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Chapter 2: On the Road, Part II
It was one of the bloodiest things Daryl had seen, and for a dirt-poor Georgia redneck who had been gutting kills to feed himself and his family for most of his life, that was saying something. But even with all the corpses, animal and human, that he'd dealt with, there was something uniquely gruesome about Eugene, or what was left of him. His head was completely pulverized, and the squelching sound punctuated by the slamming of the bat against the gravel-paved road underneath the blood and bone had Daryl flinching despite himself. No doubt Negan's borderline maniacal glee as he brought the barbed weapon down again and again had something to do with it. Daryl was slightly ashamed to admit to himself that the horrific scene playing out in front of him was a slight distraction from the throbbing in his shoulder and his knees. Should be feeling it, fucking deserve it. Smarter than that, supposed to be looking out for folks instead of getting caught in the same damn trap.
But it seemed Negan was finally growing tired, or at least bored, because, after one last downward slam, he let "Lucille" rest (and what kind of fucking prick named his weapon?), twisting the end in Eugene's exposed neck before swinging wide, blood and tissue splattering the group with a particularly wide swath of it across Rick's face.
"Would you look at my dirty girl!" Negan crowed, his breath puffing out in visible misty swirls in the chilly night air. Too cold even for early March, gonna be a slow start to Spring, Daryl absently mused, using Negan's momentary distraction to shift his weight subtly in an effort to ease the biting pain from the sharp rocks digging into his kneecaps. No way he was going to let this bastard see him shifting and take it for a sign of weakness, even as the move also pulled his shoulder wound open again, blood drops hitting his knuckles, and he grit his teeth to hold back any sound. Fucking Dwight, should have killed him twice already. Not a mistake he intended to make again, if he lived through tonight.
But now Negan was turning a circle, eyeing each member of the group. He seemed to ignore those who returned his gaze or kept staring at Eugene's headless body, and settled instead on Rosita, who kept her eyes on the road in front of her rather than on her fallen friend.
Negan stepped right up to her and pushed the bat under her nose, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Oh, was there a thing between you two? Getting a little nerd love from the doc?" He pushed the bat even closer, bits of brain and clumps of hair still clinging to the barbs nearly brushing Rosita's cheek, "I said, take a damn look!"
Daryl snapped. Even as he surged to his feet, he knew it was a stupid move, probably his last. Whatever, he should have died so many times before. Damned if he was going to sit there and let this fucker taunt his family and not do something about it. He was almost as surprised as Negan clearly was when the punch landed, fist connecting solidly with Negan's jaw and knocking the man back several steps. He was not at all surprised to feel a set of arms wrapping solidly around him to pull him back. Fuck that. Daryl wasn't going down easily.
But his injured arm was suddenly wrenched back and the pain pulsed through him as if he were being shot all over again. The second's pause was enough for two of Negan's Saviors to wrestle Daryl to the ground, holding his head in a vice grip as he kept struggling against them.
"Nope, no sir, not one bit of that shit flies." He had been addressing the group, but now Negan turned to where Daryl was pinned down, still fighting against the ones holding him there as Dwight brought Daryl's own loaded crossbow to bear.
"You want me to do it? Right here?"
"No!" Negan's shout was almost breathless as he raised his bat in warning. "No." He sauntered closer and grinned as he surveyed the scene. "You don't kill that, not until you try a little first." He waited until Dwight had lowered the crossbow before addressing Daryl directly, "I bet you thought that was real fucking heroic, stepping up, defending the damsel in distress from big, bad Negan. Goddamned knight in shining armor, is that what you are, Daryl? It is Daryl, right? We're all getting to know each other here. Sizing each other up and all that shit. And you want me to know you aren't the kind of pussy that just bends over and takes it because someone else is dishing it out. Hell, I get that. But There. Are. Rules. What did I say? First one's free, but after? I said I will fucking shut that shit down!"
He used the end of Lucille to carefully push strands of hair out of Daryl's eyes, leaving a bloody smear on his forehead before quietly continuing, "You think you're the good guys here? Of course you do, everyone think they're the heroes of the story." Negan suddenly dropped to a crouch – his next words were for Daryl alone. "But if you pull any shit like that again, I will bring Beth out here just to watch you die."
Daryl couldn't help it; he froze in shock. Whatever he had been expecting, that name, her name, wasn't it. And from the wide smirk on Negan's face as he leaned further in, he knew it. "Oh. Got your attention with that one, didn't I?"
Daryl just stared back. What else could he do, or say? There was no way for Negan to know of Beth's existence unless he knew her. But shocked silence wasn't good enough for Negan, "I said, do I have your attention?"
Daryl gave a terse nod, dropping his gaze for a microsecond before reconnecting with the man towering over him, heaving breaths forced out through his nose as the angle put an awkward strain on his neck. On the edges of his vision, he could see his family shifting uneasily and knew they were straining to hear, but Negan kept his voice so low that not even those closest could pick up on the one-sided conversation. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to get back in line, and you're going to watch everything that happens next. And you're not going to say one fucking word. You're not going to move one fucking muscle. Not one gesture, not one twitch. Not one motherfucking side-eyed glance to anyone else here. You are going to do absolutely fucking nothing, because if you do, the next time you see that blue-eyed angel will be the last time she ever sees you. And she will See. Every. Ugly. Thing. Are we understanding each other?"
He reached out without warning and grabbed Daryl by the hair, jerking his head impossibly closer, adding further strain on his already stretched shoulders. Still, Negan's voice was nearly inaudible, "Do you understand?"
Only Daryl's heavy breathing and Maggie's occasional pain-filled gasps and moans penetrated the silence. The way he was being restrained, Daryl couldn't move, not even to nod, and he knew that's how Negan wanted it. The immobilization forced Daryl to lower his eyes, drop his gaze in a clear sign of submission, a beaten animal acknowledging an alpha.
He half-expected Negan to shove his head down, crack his skull against the road, but the move never came. Instead, Negan eased his fingers through the oily, sweat-soaked strands of hair and patted his cheek as if to say Good boy. Daryl would have preferred having his head slammed. Still, he didn't resist as the Saviors dragged him across the ground and forced him back to his knees, pebbles raking angry lines across his arms. Someone half-heartedly draped the blanket back over his shoulders, but Daryl was careful to look nowhere except for the leather boots crunching their way back to the center of the circle.
He knew he should be paying better attention. Someone in his family was probably about to die for his rage-induced carelessness, but all he could think was Beth. 826 days. Two years, three months, and twelve days. That's how long it had been since the night he foolishly opened the door to the funeral home and had then watched helplessly as the black car with the white cross drove off into the night. He'd marked each passing day in his mind, and sometimes on his skin, rebranding himself in the once-tender patch of flesh between his thumb and index finger whenever he hit a self-imposed milestone and the grief, regret, and shame became more than his mind could put away. When Beth had taught him to use fire as a way of purging his past, he seriously doubted this was what she'd had in mind, but sometimes the punishing sear of the cigarette against his skin was the only thing he had holding him together. He desperately craved one now, the nicotine to steady his nerves and the pain of the burn a far easier punishment to bear than the thought of Beth being trapped with the likes of Negan for any length of time.
A gasp and high-pitched whine from Maggie pulled Daryl abruptly back to the present moment. Whatever had been wrong with her to bring everyone out here in the first place was getting worse by the minute, and she could no longer fully contain her cries as she curled in on herself in pain. Which, unfortunately, only drew Negan's attention.
"Darlin', I said it before. You look just fucking awful. Abso-fucking-lutely terrible." He crouched down in front of her and brushed the hair from her face in a parody of concern. "I just don't know. Maybe you would be better off if we" he clicked his tongue and twitched a raised Lucille, "knocked you right out of your misery."
Maggie didn't respond, her gasping breaths growing faster and she moved her hands protectively over her flat stomach.
Negan caught the gesture and tipped his head, his gaze serious and considering. "Are you pregnant?" He asked after a moment. A low whine from the back of Maggie's throat was her only acknowledgement that she'd even heard the question, but Negan saw Glenn's restless shifting off to the side and nodded, putting the pieces together. "Oh, you are, aren't you? I'll admit, I did not take as much time with Dr. Tattletale over there as I probably should have. Too focused on where y'all had gotten to instead of why you'd come out here in the first place. But there is definitely a bun in that oven! Although, considering the baby-daddy, I guess it's more of a pot-sticker." He chuckled. "Too racist? I've always had trouble figuring out where the lines are on that kind of thing, what's funny and what gets folks all riled up with political correctness. I do apologize."
Negan's demeanor turned serious, "Yeah, a sick mama and her unborn baby on the line, that'd be about what it would take to get y'all out here. Lemme guess, you were hoping your new friends at Hilltop could help? Is that the kind of thing they promised you for doing their dirty work?" He laughed, "Oh. Damn. Y'all would have been better off riding it out at home, sending a prayer or two to the Big Man upstairs. And not just because of this little get-together. I'll say this much for you sorry fuckers: you sure know how to pick your friends. And your enemies." He took a breath to get his toothy grin back in place, "And baby-daddy over there wasn't even with you," He stayed firmly planted in front of Maggie but turned to get a better look at Glenn, "This must be the shittiest, most fucked-up way ever to find out that your baby might be dying inside your wife's belly." He let out a forceful sigh of air and shook his head. "You thought that was bad, this is really going to suck."
He turned back towards Maggie but his gaze was on the Saviors standing behind her. "Take her to Towers." He grinned widely as they grabbed Maggie by the arms and began hauling her backwards while she weakly struggled. "Gently," he admonished, "Remember, her baby is in distress." But his smirk suggested that he was anything but concerned for her health.
Anticipating a repeat of his earlier outburst, one of the Saviors had already grabbed Glenn by his shirt collar, but that didn't stop him from calling out, "Maggie! Maggie, I'll find you!" If she said anything in reply, it was lost in the shuffle of forcing her into the back of one of the cars, which then drove off, away from the group and in the opposite direction of both Hilltop and Alexandria.
When the sound of the car had faded into the distance, Negan addressed the group solemnly. "Damn. I can see this is hard on you people. I'm sorry. I truly am. But I did say it. I did warn you. No exceptions!" He suddenly burst into a frenzy of energy, striding quickly to grab a fistful Rick's jacket and dragging him backwards before anyone could react.
"Time for a little heart-to-heart, just the two of us. Everyone else stays put. Anyone moves, anyone talks, put a bullet in the kid. Make it a gut shot, though, give Daddy here a chance to say goodbye. If he makes it back."
Negan unceremoniously hauled Rick across the gravel to the RV as the shocked man scrambled and failed to get his feet underneath him.
And through it all, Daryl never looked up.
Something was wrong with Daryl. More than the bloody wound. More than what was wrong with the rest of them, although everyone was in their own personal Hell at the moment. And Tyrese was concerned for everyone there, especially Sasha. Scared the shit out of him, thinking that she might let loose that fiery temper of hers and get herself killed.
Especially Glenn, who looked on the verge of collapse with fear for his now-missing and still-gravely-sick wife and child.
Especially Rosita, who had been closer to Eugene than anyone and had been noticeably shaken by his execution.
Especially Carl, who for all his brash, seen-it-all attitude was still way too young to be part of everything that had happened, was still happening. Eugene had been right next to the teen, and it had taken all that Tyrese had in him to not reach out and shield his gaze when Negan had bludgeoned the man so close to where they both knelt. It was still taking a lot of internal strength to not wipe the bits of blood and brain matter from Carl's face and clothes.
But Daryl was causing Tyrese to worry on a whole other level. As the hours wore on and Negan still hadn't returned with Rick, everyone else had slowly and by degrees sat down and were now resting uneasily. It had taken Abraham the longest. The army soldier took his missions seriously, and even though his quest to get Eugene to Washington D.C. and save the world had been long cast aside, Abraham still clearly saw it as his life's propose to protect the fearful genius, and tonight, he'd failed. And so he'd stayed on his knees in silent vigil, his eyes barely blinking and never leaving the mutilated corpse. When his muscles finally demanded a partial surrender and Sergeant Ford had sat back on his heels, he still never broke from his watch. Even the Saviors standing guard, while definitely alert, were visibly relaxed in the absence of their leader.
Daryl never moved. He was still on his knees, shaking and paler than Tyrese had ever seen him. The blood loss was partly to blame, he knew, and the shock that naturally comes with it, but something else had the tracker frozen in place like one of the deer he regularly hunted. Whatever Negan had whispered in that tense moment, when Tyrese had been sure he was about to lose yet another friend, had rocked Daryl to his core. And for the life of him, Tyrese could not figure out what could possibly have the man so shaken. But whatever it was, whatever threats against their rag-tag family Negan had made (and Tyrese didn't doubt for a second that this was about someone else, Daryl was the most self-sacrificing person he'd ever known), Daryl was locked inside himself, lost and, Tyrese secretly feared, more than a little broken.
There was nothing he could do. The helplessness grated on Tyrese's nerves. It wasn't in his nature to sit back and do nothing while people he cared about were hurting. He knew Rosita couldn't help, too consumed with her own shock and grief. Michonne was on Daryl's other side… but he couldn't catch her gaze. She was honed in on Carl, on the empty spot where Rick had been, and, at any rate, what could she do? Sitting right next to each other, and they all might as well be worlds apart.
Tyrese blamed himself. Everyone here had been on board with going after the Saviors, but it had been Tyrese who figured out the safest way to do it. Not that he'd wanted to fight and kill, that was always the last resort in his mind. But their situation had been desperate, and not even he had seen another way out.
When Aaron and Eric first brought their family to Alexandria's gates, Tyrese couldn't believe places like it still existed. Not that the prison had been anything to scoff at; in the year, almost year and a half they spent there, they'd had the makings of something special. When the Governor brought his new group to the gates, tank and all, Tyrese had just figured such places were done with. He'd done what he could that day, rescuing Judith, Luke, and the two sisters. Even after reuniting with Carol, and later Sasha and everyone else, Tyrese expected it would be one long struggle after another. And the journey North had proved him right, for a while.
But the Alexandria Safe Zone had solar power. Clean Water. Gardens in virtually every back yard. Kids went to school and played in the cul-de-sacs, and it was as if the world inside these walls had just kept on going while everything outside fell apart.
Even the troubles they had faced in Alexandria, losing Deanna Monroe and Rick taking over, the losses when walkers infested their streets and Carl's eye, they hadn't dampened Tyrese's impressions of this place as a haven in the chaos.
No, It was the crops failing. Their second year in Alexandria, right around Judith's third birthday, they realized that almost none of the seeds they planted were sprouting as they should. And the ones that did weren't quite right – overly long stems with virtually no leaves, or weak stems that would flop over after growing a couple of inches. Pale, spindly shadows of their harvest's former glory.
It took them weeks to figure it out. They checked the soil for pests, mold, fungus. They checked the water, the irrigation lines Rick had directed them to install the summer before. They planted again, placing the small seedling starters in different areas of their homes for a change in sunlight. Everything Rick could remember from Hershel's farming lessons back at the prison. Nothing worked.
Frustrated and out of options, Rick had asked where everyone had gotten the plants from when the community had first been established. Spencer's snide retort, "I dunno, from the store," wasn't intended to be helpful, but it had jogged something in Rick's memory.
"You mean like from a do-it-yourself hardware super-store?" he'd asked, and Tyrese remembered the growing realization and dread on Rick's features.
"Yeah. Mom and Dad sent a whole bunch of people with trucks to get as many flats of vegetable plants as they could find. They brought back tons of stuff. Back then everyone was stealing food and weapons, no one wanted fertilizer or garden tools."
"Shit," he'd whispered, wiping his hand over his face. "Full-sized plants, not heirloom seeds. Fuck."
"What is so damned wrong? My parents built this place from the ground up, and you were happy enough to move in and eat everything they got growing in the first place." Spencer challenged.
"Hybrids. That's what's wrong. The plants are all hybrids." Rick made eye contact with those who'd been with him at the prison until he was sure they remembered.
"What do you mean by hybrids?" Olivia wondered.
"It means the plants aren't natural, they were genetically modified," Eric had surprised everyone by supplying the answer. "Botanists splice plant genes from different varieties to solve specific problems. Higher yield, brighter colors, longer growing season, drought-tolerant, disease resistant, pretty much anything you can think of."
"Trouble is, those advantages come at a price," Rick added. "The year after all this started, when we started breaking ground for a garden back in Georgia, Hershel, the farmer who taught me, all of us, pretty much everything you'd need to know about raising crops, insisted that he come with us to get the first seeds. It was dangerous for him, and us. He'd lost his leg only a couple of months earlier and couldn't run if things went bad. But he insisted, said this was too important. We needed a mom-and-pop country garden supply store. And seeds, only heirloom seeds. Small local shops tended to have seeds cultivated by local growers. No hybrids, nothing genetically modified. Because hybrid plants don't produce good seeds. The changes are too much for them to pass on reliably to the next generation. If you're lucky, like we've been, you get one, two, maybe three decent years. But each year the plant gets more confused about which traits from each of the spliced-in varieties should be dominant, there's just too much that's been done, and the seeds go sterile. It wasn't a problem back then. Hybrids were cheap to mass-produce, which is why your bigger chain stores tended to carry them. And most people planting a backyard or patio garden weren't saving their seeds from year to year. Why bother, when you can just buy new plants?"
Aaron had looked down at the pale and shriveled seedlings in front of them, "We can't salvage anything from these, can we?"
Olivia frowned as she did some quick mental math, "We can stretch the food supply for a few months if we're really careful, but we went through a lot of inventory this winter. With the walker herds and everything, fresh game was scarce – we ate most of what we'd put away from the last harvest. We can cut back to rations for two meals a day for everyone, and have more communal dinners for portion control and less waste, but we'll still be in trouble by the end of the summer."
"Be in trouble anyway, if we don't get something in the ground real soon. Won't matter how far we stretch things." Daryl pointed out.
Rick nodded, "He's right. We need to double, triple our supply runs even. Different directions. Check yards, small time shops, even look for things growing in the wild."
"Don't go grabbing any random plant just because it's got fruit on it," Denise warned, "The last thing we need is people getting poisoned and we don't even know what it is to be able to cure it."
But then Rick and Daryl had run into Jesus, who introduced them to Hilltop and it seemed like things were going their way once more. The only catch? Gregory's condition. Negan and the Saviors currently laid claim to half the Hilltop's harvest. If Negan was out of the picture, Alexandria could have half the harvest this year, which would give them plenty of heirloom seeds to restore their own gardens, plus open a regular trade between the two communities for future years.
It was too good an opportunity for Rick to pass up. His people knew how to fight, and he had started training those native to Alexandria with a few, like Aaron and Francine, showing real promise. And Gregory had been helpful. He and his people weren't fighters and never had been, but they knew how to keep their ears open. Negan was establishing a new outpost at an old satellite relay station, and he always took a hands-on approach. They didn't have to find his main compound or fight his whole army. Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies, as the old saying goes.
A core group, mostly made up of people they'd known since Georgia, had planned the whole thing in Rick and Michonne's kitchen. Eric had volunteered to take Judith for a play-date with Luke, whom he and Aaron had adopted on Daryl's suggestion (surprising everyone, as he essentially stopped speaking to everyone upon their collective decision to leave his home state).
With sketches made from multiple scouting trips, courtesy of Jesus and Daryl, who had worked unexpectedly well together given their initial meeting and mutually strong preference for traveling solo, the group had a solid impression of the exterior layout and the numbers who regularly resided there.
"Even with all this, we can't just go charging in there," Glenn argued. "We don't know what kind of weapons they have or what the inside of the building is like. There are three of them for every one of us, we'd never make it."
"He's right, we need a way to force everyone out. With only three doors, they'd be bottlenecked. If we take out the watchers on the rooftop with sniper fire and toss in a few grenades," Abraham's military mind was hard at work, "We can position firing squads at each exit."
"Grenades carry too much firepower. Glenn's right, we don't know what's in there. What if they have major artillery or explosives? The blast could end up killing us along with them." Rick pointed out.
"What about a fire?" Tyrese had mused.
"We just said no explosives." Abraham glared, already irritated at having his idea shot down and now further insulted at the notion that someone wasn't taking this as seriously as he was.
"I don't mean anything that strong. Most explosives that would have lasted this long are going to be pretty stable. What about something quick, low heat, just to flash through the halls and spook everyone into running for the doors, but not enough to do any permanent structural damage? It keeps us safe from unintentional explosions and from fighting hand-to-hand inside."
Rick nodded, considering the merits and potential drawbacks. "Eugene?"
"There are a number of compounds that would fit the bill, quick flash-over to ignite the oxygen and then smoke itself out like a snuffed candle. With the right supplies and a place of operation I could definitely build said devices in short order."
The only problem? No one could positively identify Negan. Jesus hadn't discovered Hilltop for himself until 18 months ago, well after Negan had stopped coming as part of the weekly "contribution" runs, as the Saviors called them, delegating everything Hilltop-related to Simon and his preferred team. They'd decided to deal with that on the night of the attack, capturing a select few and interrogating them until they were sure they had either killed Negan or knew where he was hiding.
And it had gone off like clockwork. The afternoon before the attack, a few men from Hilltop had shown up at their gates. Simon had made an unexpected visit to Hilltop and Jesus' absence would have been noted, but they had been under Negan's thumb for years and wanted to help. And they had, volunteering to be the ones who snuck into the satellite outpost's main building and set Eugene's devices. "It will be easier for us to make it out if we're caught," they had explained. Simon had a habit of routinely forcing men from the Hilltop to accompany him on runs to other outposts to do the heavy lifting. They could lie and say that Simon had made them come to bring in supplies. By the time the Saviors realized the lie, the firebombs would be going off, but the Hilltop volunteers knew where they were and knew to run for the exits. "Just don't shoot until you're sure it's not us," they'd joked.
But they'd made it out just fine. Fire had swept through the building just like Eugene said it would, and those who hadn't been caught in the blaze had run outside and straight into their hands. Most been too surprised to return fire until it was too late. As they rounded up the last few wounded survivors, Rick had offered mercy if they turned over their leader. One had stepped forward, back straight and his whole demeanor all but demanding their attention.
"We're only interested in Negan. Are you him?"
The man had smiled grimly, "Yeah, I'm Negan."
And Daryl had put a bolt through his eye.
Everything seemed to work perfectly. So how had it gone so wrong?
Carl was pissed. Shocked and worried and sad, too. But being angry was easier. Who the Hell did this guy think he was, messing with their family? His dad would show him, they'd show them all. And Daryl and Michonne and Glenn and Abraham… their whole family were fighters, and no way were they going to just let this Negan come in and take everything they'd built. No way they'd let the Saviors anywhere near Alexandria, near Judith, or any of the others.
Carl could see it all in his mind, conjured up different versions while the sky slowly brightened in the predawn light. His Dad might have played it safe with the whole group surrounded, but once he and Negan were alone and far enough away… there'd be a fight. And Carl knew firsthand just how far his Dad would go to protect their family. He'd come back, and all these Saviors would be expecting Negan, but Carl knew it would be his Dad. And yeah, Daryl was hurt and Glenn was worried, but once his Dad got here, they'd be up fighting just like always. His Dad would cause a distraction, maybe ram the RV right through the line of armed guards. And once they'd beaten the Saviors and gotten Daryl patched up, they'd track down Maggie at the Towers or wherever it was that Negan said she was being taken prisoner. They'd rescue her and save her baby and bury Eugene and people would be sad, but they would win. He could feel the tingle in his fingers from anticipation. He knew he had to be ready at any moment.
But he wasn't ready for Negan hauling his Dad back to his knees, wasn't ready to see his Dad shaking and shocked and not fighting back. Carl wasn't ready for any of that at all.
"Do you even know what that little trip was about, Rick?"
Why wasn't he fighting? Carl couldn't understand it. This was it, he could feel that whatever was going to happen was coming on fast, and his Dad was just there, on his hands and knees, eyes wide while Negan yelled at him to speak when spoken to, as if his Dad were nothing but a small child or an ill-trained dog.
"It's that look, Rick, that motherfucking defiance, and I can't fucking have it. And I just don't fucking know… Do I give you another chance?"
Rick's nod was shaky and his voice stuttered, "Yeah… okay… okay." What was he doing? Get up, Negan's right there, just get up!
But then Negan was calling him over, and it took Carl a moment to react. Maybe this is what Dad needs, he thought as he steadily walked across the stretch of road to stand in front of Negan. Maybe this is what he was waiting for, needing someone close enough to bring Negan down together…
And then Negan was pulling his belt off and asking about whether Carl was a southpaw and if the belt tightening around his bicep hurt like it was supposed to. It did hurt, dammit, but no way was he going to admit that. And the whole time he stood there, and then laid there looking at his Dad, even as Negan told him what to do, dropped the ax next to him, going on about salami slices and how with their "great doctor" he'd be fine "probably", Carl kept waiting, kept thinking, any minute now…
It was his Dad's broken whisper, "It can be me… you… I can go with you, and you can do it to me," that made the teen finally look at Rick, take in the broken, shaking man as if he'd never seen him before, and maybe he hadn't. This man kneeling over him was a stranger. Yes, he'd seen his Dad collapse when his Mom died, seen him beaten and near dead after his fight with the Governor. But this was something else. This was not the man who'd bitten out the throat of one attacker and viciously gutted another to save his son. This was not the man who had confidently declared that Terminus was "fucking with the wrong people" and had them make weapons from the very boxcar that was used to keep them prisoner. This man who sobbed and begged while Negan counted down, slapped him, grabbed his face… Carl didn't know him at all.
And he hated him. It wasn't right, and part of him knew that, but Carl felt a wave of irrational hatred for the pleading, pitiful wreck his father had become. There would be no fight. No uprising. The shattered man with tears and snot dripping through the dried blood on his cheeks couldn't even form words, couldn't reach for a weapon less than an inch from his hand.
"Dad, just do it. Just do it," he whispered, resigned. There was nothing left to be done, nothing to wait for. Might as well get on with it. And Rick clearly wasn't going to get through this without a little encouragement.
He almost pulled his hand away when he felt his Dad's fingers close around his wrist but stopped himself mid-jerk. Negan was right there, and maybe Rick couldn't stand up to him, and maybe Carl couldn't stop him (yet!), but he wasn't going to show any kind of fear. And maybe it would remind his Dad, too. See, Dad, this is how we face things. This is who we are.
When Rick finally picked up the ax, crying out as he raised it, Carl had the sudden urge to look to Michonne. He knew he couldn't look away while Negan hovered, watching, but a steadying look from his friend and surrogate mom would have gone a long way towards calming his nerves. His emotions were at war again, swirling around in his head and heart and gut, and Carl wasn't sure what to hold on to anymore.
Negan stopped the ax before it did any damage, but Carl couldn't find it in himself to be relieved. The price was too high. Above his head, he could hear his father, panicked, hyperventilating, swearing his allegiance, surrendering not just himself, but all of them, to Negan and the Saviors. "…work for you, provide for you... belong to you…"
The Hell with that, Carl's anger was back in full force. Speak for yourself, I don't "belong" to anyone.
Negan stood up triumphant and started making some big speech about how they'd all gotten through this together. Carl took the hint and stayed put. Fine, "just survive somehow" it is. Just got to get everyone back home and then talk some sense into Dad and anyone else who thinks we should put up with this guy's crap.
But then Negan threw another curveball, "Dwight," he pointed to Daryl with the bloody bat, "load him up." Carl couldn't help turning his head to watch, expecting Daryl to put up some kind of struggle. Instead, the normally surly, badass warrior was unresisting, letting the Saviors pull him to his feet and walking to the open van without an ounce of protest or even so much as a glance at the rest of them on the ground. What the Hell? But the van doors were shut and Negan was back on his haunches next to Rick.
"You see that? He gets it, just like a certain little bitch I know," Negan rubbed Rick's hair in mock affection. "He's got guts. I like him. He's mine now. You forget your fucking place in the world, still want to try something, 'not today, not tomorrow, not today, not tomorrow', I will cut pieces off of… fuck's his name?"
"Daryl," one of the Saviors helpfully supplied.
"Wow, that actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep. Or better yet, I'll bring him to you and have you do it for me."
Negan tapped his bat on the ground deliberately close to Carl's head as he stood. "You know what?" he said after a moment's consideration. "That one, too. Load him up as well."
This time, it was a surprised Aaron who was hauled to his feet. He looked around wildly as he was pulled towards an open-air military transport before finally meeting eyes with Rick. "Take care of them," he risked calling out as he was pushed into the covered back of the truck.
"It did not escape my notice that, of all the people out here in our little friendship circle, he was the only one to actually be part of Alexandria before you all moved in and started stirring up shit." Negan was back in the center of his own personal arena. "Just like it did not escape my notice that Alexandria sat there all tucked away behind its walls, peace-and-quiet-like, until you people showed up out of nowhere. So I don't know what kind of fucked-up shit went down, but I need ALL of Alexandria to be on board. Oh yeah, Mullet Man over there might have been awkward as fuck, but he was downright eager to share everything he knew about all his friends, and, for that, he gets the spirit award for sure!"
Negan strolled back over to stand next to Rick. "I'm going to leave you a truck, assuming you people have figured out bio-diesel by now with Dr. Smarty-Pants and all but if not, well, at least it's a convenient place to store shit. Out of curiosity, who was my new friend so concerned about just now?"
Rick paused until Negan prompted him again, "Really, Rick?"
"He… he has a family. A son. Just a kid."
Negan gestured to Carl with the bat, "He's just a kid, but with some serious brass balls."
Rick shook his head, "Aaron's son is only six."
"Well, shit, that is one Hell of a rough conversation you're about to have, explaining all this to him. Of course, it could be a lot fucking worse. And Rick, remember, it can always get worse. We'll be by in a week to pick up your first offering. Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits!" was his parting shot as the Saviors drove off and left them in stunned silence.
Well, if Dad's not going to do something about this, then I will.
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