will be zombies and blood and bad dudes with guns.

I hope I can do his character justice. Read, review, enjoy!

Richmond, Virginia - August 2009

Goddammit, it's hot as balls out here, he thought as he watched the schlumpy man inspect the car's paint job. He didn't look impressed. Well, damn, Peters, if you wanted shine why did you come to a used car lot?

"You won't find a better deal, my friend," he said before Peters could ask to look under the hood. "I can hold it for the day but I can't promise it'll still be here tomorrow. This model's one of our top sellers."

"I don't know," Peters replied, scratching his chin. "It's a bit lackluster for that price. I might shop around a bit more, check out some other places."

You're not gettin' away that easy. "This is one of the safest cars you could drive," he explained. "You said you have a kid?"

"Kids. Yes."

"Well, this might not be the flashiest car, but it'll protect you in a wreck," he said. Play to the heart, not the head. "Brand new airbags installed last month. Highest safety rating you could get."

Peters didn't look convinced. He just stared at the car some more, probably trying to figure out how the ball and chain might react.

"Tell you what. You take this beauty right here, I'll knock ten percent off the price and throw in a free wash and wax, how's that sound?"

"Ten percent, huh?" Peters said with a slow nod that said I'm fake considering so you think you have the upper hand.

"Yessir, well within your budget."

"I mean, car washes aren't really that expensive, but it's a nice thought..." He gave the car a dissatisfied side-eye. "Twenty percent and I'll take it." Theeeere it is.

"Fifteen and a gas card," he countered. "Take the kids on a few adventures."

Peters rested his hands on his hips, looked down at the car, chewed on his lip.

Nice cargo shorts, buddy.

"Alright," he finally said. "I'll take it."

"Fantastic!" They shook hands, and he hit Peters with his signature salesman grin. This was so easy.

The numbers on the screen shifted in and out of focus as his fingers tapped rapidly across the keyboard. The tiny office was stifling, so his jacket hung forgotten on the back of his rickety old swivel chair and his shirtsleeves were scrunched up to his elbows. The more numbers he entered into the spreadsheet, the harder his eyes tried to stare through the screen instead of at it. He was in a miserable trance, set on by the absolute tediousness of updating the budget sheet. The lot outside had been empty since Peters had left in his new old sedan three hours ago. The sun was now directly overhead, beating down on the metal roofs and keeping potential shoppers holed up in their air conditioned homes instead of out there spending their money.

The sudden grating ring of his desk phone startled him, snapping him out of his stupor. He picked up the handset and held the damned thing to his ear.

"Al's Preowned, this is Jason, how can I be of service to you today?" he chirped, feigning total delight at answering a phone.

"Hi, are you guys open today?" said a female voice at the other end.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"Oh, great," the voice said. "I was hoping to find a cheap family car that won't make me cry if my toddlers destroy the interior."

"Well, why don't you stop by and we'll take a look at our selection?" he laughed. "Safest minivans you'll find. We have them double inspected for your comfort and security."

There was some sort of commotion on the other end and Jason heard her mutter to herself, "Jesus fucking Christ," then yell, "Michael, put that down!"

"We're open seven days a week if tomorrow works better for you," he offered.

"You know what, I'll just come by tomorrow afternoon while the brats are at daycare, then. Thank you for being useful and patient, Jason," she said in a tone that seethed with sarcasm directed at someone else. Lazy husband, maybe.

"Tomorrow afternoon sounds great. I'll see you then."

When he hung up he took a moment to revel in the fact that he'd never had children of his own to disrupt his peace and quiet. No... Just a shrill wife...

"Mickey, get in here!" he called, forcing his thoughts back to his job. A ginger in his early twenties wearing a t-shirt that was way too big for him poked his head in the doorway.

"Sup, boss?" he asked.

"I need you to find me three minivans with the least mileage that have all the seatbelts attached," Jason said.

"You got it," Mickey replied, and hopped back out of the doorway.

"And get me the VIN numbers!" Jason called after him.

"You got it!" came Mickey's distant reply.

Jason turned back to his screen and was barely back to typing when his cell phone buzzed loudly on the desk beside him. He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. Lucy. He closed his eyes, prayed for strength, and answered.

"Hi, honey!" The delighted salesman voice was his only useful tool right now.

"Are you coming home any time soon?" the high-pitched voice of his beloved demanded. He gritted his teeth.

"I'm just about wrapping up, I'll be home soon," he replied.

"Okay, well hurry up, I'm starving," she said.

"Okay, bye bye." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Five o'clock on the dot. The woman had zero patience.

The drive home was slow and traffic-y. Typical for a Friday evening. He stared unenthused at the car in front of him. He rolled forward an inch, a foot, then touched the brakes again. He let his head fall back against the headrest. At least he was alone and not at home.

When he finally made it through his front door, he dropped his bag against the wall and hung up his jacket. The place was nice, but not overly wealthy, and it had the look and feel of a neat freak's abode after a cleaning frenzy.

Dinner was ready and waiting. Lucy taking it upon herself to cook a meal for both of them was a rare occasion. She must have really been starving. They sat and ate in silence. She took his hand and held it while she sipped her water. Maybe she was in a good mood tonight, despite having to wait ages for her husband so she could eat.

"Jason," she said.

"Yes, dear," he answered.

"You haven't been using the lotion I bought you."

"What?"

She lifted up his hand. "Your skin is crusty," she bit, and let go, letting his hand fall back to the table. "Why do I even bother if you're not gonna use it?"

"I'll put some on tonight," he replied. There was really no use in arguing with her. He'd learned that the hard way over the years.

"You better," she said, and stood with her plate. "Don't even think about touching me with those hands tonight," she added before disappearing to the kitchen, leaving him alone at the table. He exhaled, frustrated, and just stared at his plate.