Rick, Negan learns, is a popular guy, if the number of visitors he gets is any indication. Negan, Judith, and Carl arrive at the hospital bright and early Saturday morning, but two of Rick's fellow officers are already there, as though standing guard over his immobile form.

As Negan makes his way into the room, he recognizes the officers as the ones who'd brought him in that fateful night. The ginger giant gives a little chuckle when he sees Negan; the girl—Officer Chambler, Negan's guessing—smiles at the sight of him and Rick's kids together.

"Well, lookie here," Ginger says, though he doesn't barricade the room with his massive frame, just lets Negan inside. "How'd you end up on daycare duty?"

"Comes with the job," Negan says. There's a flower bouquet on the table near Rick's bed, and Negan moves closer to examine it. The card reads: Get well soon ~ Love, Glenn and Maggie.

"And what job is that?"

Negan thinks about saying something snarky and immature, but this really isn't the time or place. It's a shame Rick wanted to keep their relationship under wraps for a while, because this situation has forced it into the light, Rick's intentions be damned.

"Rick and I were seeing each other," Negan says, trying to sound casual about it, but the fact that he's stepped in and taken over guardianship of Rick's kids proves the contrary.

"No shit?" Ginger laughs.

Chambler gives her partner a look.

"I mean, hey, I'm not judgin', I just didn't know Rick swung that way."

Judith squirms in Negan's arms, and Carl takes her from him when Negan hands her over. Carl brings her over to the bed where Rick's lying and starts to talk to her.

Ginger holds out his hand. "A friend of Rick's is a friend of mine. Name's Abraham."

"Negan."

They shake hands. Abraham has a strong grip, as though he could toss Negan around the room like a ragdoll.

Since they're doing handshakes, Chambler offers hers as well. "Hi, I'm Tara. Rosita told me she met you last night."

When he shakes her hand, Negan notices her fingernails are painted red with white polka dots. "Good to see you again. Sober, this time."

Tara tries a smile, but it's weak, because this isn't a happy meeting. She glances at Carl and Judith, looks at Negan. "You're taking care of them?"

"Doin' my best."

"That's really sweet of you. How long were you and Rick..."

"Three weeks?" Negan guesses. He's lost track of time since his and Rick's orbits collided.

"Wow, you guys got pretty close, huh?"

"Yeah, well, at our age, no sense in wastin' too much time, right?" Even as the words leave his mouth, Negan feels like a liar, because he's wasted too much time already. If he'd known Rick would make it this easy to love him, Negan wouldn't have been so afraid of it.

He risks a peek at Carl and Judith gathered at Rick's side and tries not to let his heart crumble into a million pieces. Negan turns his head back to Tara, scrubs a hand over his mouth. "Any news?"

"No," Tara says sadly.

Abraham makes a gruff noise in his throat. "Don't you worry about Rick. If he knows he's in a coma, he's pretty pissed off about it. He'll pull through. He's one tough sumbitch."

Morgan shows up around noon, bearing sandwiches for the hungry mourners. "Carol thought you might get hungry," he says. "And from what she tells me, the cafeteria food leaves a lot to be desired."

Tara and Abraham left a little while ago for their shifts, so it's just the Grimes family and Morgan here in this bleached-white hospital room.

"Don't you have a diner to run?" Negan wonders, though he's not going to turn down tasty sandwiches.

"Olivia can handle things for a while."

Carl leaves the room, digging through his pockets for loose change.

"How's Carol doing?" Negan says to Morgan.

Morgan sits beside him on the couch. "She's got the kids today. Took 'em to the park. Duane's got some game on his phone that makes you go outside to play it."

A dark part of Negan is envious of Morgan's carefree relationship, that he gets to share his life with Carol and isn't drowning in an ocean of fear and uncertainty, that the person Morgan loves isn't lying in a hospital bed.

Morgan catches Negan looking at Rick. "If anybody can make it through this, it's Rick Grimes."

There's no one else here but them, and Judith is happily munching on a grilled cheese, oblivious to their conversation, so Negan risks a rare moment of vulnerability and says, "I've been through something like this before. My wife Lucille. She had cancer. I had to watch her go over months and months. Rick may be strong, but I'm not. Not anymore."

Morgan looks at him like he's staring into Negan's soul. Negan almost instinctively backs away. "You don't have a choice. You've got those kids to take care of."

And Negan wants to. It would be an honor to raise the last remaining pieces of Rick Grimes. But he knows he's got zero authority here. Rick's parents may be dead and buried, but Lori's folks might have a problem with the result of Rick's three-week-old sexual identity crisis raising his children. Rick had mentioned that they moved to Florida a year ago, but Carl might still contact them, as he seems to be notifying everyone in Rick's phone about his father's condition.

Carl returns with sodas—and water for Judith—and Negan pretends not to be surprised when Carl hands him a can of Coke. Despite Carl's protests to the contrary, he's warming to Negan.

Not ten minutes later, the door swings open and Shane steps inside. He looks at Rick with a tender, despaired expression. Then he sees Negan, and his face morphs into malice. "Negan? You got a minute?"

Negan really doesn't want to step away from the best damn Reuben he's ever had, but if he says no Shane might throw him out the window. So he makes a show of standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. "Exactly a minute."

Not even a chuckle.

But Negan's pretty sure what this is about, so he follows Shane into the empty stairwell. It's cold and dimly-lit and feels like something out of Resident Evil.

Shane folds his arms over his chest. "Lucille Dwyer. Dwight Carr. Those names ring any bells?"

Can Negan call it or what? "So you read my file. Stellar fucking police work. You also know being brought in for questioning and being charged aren't the same thing, right? It's important to me that you know that."

Shane dodges that conversational dart entirely. He moves closer, getting right up in Negan's face. "First Dwight, then Lucille, and now Rick. You think that's all a coincidence?"

Blood boils beneath Negan's skin. "How the fucking shit does your brain work? You were at the scene; you know I didn't shoot Rick, and if I hired the guy to do it, you would'a traced it down already. Don't be a fucking idiot."

Shane rubs his head. Again. God, it's a tic. And Negan can't stop waiting for the next one. "All I know is: death follows you, Negan. He got inside you back in Michigan, and he followed you here."

"You wanna phrase that a little better?" Negan's stalling, building a wall of jokes to protect himself from the accusation.

"I'm just sayin'. You're the common denominator in all this."

"Maybe I'm just an unlucky bastard. Why can't it just be that?"

"I don't want you around Rick's kids," Shane says.

The words hit Negan like a punch in the chest. Is this guy for real? "On what grounds? My criminal record is squeaky fuckin' clean. No arrests. No charges. I don't think a reasonable judge will accept 'bad vibes, bro' as evidence."

"Look at the tapes! Death nukes everything around you! Once is bad luck. Twice is a hell of a coincidence, but three? That's evil. Plain and simple."

"Jesus, his body ain't even cold yet and you're already countin' him dead," Negan growls. "Have some goddamn hope."

"Don't talk to me about hope." Shane's fist tighten at his sides. "I was the one who was there for Rick when Lori died. I helped him with the kids and dragged him out of bed when he didn't feel like getting up. I've been his partner for years, and you think you can just walk right in after a couple weeks and take my place? If you're so damn important to him, how come he kept you a secret all this time?"

"Maybe he thought you'd be an asshole about it. And, what do you know, he was right!"

"No, I wouldn't," Shane says, scowling sadly, like Negan's dug too deep and uncovered something no one's allowed to see, and Negan fucking gets it now, and, holy shit, this is kind of amazing.

"You got a big gay crush on ol' Rick, don't you?" Negan says through a laugh. "Not that I blame you one goddamn bit, but, c'mon, jealousy? Really? Shane, you're better than this."

"Shut your fucking mouth," Shane snarls. "You're way outta line."

"No, I think I'm perfectly in line. You never told him? Fuck, you know that 'pining from afar' shit only works in the movies." Negan's ignoring that he and Rick just ended up together, that neither of them actually gave voice to their feelings to get this relationship started. But Shane doesn't have to know that, so Negan can play the superiority card.

Negan snaps his fingers as though realizing something. "No, wait, I know why you didn't tell him. 'Cause it'd destroy you if he turned you down."

Shane grabs the front of Negan's shirt in his fists and pulls him closer. "Shut. Up."

"Are we gonna kiss or fight? 'Cause I'm getting' some real mixed signals here."

Shane shoves him away with a groan of disgust, doing that goddamn headrubbing thing as he paces the tiny floor. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Rick's never had a problem with my mouth." My God, Negan's brain shouts at him, just shut up for five seconds before you get your perfect teeth punched in.

Shane looks incensed, and Negan knows he has to talk him down before this comes to blows. "Alright, look, I know this has to suck some serious dick for you, but, like it or not, Rick chose me. He asked me to move in with him." Negan raises his hands as though warding off an attack, which is fairly likely with Shane. "Hold your fuckin' horses. I'm only telling you that to paint a picture. Rick was serious about this. At the risk of having a chick-flick moment here, he wanted me to be part of his family. And that means taking care of his kids like they're my own damn flesh and blood, which, as a matter of fucking fact, I am going to do. The only way you're gonna stop me is by killing me, and I don't think you really wanna do that. 'Cause when Rick wakes up"-when, not if—"he'll be fucking pissed."

"How do I know you're not bullshitting me?"

"Guess you'll just have to ask Rick. Oh wait. Can't."

"You think this is funny?"

"I think you're gonna have to try a lot harder if you want me to break my promise to Rick. I'm a man of my word."

The anger in Shane's eyes seems to dissipate, replaced by something akin to respect, or at least begrudging acceptance of Negan's role. "Rick has some real questionable taste in men."

"Rick, I know you can hear me."

It's around two in the afternoon, and Carl has taken Judith for a walk around the hospital to ease her boredom. Which leaves Negan alone in the room with Rick. Rick's not much for conversation, being comatose and all, so Negan fills the silence with soft words at Rick's bedside.

"Wake your ass up, okay? I need you here. Your kids are already driving me fuckin' bonkers. Carl treats me like I'm the goddamn antichrist, and Judith is too young to know what's goin' on. I can't keep tellin' her you're just sleeping. 'Cause pretty soon she'll wonder why Prince Charming doesn't come around and wake you up with a kiss. And, shit, I ain't him."

A beautiful woman—Rick seems to attract them in droves—comes through the door. She's dressed in red and black, her long dreads hanging freely over her shoulders. She sees Rick lying there, and her stern expression softens momentarily before she focuses on Negan.

"I don't believe we've met," she says, moving closer to Rick and taking his hand in her own.

"We have not."

She looks around the room. "Where are Carl and Judith?"

"Carl took his sister for a little stroll. She's a bit restless, but patience isn't a three-year-old's best quality."

A hint of a smile twitches on the woman's lips. "What's your name?"

"Negan."

She tilts her head, observing him there at Rick's bedside. "You two are close, aren't you?"

"Beautiful and perceptive," Negan says with a half-assed grin.

"Don't try to flatter me." She gives Rick's hand a little squeeze before tenderly placing it back onto the bed.

"How do you know Rick?" Negan asks.

"I'm a defense attorney."

"So you work on opposite sides of the law, huh?"

"Not entirely. But we made friends through his wife."

"Carl told you to come here, didn't he?"

She nods. "He's a good kid. He deserves better than this."

Negan isn't sure she's talking about him or the situation, but he says, "Yeah, he does."

Her gaze drops down to Rick again, to the man who brought practically the whole town together over his bed. "I'm Michonne, by the way. It's nice to meet the guy Rick took off his ring for."

Negan's a little stunned she was able to read him so easily. "How'd you figure that out?"

"You look like you're going through hell. I've seen that look on a lot of sorry faces."

"And how many of them were innocent?"

Michonne gives him a curious look. "Are you?"

"Far from it." As inane as it sounded at the time, Negan's starting to give too much credence to Shane's accusation.

Death follows you.

Would Rick be lying in this bed if Negan hadn't barged into his life? Impossible to tell. But he can't shake the feeling his influence inadvertently caused Rick to drop his guard in that fateful moment. Irrational, but there you go.

"Does Rick know?" Michonne asks.

"I told him everything."

And Rick shouldn't have stayed.

It only occurs to Negan after he's brought the kids home that Rick's house doesn't have very much in the way of food. He does the best he can, cobbling together enough ingredients for a decent soup. Carl and Negan don't talk to each other, but they do answer Judith's constant inquiries about Rick and why he won't wake up. It's the worst dining experience he's ever had—worse than the quiet, tension-filled nights when Lucille was sick and neither of them would address it, just buried their fears underneath stilted compliments about the food; Negan knows there are many more nights like this in store.

Judith won't sleep in her own bed, so Negan has no choice but to let her sleep in the master bedroom. There's probably something in the parenting books that says you're not supposed to do that, but, shit, the poor kid is only three and might end up losing her father too. If she wants comfort, she ought to get it.

Negan doesn't sleep well. Each time he wakes up, he makes sure Judith is still there and still breathing.

The next morning, Carol shows up while they're eating cereal and buttered toast.

"Why don't I take the kids today?" she offers, placing a gentle hand on Negan's elbow. "You look like you could use a break."

Negan shakes his head. "I'm fine and dandy. And what about you?"

Carol smiles weakly at his concern. "I'm headed there anyway. Sophia wants to see Rick. Figured I'd take the little ones off your hands for a bit."

Negan glances over his shoulder at the dining table where Carl and Judith are seated. He doesn't want to leave them if it's not necessary, but he has to go grocery shopping and stop back at his place for a suitcase of clothes—he feels strange wearing Rick's clothes—and it would be a nice breather to be alone—

Carol squeezes his hand, bringing Negan's attention back to her. "It's okay. We'll get through this, but we have to do it together."

"I guess I could... Look, I'm just gonna go to the store and pick up some stuff for dinner—"

"You're going shopping?" Carl says, his tone unreadable.

"Yeah."

"I'm going with you. Otherwise you'll get the wrong stuff. You don't even know what we like."

That's... not the reaction Negan was expecting. He's a little blown away by Carl's willingness to volunteer. "You don't have to—It's more important to be there for your dad. Just write me a list—"

"It's also important to spend time with him," Carol reminds Negan in a soft voice.

Seeing as Negan is the only male parental figure in Carl's life now—Jeez, what a sorry fucking situation for the kid—Carl probably wants to bond with him.

"Okay, kid, if you wanna come along, be my guest."

After Carol has taken Judith and Sophia to see Rick, Negan and Carl slide into the Impala. It's quiet for a moment until Negan asks, "So is there any place special you guys go? Somethin' tells me your dad ain't keen on dropping an entire paycheck at Whole Foods."

Carl shakes his head. "Just the Publix outside of town. It's cheap and fast."

"Hey, just like me," Negan chuckles. Carl is not amused, although Negan hasn't been able to make him laugh much anyway.

He gets them on the road, and he's tempted to fuss with the radio to disrupt the silence suffocating them, but he has kids now and shouldn't give in to the temptations of distracted driving.

Carl, as if reading Negan's mind, reaches out to turn the dial.

"Don't fuck with my stations, kid," Negan says, keeping his eyes on the road.

"It's Carl." He says it with so much determination it takes Negan aback. "If you wanna be part of our family, fine. But you gotta call me by my name. No more of this 'kid' crap."

Wow. Okay, fair enough. "Alright, Carl, don't fuck with my stations."

Carl does not. He does, however, press the preset buttons until he finds a station actually playing music. Judging by his expression, it's probably not something he enjoys.

"We're making a little pit-stop first," Negan tells him, since they're heading in the opposite direction of the grocery store. "Unless you want me to keep wearin' your dad's clothes."

"So you're moving in." Carl's voice has an edge to it, like Negan has somehow arranged this terrible clusterfuck of events solely for that purpose.

"Just 'til your dad wakes up. Then he can kick me out."

"He won't make you leave. He wants you to live with us."

"I know. He asked me to move in, but I told him to slow his goddamn roll."

"Why? 'Cause you're just screwing around with him?"

"'Cause he'd been drinkin', and I thought he'd regret it in the morning."

Carl is quiet, but he looks like he hadn't been expecting that answer.

They arrive at Negan's apartment. Carl looks around when they get inside, taking in the sad state of Negan's bachelorhood. "You have a ping pong table?" he asks, incredulous.

"Indeedy-fuckin'-do."

Carl has to notice the stacks of opened mail and magazines on said table, but he doesn't mention it.

"Make yourself at home," Negan says. "I'm just gonna grab a few things."

Carl just stands there in the living room, observing his surroundings. Negan ducks down the short hallway into the bedroom. He sees the bed before turning to the closet, and he's not thinking about the last time he and Rick were on that bed, how Rick felt around him and against him, how afterwards they were tangled up in each other and Negan thought that was just the start of something new and wonderful.

Fucking hell.

Negan throws open the closet door. He's being optimistic here, bringing only a small suitcase's worth of clothes like he's going on a weekend business trip, guided by his foolish belief that Rick will come out of his coma within the week. Because this is not the way Rick motherfucking Grimes is going to die.

When he's finished, he finds Carl in the living room scrutinizing the various knick-knacks on the fireplace mantle. His attention seems to be drawn to the small Death Star replica. "See somethin' you like?"

Carl turns around at the sound of Negan's voice. "I didn't know you liked Star Wars."

"Everyone likes Star Wars. I was about your age when the first one came out." Negan moves closer. "Check this shit out." He picks up the Death Star and toggles a switch on its base. It lights up bright red, reflecting a sinister glow off Negan's leather jacket.

"Cool," Carl says, impressed.

Negan holds the lamp out for him. "You want it? Might as well put something worth lookin' at in your room."

Carl lifts an eyebrow, his gaze flicking back and forth from the toy to Negan's face, like he thinks this is some sort of trap. "You've never even seen my room."

"My point still stands. But if you're gonna be a smartass—" Negan switches off the light and moves to put it back on the mantle, but Carl stops him.

"Wait, no. I want it."

Negan smirks and gives him the Death Star.

"Thanks." Carl turns it over in his hands for a moment before noticing the suitcase at Negan's feet. "That's all you're bringing?"

"I know how to do laundry. And if I need to, I can come back and get more of my shit. C'mon, let's go."

They load up the trunk of the Impala and head for the grocery store.

"So how'd you get into baseball anyway?" Negan asks, attempting a conversation. "Too scrawny to make it on the football team?"

"Yeah," Carl mumbles after a moment, folding his arms over his chest and slumping a little in the leather seat. "We used to go to Braves games sometimes when Mom was alive. I think she enjoyed it more than Dad. She'd watch games on TV all the time, even when they were for other teams."

This is an important moment, Negan realizes, because he remembers Carl getting pissy when Rick told him about Lori, like she was some Grimes family secret. He has been initiated, accepted into their clan.

"Your mom sounds like a real great lady."

"Yeah, she was."

It's interesting Rick never told Negan that Lori was a baseball fan, but maybe he didn't want Negan to feel like a surrogate, like they're only together because of how he reminds Rick of what he lost.

"What about you?" Carl asks in a rare moment of giving a shit about Negan.

Negan rubs his scruffy chin. "My dad was a hard-ass, and I wanted him to be proud of me. Like you, I wasn't cut out for football either."

"Was he? Proud of you?"

Negan considers that. "He once called me 'the little mistake.'"

Carl doesn't say anything, but Negan hopes the kid's thanking his lucky stars for Rick's parenting.

Inside the store, everything is bright and cheery and totally fucking wrong. There are pastel decorations strung above the aisles in anticipation of the upcoming Easter holiday, but celebration is the last thing on Negan's mind. Negan really hopes he doesn't see anyone he knows here, because if they haven't visited Rick already they won't know why Negan is suddenly Carl's temporary guardian, and he'd rather not have Rick wake up to learn the entire damn state knows about their relationship.

Carl leads him through the store, tossing items into the cart presumably at random, but there seems to be a method to his madness. Mostly sweet and salty things: potato chips, cookies, cheese crackers. They're in the pasta aisle when Negan asks Carl, "So do you just eat snacks, or..."

"I thought you were gonna make stuff."

"It'd be nice to know what you like."

Carl shrugs. "Hot Pockets, frozen pizzas—"

Negan cuts him off with a, "Nope."

"You're a dick."

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna make you eat kale or any of that rabbit food, but I can't in good conscience let you eat like a broke college student."

"Fine," Carl sighs, as though this is some great inconvenience. "But I don't like fish."

"I can work with that. What about Judith? I got lucky the last few times, but I don't think she's gonna be so agreeable for long."

"She mostly eats chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese. Or sandwiches, like grilled cheese or peanut butter and jelly. Easy stuff."

Negan should have made a list. Lucille had always been the one to plan ahead like that. After she got too sick to go herself, she'd give Negan a grocery list with the items arranged by section so he wouldn't get lost or waste time backtracking. And once she died, he never gave enough of a shit about himself to make plans. But he has kids now, and regardless of his shitty credentials they deserve someone who knows what the fuck he's doing. This is the point where he's supposed to excavate some untapped well of maturity and discipline that will make him worthy of Rick, of Lucille, of these two sad children in desperate need of someone to hold them together.

Negan takes his phone from his pocket and types out a short list with the things Carl mentioned.

When they reach the alcohol—that's not Negan's fault, it's right next to the cheese and refrigerated rolls of biscuits and cookie dough—Negan momentarily considers buying some, because, holy hell, could he use a drink. How nice would it be to fall asleep to a whisky lullabye and not be kept awake by worries of whether Rick will survive?

But he thinks about Carl and Judith, about how Rick had disappeared into a bottle after Lori died, and Negan doesn't want to be the shitty, drunk dad he had himself. As a parent you're supposed to do better. You can't take the easy way out, no matter how tempting. If Negan cheats, even a little, he's sure Shane will find out somehow and take the kids away from him.

At least then Negan won't have anything stopping him from drowning in booze.

He turns away from the glass case when he hears Carl puts something in the cart. A roll of cookie dough has joined the ranks, nestled between boxes of macaroni and slabs of frozen meat.

"Are you gonna make those or eat it out of the tube?"

Carl hesitates, like he doesn't know what the right answer is.

"'Cause if you're eatin' it outta the tube, sign me the fuck up."

Carl manages a tiny smile. Negan's considering it progress.

Afterwards, Negan drives them home, sipping an energy drink to keep him awake and alert. Stimulants, not depressants. He's sad enough already. He's parked on the street curbside of Rick's inviting home. Carol isn't back yet, judging from her vacant driveway. Negan stares at the house and tries not to think about how goddamn lonely it is without Rick.

"Hey," Carl says, snapping him out of his reverie. "Are we going inside?"

Negan considers this for a moment, tapping his fingers on the leather-bound steering wheel. "Your dad never taught you to drive?"

Carl shakes his head. "He was afraid something would happen to me."

Not an unreasonable fear, given the proclivity for teen drivers to multi-task while behind the wheel. That, coupled with losing Lori in a car accident—proving even a seasoned driver can still fall victim to someone else's poor judgment—must have scared Rick shitless.

But Carl is fifteen, and it's clearly a point of contention between him and his father and embarrassment among his peers. And it's not like Rick ever told Negan he didn't want Carl driving, so here's a chance for Negan to treat Carl like the adult which he is slowly becoming.

Negan turns so he's facing Carl. "Wanna take her for a spin?"

Carl's eyes go impossibly wide. "Your car? Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

"Dad would be pissed if he knew," Carl says, looking uncomfortable that he has to choose between his own natural desire to learn and respecting his comatose father's wishes.

"He's just afraid of losing you. But fear makes people pretty damn stupid. Besides, if he doesn't wake up—" Negan swallows against the way his throat tightens. "Somebody's gotta teach you. C'mon, just a drive around the block."

Carl succumbs to his teenage instincts. They get out of the car and swap seats. Carl fusses with the mirrors and pulls the seat forward. Negan draws in his legs as the amount of legroom diminishes almost instantly.

"Seatbelt," Negan reminds him, and Carl sighs around an, "I was gonna," before buckling up.

Carl gets them moving in a cautious roll down the street, and Negan realizes he's placed his life and general bodily safety in the hands of a fifteen-year-old. But he trusts Carl not to stomp the gas and kill them both. At least, not on purpose. But how much damage could the kid do here? Maybe knock over a garbage can? Hit a mailbox?

"You could probably go a little faster," Negan says, because they're rolling along at about one mile an hour, and, really, he could walk faster than this. He never suspected Carl would be an overly cautious driver. But his father's the sheriff, and his mother died in a vehicular accident, so it makes sense the kid would be wary of speeding.

Carl adds a bit of gas, just enough so they're under the speed limit, and halfway down the street Carl rests an arm on the door.

"Both hands on the wheel."

Carl does as he's told, looking like he's internally grumbling about Negan's safety precautions.

They reach a stop sign, and Carl knows enough not to slam the brakes, instead a steady press that rolls them to a stop. He must have taken cues from watching Rick.

"Your dad told me you got a girlfriend," Negan says. "Doesn't sound like he likes her too much."

Carl looks left and right then left again before they start moving again. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and all the cars are either out on the city roads or parked in driveways. "He said it was okay to go out with her. I guess he felt like a hypocrite saying no."

Negan works that one out in his head. "He means well. Even when he makes some total fuckin' bonehead decisions. You and your sister are all he's got."

"And you," Carl says, by which Negan is oddly touched.

"I wouldn't put myself on that list just yet." Rick never dated anyone before Negan, so it's very likely he's just conflating friendship feelings for romantic feelings, or at least treating Negan like a test-drive before the real thing eventually comes along.

But that hasn't stopped Negan from falling for him like an idiot.

Carl doesn't wreck or even momentarily endanger them, which Negan is grateful for—and actually kind of impressed by. He eases the Impala curbside in front of Rick's house, his only mistake forgetting to put the car in park. But he remembers immediately when it inches forward after his foot leaves the brake. It's not like they hit anything, though, so Negan's counting it in the win column.

"Not too fuckin' shabby," Negan says while they're unloading the groceries from the trunk. "Your dad would be proud."

"He'd be pissed."

"Well, that's why we're not gonna tell him 'til you get your permit."

"Are you seriously gonna teach me to drive?" Carl sounds simultaneously excited and saddened by this, because it should be something a father does for his son, but this is a battlefield promotion, and the position has been handed down to Negan instead.

"Until your dad does, yeah."

Carl fights a smile, his hair hiding his face as he leans forward and grabs more bags out of the trunk.