AU spin off from my story Unbelievable which takes place when Carl is between 14 and 18 – now he's 16 and I recommend you read this first as the back story but it's not necessary. You can pick up the general gist here. Carl isn't blinded in one eye and Rick is an evil man. But is Negan worse than him? You decide. Haven't quite caught up with all the episodes containing Negan and the Saviours so may apply artistic license in some parts. Sorry, if this makes some people unhappy but I have put warnings here.

Chapter 1 Hostage

Negan grabbed Carl by the scruff of his shirt and practically threw him into his bedroom, the best one in the house, of course complete even with a sofa-bed. Luckily, the boy landed on his big soft double bed but even so, the small wince that passed over his features didn't escape the eagle-eyed leader of the Saviours.

'You in some serious shit, boy.' He strode over and deliberately loomed over him intimidatingly.

Still, the kid didn't seem cowed. The opposite in fact – furious.

'You killed Glen and my friends!' He screamed up at him fearlessly. Right into his face in fact. 'I hate you!' Terror, grief and exhaustion had made him revert to childhood.

Negan chuckled indulgently and that was when Carl realised that the man was totally bat-shit crazy if he didn't before.

'And you, my little serial killer killed 2 of my men. Your daddy killed 50 of mine before that. Think I've been merciful, don't you? But don't worry, I'm not going to show you any. You being the son of my arch-enemy and all.' He chuckled crazily again. He got up from the bed and picked up his bloody weapon still covered in chunks of his friends' flesh that was leaning on the doorframe.

That got him. Negan watched with satisfaction as the kid grew pale as curdled milk.

'Where's my sister? Please don't hurt her.'

'She's safe for now. But that mostly depends on how her big brother behaves himself.'

He coldly replied and got up in his captive's space by climbing onto the bed with him, causing the latter to scramble back against the wall. But he still didn't touch him again but waved brain-spattered Lucille tauntingly close to his face.

Carl steeled himself not to vomit or flinch away.

'What are you going to do to me? You gonna kill me?' The youth's icy-blue eyes looked into his fearlessly. Like he wasn't afraid to die. Only afraid for his baby sister. Strange. Negan filed away that little detail for later.

'Eventually. But before that, we can have some fun, what do you say? After all, I need you alive awhile to make sure your daddy behaves himself.' He laid Lucille down gently on a chair near the bed, leaving it blood-stained where the boy could see it.

But he refused to look at it. Instead he yelled, 'We'll kill all of you!' Carl didn't allow himself to even think of what kind of 'fun' the sick fuck had planned for him.

Negan chuckled and put on a teacherly voice. 'You know I have to punish you, don't you, Carl? I can't be seen to be weak. What do you think I should do to you for killing my men? What would be fair punishment for murder, do you think?'

Carl shrugged but Negan didn't miss the fear in his eyes.

'Should I use Lucille on you?' He pointed at her on the chair.

Negan smiled and to his immense surprise, the kid drew in a sharp breath at that did a sudden about turn in attitude as the fire left him and was replaced by a wary fear in his piercing blue eyes.

Eyes that had seen too much for one his age and full of suffering, Negan thought and felt something stir below his belt. Beautiful, baby blue eyes.

'I'll let you do anything you want but just but please don't hurt Judith. Has she been fed? She'll be hungry…'

Again, a strange turn of phrase that went unnoticed by Negan at the time. Carl's body slumped in a submissive gesture as he (unconsciously?) exposed his bare throat to his captor by turning his head to the side. Just like he did with Rick to stop him getting too rough but obviously it didn't work a couple of nights ago.

'That an offer, sweetheart?' He leered back at him, unable to resist interpreting the boy's words the way he wanted because Negan to had to admit it made him hard. This was too much. He'd have to take an ice-cold shower if he couldn't get his dick back under control.

And he was pleased to see tears appear at the corner of his little rebel's eyes before he looked down at the bed covers in shame. Yet Negan didn't clock the significance of his reaction at the time.

'You cryin'? What a little pussy. I have to say I'm disappointed in you, son... Very disappointed.' He shook his head sadly. 'After your blaze of glory earlier when you opened that truck and gunned down 2 of my men…my best soldiers, in fact…'

'Fuck you! And I'll do worse!' The gangly beanpole spat in his face and ran for the door.

Negan put in a furious expression when really he was amused but he couldn't let this show of defiance go unpunished. So, he grabbed his young prisoner and slammed him against the wall. Carl hissed in pain.

'Door's locked, you little moron and only I got the key!' He yelled in his face and grabbed him by the arm. Carl's wince and scream of pain when he slammed him back a little harder than the first time seemed too much. After all, Negan wasn't hurting him, not really. Not like the little serial killer deserved.

He didn't even know himself what he intended to do with him- he had been looking forward to pondering his punishment later but now the little brat had forced his hand early with this little futile confrontation with him.

'What the fuck? I barely touched you!' Irritated, he shook him forcefully by the shoulder and again he made another sound of pain. Somehow, the boy's shirt also rucked up, giving him an eyeful of blue and back bruises on his torso.

Despite the fact that they were mortal enemies and he really shouldn't give a fuck about Rick's brat since he was only going to keep him alive as long as he was useful; Negan felt a shudder of rage and disgust as his arousal quickly faded away. His mind was already thinking of the most drawn out, sadistic payback at the piece of shit who had hurt his little serial killer. He wondered at his own protectiveness.

Or was it possessiveness because somebody had got there first? Because Carl was his now. Yet his reaction was only an echo of the person he used to be – literally in another life. Everybody who was still alive was living a second life.

'Let me see.' He motioned with his head – indicating that Carl should lift up his T-shirt. The young man only shook his head.

'You saying 'No' to me, boy? I said let me SEE!' His captor ordered him and it reminded Carl of his dad Rick when he was angry and he hurriedly obeyed.

Carl went red and lifted it up, revealing more dark, purplish spots slowly turning to blue.

'No, take it off! And your shorts.'

'Please…Don't…' Carl shrank in fear back against the wall.

Negan raised his eyebrows and paused. Had the abuse only been physical? He knew he had flirted with and teased the boy – more to unnerve him than anything else. And because it was fun. But the way the kid reacted- terrified of just being partly undressed. As if he'd told him to strip naked.

'Calm the fuck down, Princess. '

Carl's lower lip trembled when he called him by that name and he looked down at the floor.

Someone's broke this kid, he thought to himself furiously.

'I mean I only want to check you over, nothin' else. You can keep your underwear on… Jesus!'

Why was he talking to him like that? Reassuring him when he should be making him pay for what he had done?

Should be making him hurt.

But then again, someone had hurt him enough already.

Carl blushed furiously and looked up at him pleadingly. Negan cocked an eyebrow and mockingly turned his back.

'OK.' The kid sighed resignedly when he was ready.

Negan couldn't suppress the gasp when he saw the kid's front.

'Turn around.' Carl's back was worse, if anything than his chest, stomach and with one arm with a lot more marks – looked like bruises in in the shape of handprints - than the other one.

Fuck. I got me damaged goods. Now I got to waste time fixin' him.

The Sanctuary leader could barely pick out a patch of unmarred skin on the kid's torso and wondered briefly if his men had been responsible when his back was turned.

But he hadn't taken taken the boy out out of his sight. Had kept his prize trophy – Rick's son- close to him at all times except when he locked him in there and only he had the key.

Besides, most of the fading bruises were at least 2 or 3 days old. Some were yellow- even older. Bruises at different stages of healing – suggesting that the abuse was pretty regular and not a one-off skirmish with enemies.

'Yeah. Just what I thought.' The leader voiced his thoughts aloud while he eyed the dark bluish patches of skin between the young boy's thighs in revulsion. Of course. Gutless coward likes to hit where it doesn't show, he thought.

Negan personally liked to hit what could hit him back in a fight.

'Can I put my clothes on back now, now?' Carl asked a little shakily, not meeting his eyes.

Negan couldn't understand his own feelings of outrage on the kid's behalf. So he nodded and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Carl heard running water but no flush from the toilet.

'Who did that to you, Carl?' He asked him softly after the boy had blushing and shamefacedly hurried to conceal his injuries and he'd re-entered the room.

His young hostage shook his head in misery. 'What do you care? You're only going to kill me or do worse yourself.' He neatly evaded the question.

Negan sighed. 'Yes, I am.' He bluntly agreed with genuine regret. He honestly liked this spunky little stranger who had his daddy's eyes. Reminded him of Rick – an enemy he respected until he found out his dark, little secret.

Or had he?

You don't know who did that to him for sure. Can you imagine 'decent and upright' ex-Sheriiff Rick harming a hair on one of the heads of his children? Rick? Really?

It was like Rick was his reverse-negative – the other side of the same picture.

Who else was it then if not Daddy? He mused. But without amusement.

'Then why don't you just kill me?...Do it now – get it over with.'

Carl honestly didn't know what was worse – going back to his deranged father or having his death drawn out with Negan tormenting him until he decided to put him out of his misery. Never knowing when or how it was going to happen.

Would Negan hurt him like his father did before he killed him? He prayed not. He hadn't so far even when he was provoked but didn't mean he wouldn't. He'd only just arrived at the Sanctuary barely hours ago and been given a drink on arrival (he'd been so thirsty after the hot drive that he hadn't even considered poison but it turned out to be fine) and been shown to this room. Negan had locked him in then and told to wait so there was still plenty of time for Negan to play.

After all, he'd promised him unspecific punishment, together with vaguely threatening sexual innuendos.

Negan for his part frowned. Had the abuse made Carl no longer care about living – uncharacteristically selfish and unthinking about the little sister he would be leaving behind in his hated captor's bloody grasp?

He knelt down in front of the boy. 'Who's been hurting you, son?' He asked him again, softly this time.

Carl didn't answer – only his lower lip trembled and he turned away for a moment. He was almost thrown off by this different Negan revealing itself.

'Come on, tell Daddy Negan.' Carl flinched at that one word even though Negan was at his gentlest. Coaxing him as if Carl was 6 instead of about 10 years older.

Daddy Negan? Carl's reaction to that word hadn't escaped him even as the prisoner eyed him suspiciously to check that he wasn't being mocked. Fuck!, he thought to himself, It was Rick the Saint. How long had it been going on? Did the rest of the group know and condone what was happening? But judging by the boy's stubborn silence and the strategic places the sick bastard had hit him – they didn't.

And where the fuck had those words come from? He was as far as being his daddy as a wolf to the lamb. Embarrassed but far from being about to admit this slip, Negan waited patiently for an answer. But there was none forthcoming. Had he really expected the boy to spill his guts to someone he hated? Because Carl is protecting his daddy. Must still love him. Not so perfect after all, are you, Rick? Have you been hurting him more than just with your fists, you sick fuck?

Where the hell did that thought come from? There was a world between beating and that…that other thing. Both were nasty as hell though and sometimes went together, one following the other….

I'm going to enjoy killing you for it and taking your son from you and making you know it before you die. Watching the light go out of your eyes, knowing…..

Knowing what?

Negan got out of his own head and came back to the present. 'Maybe you don't want to talk about right now and that's fine. But you WILL tell me soon.' He planned to take him to the Infirmary after dinner – get him checked out.

'Come 'ere.' Negan pulled him to him after he locked the door behind him and dropped he key in his pocket, even though Carl flinched and tried to pull away at first.

'Don't be stupid, boy.' Negan hissed into his ear. 'It's for your own safety.'

Carl suddenly understood what he was getting at, recalling the murderous looks from Negan's men. Of course, he was naïve and stupid, thinking that he – the son of the enemy's leader who had tried to slaughter them but had only managed to kill 2 but they were apparently Negan's best men would be greeted with open arms. Even now he felt their hostile stares boring through him as they made their way to the canteen and could hear their inaudible, angry mutterings. Carl went limp and allowed the leader to manhandle him.

'Good boy. It's all to show 'em that you're mine.' He chuckled filthily and smirked down at him.

What the hell does he mean by that? Rick also called him his when he hurt him and he hated it.

I'm not yours! Or his! I'm mine!... I'm me! Carl screamed furiously.

But only in his head. Instead, he bit back, 'Fuck you!' Luckily, he whisper-shouted it and none of the others heard. Still, he braced himself for the inevitable blow on his already aching and battered body but none was forthcoming. Only a playful chuckle and a gentle shake.

Negan leered at him then like a pantomime villain and Carl grew terrified that it meant that Daddy Negan was going to assert his ownership over him in the same way his father did as soon as he got him alone.

Why do I always have to belong to someone? Why is it always some old bastard?

'Now I may have to say and do things in front of them that may offend my pretty little Princess. But don't take it personally. It's for your own good.' The old bastard lectured him.

'I won't.' Carl hissed bordering on sarcasm, furious at being called 'Princess' again. The man's jibes were really starting to irritate the hell out of him but at least it distracted him from his fear of the psycho.

He can't be worse than Dad – he can't.

But he knew deep inside that that was a lie.

How could he expect mercy from a man who lived to invent new ways to torture and punish his own people. Not just his enemies. They'd all heard the rumours before how Negan 'ironed' his people's faces if they displeased him.

And now Carl had just disrespected him to his face. The big man had laughed it off in public but would make him pay for it later.

For sure.

Would he make him pay for it later in bed? His tortured mind went on to draw pictures of him being handcuffed, maybe with Negan and more of his men violating him in several different ways all at the same time. But Negan calling him 'his' and keeping his possessive grip on him like he was now seemed to make the latter image unlikely.

At least.

Stop it! He hasn't hurt you yet – not really. Only roughed you up a little but he wouldn't have if he knew how beat up you were…You saw the sorry in his eyes – he just couldn't say it, was all.

Carl repressed a tremble, not wanting Negan to feel it. The last thing he wanted was to show fear to the evil tyrant who had killed his friends and enslaved the rest of his family.

He bowed his head submissively – playing the part he had been given as Negan yanked him over to the buffet-like dinner.

Everybody immediately stopped what they were doing at their appearance and kneeled before Negan.

He raised his arms and lowered them in a gesture of blessing. 'You may carry on eating.'

They got up and went back to their tables.

'Thank-you, Lord Negan.' They spoke in perfect unison and it was as creepy as hell. Also, one of the coolest things he'd ever seen.

Like he's their god or something, Carl was thinking in admiration as he witnessed this before he felt guilty. Stop that, he corrected himself. He's a murdering psychopath with an obvious God-complex who beat your friends to death.

Despite his fear and anger, Carl's eyes grew wide at the variety of food on display there. Stolen food, his mind whispered. That people like his group died for. Don't eat it. Yet he felt his stomach grumble. Peaches. With delicious sugary syrup! No doubt out of a can but when had been the last time he'd had them?

And not just chicken but what looked like lamb! Potatoes three ways – mash, roasted and boiled with different sauces! And carrots, cabbage, peas and fried beans and salad and even dainty little cup-cakes…

When he'd had an appetite – not often lately – he'd daydreamed about food like this. But it made him think of his sister.

'Whose feeding Judith?'

'Don't you worry about that. She's being taken care of.'

'Can I see her?'

'Maybe. Depends on how you behave. Go on, kid. Take your fill, don't be shy.' The man gave him a gentle push, carefully avoiding his bad upper arm and shoulder where Rick had pinned him down last time with all his weight and this was not lost on the teen.

Carl could feel all the Saviours' eyes on him as they watched him sullenly in silence, making his appetite suddenly flee.

'Got something to say, people?' Negan waved Lucille round. Carl stared. He'd completely forgotten about the brain-beating weapon…when had it been cleaned? The psycho carried it around with him everywhere.

Then he remembered that Negan went into the bathroom while he was putting his clothes back on. He must have cleaned it in there.

There was a nervous silence as people resumed eating.

Carl piled his plate high, earning some annoyed and hateful looks but he ignored them.

'Go get some cake.' Negan ordered him straight after he finished.

'No, I got enough, really…'

'Do what I say. You need fattening up – ain't nothin' but skin and bones and that ain't gonna keep me warm at night.' He announced this loudly, and gave him a lascivious smile, drawing looks.

Carl stared at him in horror until he winked discreetly. 'Remember what I said, kiddo?' He whispered and raised his fist if to hit him. Carl smirked.

'Play along!' He hissed in his ear. 'I was the one who beat the crap out of you, remember?' Carl nodded very, very slightly.

'No, please don't hit me again, Negan. It really hurts!' He suddenly yelled cravenly and drew back, hating himself for acting that way but now he understood that it was for his own survival. His and Judith's. Maybe- just maybe- the Saviours would be less likely to hurt them if they thought Negan had already punished him – was still punishing him.

Negan laughed at this pathetic display and some of the others - mostly men including one creep called Spencer - also chuckled.

'What?' Negan looked round and glared at them suddenly. Some of the women and older folk looked at him with open anger and disgust but he ignored them. 'Anyone got somethin' to say to Lucille?' He raised her and waved here around.

They shook their heads and quickly neutralised their expressions.

He preferred to have them fear him if he couldn't have their love and he knew he couldn't have all…maybe before but not now. It was one or the other.

'Come here.' He grabbed his young hostage roughly and pulled up his shirt while Carl breathed 'No' and fought him. Did no good though.

Everyone was staring at him, even the ones who had been staring blue murder at him seemed a little shocked. Carl guessed that they probably wouldn't notice that most of the bruises were old and not so recent.

'See, already punished him for what he did. But gonna get my fun out of him before I kill him and his Daddy both.' He laughed evilly and grabbed him round the neck and shook him like a dog. 'Can't wait to see the look on Rick's face when I tell him how I used his precious son.'

Nervous laughs – most of them sounding uneasy and insincere.

Carl struggled to free himself and Negan unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. Humiliated, he curled up in a ball, telling himself that acting like a pussy was part of the act. He considered weeping for full effect to show that Negan had fully broken him but didn't want to go that far.

Besides, he had already proved himself to them and to be honest, he didn't give a shit about what any of them thought.

'He's mine now and if any of you are thinking of getting your own revenge on him when my back's turned, better think again.'

To emphasise this, Negan laid Lucille down on his back with the lightest of touches. Lucky – it was clean.…Carl couldn't bear the thought of his shirt being covered in his friends' blood – Abraham's and especially Glen's.

Not Glen's. Please… That memory nearly made him cry for real this time. Maybe if Daryl and Merle had been there, they would have stood a chance but he knew that was impossible. Instead, he pushed all the pain and the guilt down, down, down.

'This little wannabe serial killer is mine to punish and use anyway I want. Don't worry, I'll make the boy hurt enough for all of us.'

He turned to said 'boy'. 'Now go get some fuckin' cake. And salad while you're there. Don't want you getting sick and ruining my fun.'

Carl reluctantly picked himself up with all eyes on him – some murderous, some sympathetic and walked over to the salad bar and then picked up a pink-frosted cupcake.

Who the fuck makes these? And where do they get the ingredients? If that cupcake ain't proof of me being a fuckin' queer, then I don't know what is. He chuckled bitterly to himself, thinking he should really be shit-scared of Negan after all of this but surprisingly, he was pretty calm. Like I'm on Valium or something. He just told them he's gonna fuckin' rape me tonight but I don't care.

Negan boomed out then, 'Show's over, people. You can go back to your troughs then get on with your work duties after. We got a lot to do.' He grunted and grabbed his groin. 'I got to fuck my old wives before I try my new one, hey Carl?' He smirked down at him.

'No…please don't…' Carl drew back, 'terrified' while the rest of the spectators went back to focusing on eating, making no comment, cowed.

Unbelievably, Carl found that he was still hungry like his stomach had woken up after months of picky eating. Food had been monotonous and not much of it mostly, not that he had really minded, after all, his stomach couldn't really relax with his beloved dad. He'd been forced to be constantly on the alert for any under the table groping or whispered threats in his ear under the guise of a concerned father quietly talking to his son. Rick was a surprisingly good actor and could be telling him all the sick things he planned to do to him that night while tenderly stroking his hair with one arm reassuringly encircling him. Just like when he was little and nobody had thought anything of it. Anyway, Carl had also learnt how to be an accomplished actor – keeping his emotions in check and his face with the right expression while his father whispered his sick threats in his ear. Or touched him under the table or made him touch him there too. Especially when there was booze – the best stuff was moonshine to be had and he knew the others were drunk as they guzzled it all in one go like they were starving which most of the time, to be honest, they had been.

Thankfully, that was a rare occasion.

How could Rick have got away with it for 2 years? A – he was clever and B - his devoted followers didn't want to see, that's if they even did. Could Carl really blame them when merely surviving day to day took all their concentration? Carol and Glen and a few others had commented on him looking down but they just assumed that it was because of the loss of his friend Daryl and he did nothing to convince them otherwise. Then everyone had stopped asking whether he was feeling OK or not.

Carl knew that he was still too slight and underweight for his height – thanks to Apocalypse malnutrition - to fight back but even if he could have, would he have? Strike his own father? His maker? Creator? He didn't know if he could still do that, whatever Rick did to him. He guess there was still some love for the man in him deep down somewhere.