Chapter 41
Inside the Lion's Den

We arrived at a massive factory that was heavily guarded with an army of the undead, moaning and growling at the convoy's approach. This was what I assumed must've been the Sanctuary. None of our people had ever been inside and escaped.

If I made it out—no when I made it out, I would return home, tell them everything I could remember and we'd find a way to invade and crush these people once and for all. We'd call up every rival group they had managed to piss off; we'd band together, become an army, and fight them!

The dragged me out of the truck and led me up to the doors. Inside I took care to memorize the route we walked through. I looked quickly around, memorizing everything I could; hallways, the number of doors, any rooms that were opened, the appearance of the people, windows, pipes jutting from the walls, flickering lights. Anything and everything I could recall I soaked it in, storing it all for later.

Once I was sure we passed by an armory, because I saw guns—lots of guns. That would definitely be important. I worked to embed everything about the route and room into my memory. When we came back to this place we would need to know where that was.

At last, we stopped at a smooth plain cell and they deposited me inside slamming the iron door as they left. There was only a small twin bed within it and a narrow window too high for me to reach. Even so, I knew I would need to see out of it. Balancing on the edge of the metal frame I reached out for it, wondering if I could grab it if I stretched far enough for it.

Still too short.

I hopped down and with some rearranging and heavy lifting, I was able to pull the bed around so that the head of the frame was under it instead of the low foot, giving me the extra bit of height to finally reach the edge of the window and lift myself up. I looked down, viewing the surrounding landscape.

A courtyard was right below, holding in what appeared to be dozens and dozens of walkers that were chained up. Some men were leading a new one in at that time, bucket over its head so it was disoriented and unable to see where they were leading it. I wondered what use they might've been. There didn't look to be many to really pose a significant threat to rivaling groups. I mean, I had heard about walkers being used for weapons before but I was pretty sure there weren't enough to actually discourage anyone with experience. Plus, they were all incapacitated, either with chains or spears so even if they wanted to use them as weapons they weren't going to be very affective. At least I didn't think so.

Of course, I didn't have to worry about such things, so maybe my judgment about such a thing was a bit impaired. It didn't make sense to me.

Well I couldn't waste time wondering about it now. My attention focused on the rest.

I saw more people; workers by the looks of it and some Saviors herding them around, looking intimidating and there to be sure that they did their jobs, or so it seemed.

Odd…

Things obviously worked very differently here.

My eyes spotted a garage with motorcycles and other vehicles. If I squinted I could even see construction equipment behind the garage like bulldozers, power shovels, backhoes, and flatteners.

That definitely made me uneasy as I imagined those machines breaking through the wall of Alexandria like cardboard.

More threats that needed to be handled, I decided.

I took the time to memorize the rest. The landscape, the forest, the buildings in the distance, the position of the sun at this time of day; whatever I thought could be of use I absorbed eagerly till the daylight had gone and I was alone in the darkness.

Once nighttime fell, I lied out on my bed, staring up at a black ceiling. I spent a good deal of time turning over fear and agitation, but mostly fear. I wasn't sure if I would see Negan tonight or at all. Maybe he had more important things to do; I hoped so but the longer I waited the worse my anxiety grew. Maybe they wanted me nervous, building it up for when he finally did show. That made sense. If I was afraid it would be harder to think clearly and he'd use that to manipulate me. I couldn't let that happen. Being stupidly herded in such a way.

I fidgeted with the charms around my neck, tracing over the different shapes and thinking of every person they represented.

The racecar: Glenn.

The brass button: Hershel.

The cracked green marble: Tyreese.

The music note: Beth.

The Purple Heart: Abraham.

The yellow glass flowers: Lizzie.

The gold braid: Mika.

The arrow head: Andrea.

The red dice: Deanna.

The wings: Mom.

And that wasn't even all of them. There were so many I realized sadly. Why did there have to be so many? Apart from these there were others that I had already found for people who weren't even dead yet. They were in my small knitted pouch back home and wouldn't be added to the chain, hopefully, for a long time.

My mind turned then to the charm I was missing now.

Tara…

The memory of her final moment blazed in my head and tears erupted in my eyes. My throat got tight and I buried my face in my palms as I cried. My heart clenched and it felt like my whole body was aching with the terrible loss.

She had always been there, a constant presence since I was nothing but a baby, but lately it felt like I was getting to know her even better than before. It was like she wanted to build a better friendship somehow and it was good and nice to have someone to talk to about Mari and John. There were so many things she'd wanted to do. So many things she had planned for and now… now those plans would never happen.

I had a shield bead for her back home. She had talked to me about how she had wanted to become a police officer when things were different. She had been fresh out of the academy when the blight spread and never had that chance. I needed that shield for her now. It should be on here to remember her by.

I wanted the others too. The six-pointed star for Dad, the finch for Carl, the goddess stone the size of a pebble for Carol, the panther for Michonne, the red horse for Maggie, and the squirrel button for Daryl.

Then I remembered I didn't have it anymore. I had given it to him for strength.

That's right, I realized, sitting up suddenly. Daryl was somewhere here as well. I hadn't seen him for years, but from what I expected, he ought to have been much changed.

I remembered a lot about him. He used to call me Lil' Ass Kicker. Negan had called me it once and I wondered if he had gotten that from Daryl. Would he have done something like that? Let the man be so privy to something that personal between us.

No, certainly he wouldn't have. It had been mere coincidence.

When Daryl came back from a supply run he was the one I had usually hugged immediately if I didn't happen to see Dad, Michonne or Carl first. He was the closest thing to an uncle I had and I wondered if he would see me differently once we saw each other again.

I remembered being little—er and watching quietly while Daryl did repairs on his bike, and occasionally handing him requested tools like I was some kind of little assistant. I told him once that I had seen his brother walking outside one day and showed him the fishhook I had added to my collection to represent him. Daryl hadn't said anything about it at first, but responded by lifting me on his shoulders and carrying me the rest of the way back home.

Before we had reached it he finally spoke. "Well you be sure to tell him that if he hangs around too much he might get soft again. You tell him that okay."

"He doesn't stay for very long." I announced leaning over his head to look down at him. "And he doesn't like talking."

"You sure it's my brother then?"

"Pretty sure."

"Well the Merle I know never seemed to shut up. Why's he still hangin' around?"

"I dunno. Maybe he thinks he needs to watch over you."

"Little late for that." He announced bitterly.

"Do you want him to go?" I asked tentatively. "Are you mad at him?"

He didn't answer.

"I'll… I'll ask him to leave if you want."

"Nah, don't do that." He said, gentler. "S'pose it's better late than never."

I didn't see Merle again after that, but I knew he was still around.

Such a memory was bittersweet in these walls.

How much of that man was gone now? Would I still recognize Daryl?

…Probably not.

I dozed off sometime in the night, and the next thing I knew the sound of the door was swinging opened and my head was lifting off of a puddle of drool. I looked up to see two men barge in and stomp towards me.

"Get up, kid. Time to see your host."

Still somewhat sleep clouded, I swung my feet off the bed and followed them. It took a while for me to actually wake up and remember why I should have been worried, but the closer we moved to our destination, the more my agitation grew and I began to tremble.

By the time we reached where Negan was waiting, my heart was pounding in my chest and a cold sweat had grown at the back of my neck. They knocked and I heard Negan's voice calling them to come in. Inside, I looked around to find a luxuriously furnished bedroom, tastefully decorated in dark tones and fine knickknacks. On the wall, I saw the stuffed head of an antelope looking towards the door like some kind of weird sentry.

He didn't hunt that.

Negan was seated in a recliner but when we walked in and he saw me, his face split into an excited smile.

"Well tickle me pink!"

He got up, looking much like a child on Christmas morning that had gotten everything on his wish list the moment I walked in. "I. Just. Can't. Even." At the sight of him I suddenly forgot to be afraid as fury took over most of my emotion. His smile was completely infuriating and I had to squash a giant urge to run up and stab him with something.

"I am utterly star struck! My mind is just blown right now." He made a gesture with his hands miming an explosion from his mind. "You're the cure?! This entire time, Rick's own daughter was the cure and nobody knew! They had the answer with them this whole time and no one had any idea! Just imagine all the friends they could have saved, all the limbs they could have kept, as well." He leaned back on his hands, smiling even larger than before. "I'm speechless."

"For once." I muttered positively infuriated. Negan was anything but speechless—ever. There was always something he wanted to spew.

"Come on." He laughed. "How can you not see how fuckingly ironic this is. Or… maybe it isn't." His face turned down in thought for a moment as what I assumed were several large questions had suddenly been explained in one fell swoop with this new startling revelation. "It actually explains a whole fucking lot. Now I get why you weren't scared as shit to go outside your town walls. Holy fuck… and you've managed to keep it secret this whole time? Damn kid. That had to have killed not to talk to anyone about it."

I didn't want to say anything to that, there was a frightening lump in my throat and any noise from me might've just dislodged it and jarred tears from me, and the last thing I wanted to do was start crying in front of him.

Negan went on without giving me a chance though.

"Truth be told, I was actually looking for an excuse to bring you back here, but your dad just cooperates so well it's hard to find a reason to do it. Plus, you worked so hard back home. I was growing fond of fresh quail eggs and truffles. You can't just find those things, you know. But now look at this… Here. You. Are."

My heart stopped by that. So, he really had wanted to take me away from the start, just like Simon said. The fact that I was the cure meant nothing. He had been planning this for a rainy day when my dad stepped out of line enough to drag me back here for good.

I could feel a wave of ice cover my skin as I stared back in horror. I wanted to talk but coupled with the lump in my throat, my mouth had gone pasty dry with that. I decided to try anyways.

"I—I n-need to go home." I insisted, trembling over the lump. "My people need me. Y-you don't!"

He laughed. "Of course, they do. Always the helper, aren't you? I bet they won't last very long without their breadwinner."

"They could last longer than you! I'll bet you can't even set a proper snare!"

"Watch your mouth!" He barked switching from delight to angry in a mere moment. "Just because I may have encouraged your cheek back where you lived because it was occasionally amusing, doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate your crap here. You talked a big talk back in Alexandria, but you're on my turf now, you little shit. So, mind what you say or you're gunna be tasting the back of my hand a lot here."

My mouth snapped closed, frightfully conscious of how ruthless he would be. I had been the big one in Alexandria. That was my home, people would always fight for me there. But in the Sanctuary, there was no one on my side in this place. I was on my own, and I needed to tread lightly. For my own self-preservation, I needed to be careful, because I really was afraid of him and what he could and would do to me.

"I heard your father tried to fight back when they were taking you. I'll have to sort that out. Behavior like that can't be tolerated."

"Simon killed my friend!" I hissed back, wanting to throw something at him, while fighting the tears that threatened to fall again.

"Your friend pulled a gun. None of you are allowed guns. If she was killed it was her own damn fault." He said cruelly. "She should have known better, and you should have fessed up sooner. None of that had to go the way it did if you had just stepped forward."

"Are you trying to tell me that it was my fault? THAT'S BULLSHIT! I—I couldn't have… it wouldn't have even mattered!" I hissed, feeling disgust take control of me instead of the fright from before. "Simon would have killed her anyways, because he's a monster like everyone else in this place."

He didn't seem angry by the outburst or the use of the curse word, or the blatant insult to his lieutenant. Instead, he just sized me up with some unfeeling expression. "Maybe you were afraid. Simon has that effect with negotiations."

"You call that a negotiation? Rounding everyone up to watch a public beating? That wasn't a negotiation! You people don't know how to negotiate!"

"You don't know much about negotiation either." He countered. "From the report I heard your dad went off and shoved Simon. Not a very respectful thing to do, in my opinion. He shouldn't have provoked him if he wasn't prepared for what happened next."

"He was shoved right after he tried to gut-punch my dad!" I yelled at him. "So, Simon decided someone needed to die over that? You're all fucking savages!"

"I told you to watch your language," Negan said dangerously.

"My dad has a right to fight for me!"

"He doesn't have rights." He corrected sinisterly. "If I didn't get that message into his head three years ago and every other beating that's taken place after that then I obviously need to go back and teach him another lesson again. Maybe taking that piece of his son, I wanted the first time we met, will remind him."

"No!" I blurted, heart leaping in my throat. If he was willing to kill one of my friends simply because one of his own was shoved away, then that wasn't an empty threat in the least. "You don't need to do that. I'm here now! I'm not going anywhere! My dad knows that! He won't try anything while I'm here."

He grinned as he looked down on me in a way that made me physically sick. "Damn straight he won't." Then his expression changed. "Although to be totally honest I'm not entirely convinced." I stared at him, confused and afraid of what he was talking about. "It seems a little too easy that you could possibly be the cure. We ought to test that, to be sure."

Then he stepped up to me, grabbed me behind my neck and marched me out. I couldn't move other than to walk with him while he had hold of me like that. I was terrifyingly aware of how strong he was. His hand alone nearly curled completely around my throat and felt more than capable of crushing me, like an egg.

He pushed me along till we made it outside. A large fenced area stole my attention and I looked to see dozens of walkers chained up all around it. It was the same pen I had seen outside my window.

What was he planning?

"Here we go." Negan announced and I could hear the cheer in his voice. "If you manage to get bit and live I guess we can safely say you really are the cure then."

Perhaps I should have been horrified that he would try to test the cure out in this way, but I wasn't. Instead, I could feel myself relaxing. They weren't going to bite. They never so much as reached out for me.

Negan must've seen my relief and frowned. "What are you looking so relieved about?"

"You'll see why."

He pushed me towards the gate and the guard on duty looked confused as he stared at us.

"Open up. We've got an experiment."

He looked uneasy as he switched between Negan to me. Maybe he understood what Negan was about to do and was decent enough to hesitate before fear of his leader won out. He opened the gate and I was thrown inside smacking against one of the undead before the momentum sent me to the ground. It jumped nearly out of its rotting skin. It with two others, were within touching distance of me. If they wanted they could have probably fallen right on me and had a nice meal then and there. But they didn't.

Instead, they stared back at me, swaying back and forth, silent and mindless. At last, they moved to retreat a little, almost as if they were burning up by my proximity.

It was like a ripple. Once they had begun moving away the others seemed to follow suit, all taking to moving in the opposite direction of where I was, if able.

I looked over at Negan, gauging his reaction.

"Well fuck me sideways and call it surfing." He announced, surprised and impressed. "Looks like that answers that question."

He dragged me back inside by my neck again. If this was how I would be escorted all the time from now on, I had best prepare for bruises. I wished I had some witch hazel. A taser would have been nice, too.

The thought made me smirk for a fraction of a moment before the squeeze on my neck brought me back to the real world.

He led me to what looked to be an infirmary and on the way anyone we passed seemed to drop to the ground instantly to kneel in respect and fear. I would have been impressed if I wasn't so appalled. Not at Negan, though; not entirely at least. More for these sad, confused people. It was incredibly pathetic how simple they had lowered themselves for him. It was much more shocking to realize I could feel even less for these people than I already had.

Entering into the infirmary we met a doctor—a real doctor, complete with the identifiable white coat I had only seen in pictures and movies. Not like Dr. Carson who hadn't bothered with a white coat when I had gone to see him those few times. this man looked professional, but looks are always deceiving.

The man was just getting done with tending to a beautiful woman on an examining table. She didn't dress like the other citizens who wore mostly neutral or dark colored, comfortable clothing, which were easy enough to move around in. Instead, she wore her hair in a curly braid and was dressed in a black cocktail dress and heels that complimented her complexion but seemed greatly impractical to me.

No one wore heels.

Everyone needed to be ready for when the worst hit us, and it could hit us at any moment. I one time heard Michonne say that heels were an abomination to the human foot. They provided no armor, protection, or aid in a fight or flight situation and were unquestionably impossible to run in. Maybe these people had so much safety and firepower they could afford to wear such impractical attire.

Negan spoke when he saw the two and I took note of how the woman turned away, a shadow of fear on her face at the mere sight of him.

"Hey doc. What's the verdict?"

He looked at him without batting an eye or kneeling the way other people had done so when we passed them on our way here.

"Not pregnant." He announced.

Negan seemed frustrated with the announcement. It was in that moment that I suddenly understood. I'm not sure how, but I realized their relationship just then. I think I associated it with a kidnapped princess forced to marry the horrible villain.

Fairytales again. Somehow it always came back to fairytales with me. I had thought I had grown out of them by now, but every once in a while, I would recognize one of those distinct elements.

What was I in this tale? A witch in training ? A captured princess, like her? Or just a lowly kitchen wench like Cinderella?

So long as I could kick some butt I didn't care what label I held.

Negan spoke just then and for some odd reason I shivered by his words. "Well no big deal. We can always try again, now can't we?"

The woman seemed to try very hard not to respond to that, but I could recognize the shiver that went through her just as it'd gone through me.

The doctor told her she was finished and she got up from the table, walking out.

"I'll meet you for dinner," Negan announced and there was hardly a response from the woman.

The grip on my neck tightened as he hauled me over to the table the woman had occupied moments prior and lifted me onto it.

The doctor hardly seemed phased by Negan's treatment of me, merely continued to look impassive as he had with the woman.

"And who's this?" He asked, with a raised brow.

"That cure we've been looking for. Rick's group was keeping it all to themselves."

"It's Ms. Grimes to you, pal." I corrected stubbornly to this stranger. Somehow the thought of anyone here using my first name so informally, the way Negan used it, made me feel much more uncomfortable.

Negan reached down at that moment and hissed in my ear. "No one asked for your name. Behave and be quiet unless you're spoken to."

I hated how tense my body became by those few words, promptly making my mouth shut and I obeyed.

It was at that moment that the doctor got to work on me. His checkup was much like the one performed back at Hilltop. The only difference was the company. It was incredibly uncomfortable letting this stranger look me over while my most hated enemy sat near to witness the observation. Finally, the doctor drew away from me, pocketing his small flashlight, as he wrote something down. "Healthy, overall, but you're much too skinny."

"You're much too bald!" I retorted indifferently and was rewarded for it with a smack on the back of the head from Negan.

The doctor brought both our attentions back to him. "Do you have an idea of where they extracted the cure from? I assume it's in the blood but I'd like confirmation."

I didn't answer. I hated him as much as I hated Negan. I didn't want to help these people. Every one of them could die for all I cared. Walkers could storm this whole building and eat every single one of them and I'd step over their mutilated bodies without a second thought about it.

I pursed my lips in stubborn refusal, glaring at him with malice like it would burn him up. The doctor retracted from my gaze and Negan stepped in.

"Give us a moment." He said in a familiar dangerous tone. When the door closed behind the doctor, Negan turned to me and I had to bite back a whimper of fear. The look he gave me—the cold grin, was worse than any furious glower he could cast. It was always worse when he was happy.

"Stubborn, like your brother like your father; I get it." He began lowly. "You want to keep fighting to the end just like they say they do. But here's the thing; I know, and you must've noticed by now (though maybe you haven't yet) but your father, beneath that rough-tough exterior, is a fragile statue of glass that can shatter with just the right amount of force. And true, sometimes he gets back up and he can mend himself the best way he knows how, but there will still be pieces missing and some will attach to places where they're not supposed to be and it's an awkward little statue that he makes there. Well I know that every time he loses something precious, a friend, a family member, his home, whatever; he is knocked over again and again and again; and when that happens he shatters, then he gets back up and mends and the whole process starts all over again.

"Well there are things, very important things, which he can't come back from. He doesn't suffer with physical pain or stress, it's the people and things he cares about that truly do it for him." Just then his hand gripped my face hard, bringing it up so I had to look at him directly in the eye. "Now what do you think would happen to him if he found out that I did some pretty unbelievable things to you? The kind of things you see only in nightmares and bad bedtime stories? I could take a few photos, we've got a video camera somewhere in this place and we could document it as proof to show your daddy. And he'll watch it—I'll make sure they all do and I cannot even begin to imagine the look he'll have when he sees it all. Can you?"

My mouth was dry as paste while I stared. I didn't want to imagine my father's expression of agony and I didn't want to imagine what Negan could do to me. Stuff like that didn't have names for kids my age. They would never want me to keep that information secret if there was a possibility Negan would do worse than kill me.

"I… I don't want my dad to be hurt anymore. He's been through enough." I began in a shaky voice, hoarse from fear. I tried again a bit calmer. "They said it's my blood or plasma I guess."

Negan nodded with my surrender and called the doctor back in to hear my explanation.

"They didn't really tell me if they knew why I'm this way, though. I don't think they knew themselves."

"Anything else?"

Lie.

"Nothing that stands out very well." I announced a little too quickly.

"I can extract her blood and filter the plasma." The doctor announced. "But I still want to run more tests."

Negan looked thoughtful just then. "Davey!" And a man came in at his command, but my attention was diverted back to the doctor.

"How did they administer it?" He asked me.

I tilted my head in confusion. "Huh?"

"When they injected the cure carried in your plasma how did they do it?"

"They put it near the wound, or bite, I guess, and let it bleed for a while. The cells in my plasma chase out the infection carried in walker saliva."

"That makes sense. Similar to a shot for rabies…" The doctor said. He was quiet as he fiddled a bit with an automated blood collection machine, hanging a set of flat empty bags and activating it by pressing a few buttons on a touch screen. After it was set up properly he brought forward another needle and an IV bag. "I'm taking a donation now."

I frowned as I stared back. "You know it's not really a donation if you're taking it without permission, and I don't recall giving it."

"Quiet." He ordered calmly. Thankfully he didn't hit me.

I watched as my blood filtered into the bag and felt the usual complaints rise up in my body. My head began to spin and my chest grew tight, my heart beat elevated as well and I concentrated on taking deep breaths while I watched the bag getting fuller. The doctor severed the connection before it'd even filled halfway, though.

"You're like a twig." He commented indifferently. "I won't be able to get a proper sample unless I feel like bleeding you to death."

My blood was filtered into the machine and I watched the red blood cells as they were separated from the yellow plasma.

Just then the door burst opened and a screaming man was led in by three other people. He looked frantic and crazed with panic.

"Please just chop it off!" He screamed. It was then that I saw the bite mark on his arm and the blood pouring out of it in a never-ending gush. "Please, please just take it off of me! I don't want to die!"

"Moment of truth," Negan announced coming up after them. "That plasma sample ready, Doc?"

The doctor looked a little surprised by all of it, but regretfully not disgusted.

Negan had purposefully gotten this man bit to test the cure. He had no idea if it would even work but was willing to risk this man's life anyways. My stomach would have turned in disgust but I was too dizzy to concentrate on it very hard.

The doctor rose to his feet and came over, examining the wound carefully. "I wanted to run a few tests on the sample I had, just to be sure before we did anything rash."

"This is the only test that matters." Negan announced over the man's screams.

"Just cut it off! Cut it off!"

"Shut up!" Another man said, forcing a stick into his mouth while someone else tied off his arm with a belt.

The doctor retrieved the plasma sample and a syringe, filling it entirely before draining it in the man's arm about two inches from the bite.

I watched it all from my place on the table. Appalled just as bit as curious. I hadn't been present to see this all happen before with David and wondered if his reaction had been at all like this screaming, panicked man. Mike's definitely had been. Was everyone so panicked after an attack? I supposed it would be understandable. They had basically been handed a death sentence and every second was too precious to waste.

David's bite had been on his shoulder blade and Mike's had been on his collarbone. Does placement make a difference?

The doctor did as I advised the first time, allowing the wound to bleed for a bit after he'd emptied the plasma. It was good the arm had been tied off and I was a bit curious how well this man would recover in comparison to David and Mike.

Finally, after about five minutes they decidedly cleaned and dressed the wound. The man was still begging them to cut it off but the doctor silenced those pleas with a sedative.

"We should know the results within an hour." He announced once things had quieted.

"If he dies it's no loss to us. He was getting a little too cheeky for his own good." Then he seemed to notice me just then. "You'd better hope he doesn't, though. If he does, things are bound to get a lot worse for you."

The tone of his voice as well as the curl in his lip made me want to retreat in a hole. I was trembling before I could rationally remind myself that he would live. We already tried and tested it twice—or I guess three times before, now. He would live.

But there was that whisper of doubt, and the fear that came with it made me tremble.

Author's notes: Some real heavy stuff going on here, and it's only going to get more angsty.

Negan's been holding back from his usual assholery because it was around people, public manners in a matter of speaking. Even if it was just subordinates from another community, he wouldn't want to start something that could end badly for him. He's smart enough to figure that out.

What makes me so mad is that when I read other works of fanfiction people attempt to humanize Negan. The thought makes me physically sick almost. Apart from being a psychopathic murderer, he's a manipulator, an abuser, and a rapist. Of course, he denies the last two by saying he isn't just because he doesn't hit his wives, but you don't have to physically hurt someone to abuse them, and he doesn't have to hit them because they've learned the hard way not to antagonize him.

If you corner someone or use leverage like withholding medication that they or a loved one of theirs desperately needs to survive, it's rape. If you threaten to kill someone they love unless they marry you, it's rape. If you intimidate someone so bad they don't see any way out of a situation without giving you what you want, it's rape!

The worst of this is that he finds pleasure from all of it, and has zero remorse for any of the stuff he does.

However, he's a lot less in control around Judith though, because she continues to test his patience. His façade is cracking because he's not dealing with any average adult that can be easily manipulated or intimidated like how he's used to. Judith is hotheaded, impolite, and loudmouthed, and more than that, she doesn't scare easily. The sexual innuendoes he's partial to hiding behind and allow to talk for him, can't be used in this situation, otherwise he risks looking like a child predator, and despite the scumbag that he is, there are still some boundaries he'd rather not cross. Admittedly though, it sure feels like he is getting uncomfortably close to that line.

The comic version of him seems largely different from the TV version. As hard as it is to believe for those of you who don't read the comic, I personally feel he is WAY worse in television. He could almost be considered decent in the comic compared to his counterpart, if only incredibly vulgar.

I kept that behavior in this fic, though I prefer to imagine comic version of him when I picture the story in my head.

Anyways, long chapter and more sass and suffering to follow. See you next update! Luv ya lots!