°˖✧✿✧˖°

Carl Grimes could still smell the ash of what once was his home. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see the fire and smoke engulf the Atlanta Prison. Being left on his own was one thing, but his mind continuously replaying the sounds of his family screaming for their lives was another.

He wasn't too sure what transpired that fateful day he lost everything. It was mostly a blur, which wasn't uncommon for him. The first time this happened was when his father got shot. All he could remember was leaving school excited to show his mom the test he acced. Waving to her as he was completely oblivious to the amount of police cars in the parking lot. He couldn't even remember the words. Only how his mother went to her knees so they would be at eye level saying his father was in surgery. Blacking out and coming to when he sat at his father's bedside.

Then the next was when the world came crashing down. One moment the twelve year-old was drawing a card to put in his father's hospital room, and the next he was sitting in bumper to bumper traffic trying to get into the Atlanta refugee centre.

So it was truly no wonder why the latest incident occurred. One moment he had a shotgun in his hand as his father tried to talk to some potential raiders, and the next his home was up in flames.

After what felt like hours, though it was probably only moments of searching, he had no choice other than to flee. Leaving behind the place his family worked so hard to create, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a glock with only a few bullets remaining. Only with the memories of his fallen family and his sheriffs hat to remember any of them existed.

Carl quietly placed his bag over his back as the sounds of movement occurred on the floor below. With head on the door he could faintly hear a few male voices followed by cabinets and doors being opened.

The now fifteen year-old was kicking himself for deciding to make the large house his base for the night. He should've gone near the lower income side of town instead of the large townhouse he currently hid in.

He spent weeks searching for his family, even going on a wild goose chase to some place called Terminus, hoping his dad and sister would be there. Only for it to be completely destroyed by the time he arrived. Which in all honesty shouldn't have surprised him considering the place was basically asking to be raided with all their advertising and signs telling people to go there.

So being on his own the boy decided to try and survive. Carl's mother said he was going to beat this world so he would at least try for her. Though now he was mentally slapping himself for what he had just done.

Even if the slums had more food, due to that being in the original owner's price range of canned goods, the richer houses had much comfier beds. After a good few days sleeping in cars he gave into his cravings and found refuge in a massive mansion a little ways off the highway. Though now Carl hoped that goose feather pillow was worth whatever was in store for him.

Carl swallowed a large chunk of air as he debated on his next action. It had been weeks since he'd seen any people and well over a month since he'd seen any trustworthy ones. Creeping over towards the window the boy peeked out to see a group of at least eight. His body started to tingle in fright when he noticed the large uhaul one person was leaning upon.

The shaggy haired boy pressed his nails into his skin in order to stop himself from reacting when he saw the abundance of guns they carried. He may have been well acquainted with the weapons, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell when he was beat.

So with shaking hands the teen moved away from the window and fixed his sheriff's hat as he tried to think of what to do next. Jumping out the window wasn't feasible anymore and just walking downstairs was plain stupid. For a number of reasons.

You couldn't trust people. Everyone is in it for themselves and the ones who have people to fight for only care about them. Being alone in a world like this was a death sentence, but being a teen alone in a world like this... well you'd wish you were dead.

Men only want one thing and without the laws keeping them from taking it... you get the idea.

So Carl grabbed his almost empty gun and rolled under the bed as a means of protection. Even if he didn't believe in any religion he started to pray to his mother that the men wouldn't find anything worthy and just leave.

"Check all the rooms. I wanna bring as many mattresses back home. Some of my wives are complaining about the quality of 'em," he heard one man call from downstairs.

"Yes, Sir," Carl's eyes slightly widened when the door to his hiding place was opened. Another reason Carl wasn't religious anymore.

Throwing his free hand over his mouth, Carl muffled his breathing as footsteps could be heard. Watching the two sets of wet shoes stepped on the carpet. The raining exterior from outside was still sticking to their jeans as they came closer.

It took all of Carl's energy not to react once the mattress was lifted up. Though silent swear words came out with what be heard the men say next, "Should we take the box spring as well?"

The other person shrugged, "Might as well."

Carl's heart started to beat in his throat as the men lifted up his hiding space, shit. "What the hell-?!" They didn't get to finish their sentence before the boy was already up and sprinting out of the room.

People started to call out to one another as he went as fast as he could, "Was that a kid?"

"Grab him, what the fuck?!"

With tears in blurring her vision he ran across the second floor and straight into a person's chest. Jumping back the Grimes boy was met by a larger man probably over six feet, in a black leather jacket. Not so silently screaming at the sight of the bearded man's bloody bat covered in what looked to be barbed wire. Walker blood or human it didn't matter, he wasn't going to stay long enough to ask.

So when the shocked man tried to reach out for him, Carl sidestepped around him and made it to the stairs. Sitting on the railing and sliding all the way down before booking it towards the door.

A few steps from the door a man was able to grab the teen by the straps but that wasn't enough to keep Carl from a fate worse than death. Slipping his arms out of the straps he kept on running out into the rain, no jacket as the covers he was in kept him cosy.

Another high pitched scream escaped the boy's lips once he noticed all the people outside. Five trucks in total surrounded the subdivision, which mustn't have been visible from his window. People, men and women carrying similar weapons all stared at him before shouting could be heard inside the mansion.

Everyone gave similar expressions of shock at the sight of a child. He obviously knew that kids were hard to come by these days, he'd seen them die first hand. Speaking of hands when it came to kids his age back at the prison the boy could only count the amount on his hand. They were as rare as gold in a diamond mine.

They didn't even take him as a threat, even as he held a gun in his hand many didn't bother to raise their own. Carl was no threat. A gazelle to a pride of lions.

Being so focused on the lot of at least thirty to fifty people, a pair of hands suddenly gripped his shoulders. Carl screamed in fright, flailing around as the man told him to stop, "Alright now, kid. Calm down. We ain't gonna hurt-" he didn't get to finish as he wacked him with the side of his glock.

That's when people started to raise their weapons. The leather jacket man held up a hand and demanded them to hold their fire as Carl ran to the back exit. Jumping the fence he went through the backyard, even with the many now chasing after him.

The puddles seeped into his converse as he tried to get away. The poor fourteen year-old practically had to jump over massive puddles in his attempt at living. If only the rich bastards that lived here before didn't have a pool that stretched the entire property.

"Whoa!" Carl skidded to a sudden halt as the empty space where water should have been blocked his escape.

The man behind him slightly chuckled, making him snap his head back. People followed the man with the bat inside the property, flanking Carl on each side as he stood there frozen. Watching as the people listened to the man's silent command, lowering their guns with only a wave of the hand. He was no doubt the leader of this large crowd.

"Now I think you've been a little dramatic, young man. Aren't you cold?" He, along with his men, snickered.

Carl raised his gun at the man and tried to act tough, "Stay back. I mean it," his words mimicked what his father used to sound like when he was alive.

The group all cocked their own and raised them at the boy, but the leader didn't take any notice. Instead, the man with the bat only smirked at him as he watched the way Carl looked him in the eye. Keeping his gun firmly pointed at him.

Looking the boy up and down he asked, "Have you ever held one of those before, kid?"

Carl's brows lowered as the man couldn't help but chuckle at him. Maybe if his father was around he would have been more calm during the situation, but as the man continued to taunt him he felt his rational side melting in the rain.

"Oh I'm sorry if I offended you, sweetheart, but... is it even loaded?" He tilted his head.

That seemed to be the final straw as Carl pointed his gun in the air and pulled the trigger. The man took a step back in shock as Carl was suddenly charged at. Three men grabbed him and threw him to the pavement as another two pointed their weapons at his head.

Carl let out a few noises as he tried to move, "Get the fuck off of me! Now!" He demanded as they forced his hands behind his back.

The man only chuckled as he moved closer. Gently taking Carl's gun and looking it over, "Damn. This is nice... and well kept," he let out a small whistle. "You know how to clean a weapon?"

"I know how to do a lot of things, asshole!" Carl grunted as his face was pushed back against the wet pavement.

The man waved his hand and made his men put their guns down as he moved closer. Crouching down to be at Carl's eye level, though once he grabbed his hat Carl started to fight back once more, "H-Hey... hey don't touch that! Give it back!"

The leader flipped it over a few times to properly inspect the hat before glancing back at the teenager, "Your daddy a sheriff?"

Carl only glared at him as he continued to hold onto the only piece he had left of his father. Remaining quiet as his captor sighed, "So is he around? Were you waiting for him?"

The boy tried to keep his glare proper, not give the man with a bat any advantage, but the moment his father was mentioned Carl lost it for a second. Even if it was only a second, a second was all he needed to see.

With a small sigh he motioned to the men still holding Carl down, "Sit him up," which they quickly did. Carl gave a small grunt as the man started to dust him off. "Sorry about all, but you kinda just shot a gun in my presence. So," he placed Carl's hat back on his head. "You understand, eh?"

"What are you like a king or something?" The boy glared at the man.

The King gave a chuckle, "Something like that, boy. Something like that."

Carl continued to glare at the leader, finaly getting a good look at him. He looked very different from the others he'd come across. The man had very prominent muscles underneath his white shirt, making his many tattoos curve. Physically strong. In his late forties or early fifties he couldn't tell. Clean. Not a spec of dirt present on him beside the blood from holding his bat.

A leader. A survivor.

The longer he stared at the smirking man the more frightened Carl became. He had the sense of power radiating off of him, the sun to the solar system. People were hanging off of every word he said like gospel. Not knowing what was what was worse, the fact he was pointing a gun at the powerful man or that he seemed so normal. No scars, no missing limbs and no evil intentions. Nothing like the people his family had fought in the past, "Look just take the stuff in my pack and I'll leave. It'll be easy and no one will get hurt."

"Oh but someone was already hurt, kid," the leader smirked. "My pride was hurt. It was hurt unbelievably."

"I don't want any trouble," Carl told him.

Though he only chuckled, "If that's the case you probably shouldn't have shot your gun in the first place."

Carl, with nothing to lose tilted his head, "Or I probably should've pointed it at you."

The man blinked a few times as the air went silent. As the teen glanced around he felt his stomach drop, though he didn't show it, as the many people holding weapons watched in fear. As if they were waiting for their leader to react badly.

Which was probably why all their eyes widened in surprise when he started to chuckle. At first it was small, before becoming much more like a cackle than anything, "This. This is why I fucking love kids!" He pointed at Carl and continued to laugh. "You don't fucking care. It's amazing. God I'm surprised any of you still exist. You're like a goddamn serial killer in the making!"

"Fuck you," he responded coldly.

Making the man put his finger up, "Don't get snippy with me, boy. My kindness only goes so far," Carl simply continued to glare at the man holding him hostage as he played with his barbed wire bat. "You know... even with that stink eye I'm feeling inclined to offer you a job."

"A job?" Carl couldn't help but ask.

He nodded, "You see all these fine people? They work for me," the man gave the boy a glance. "There's a reason for that."

Carl just stayed still as the man smirked once more, "Say Sheriff, when's the last time you ate a hot meal?"

Carl just stared at the man as he tried to think, but in all honesty he couldn't really remember. With the weather still being a little damp he struggled to light a fire. Not that he felt comfortable doing so on his own, out of fear of both the living and dead.

"What about a decent sleep? Some clean clothes? A shower even?" Carl didn't move as the man jokingly slapped his shoulder.

Instead the teen glanced around the group and took a moment to study them. Most seemed to be rather well kept. None of them were covered in a layer of filth and the men all had well groomed faces. As well as their clothing seemed fresh. Not all of it looked new but none were carrying the massive amounts of holes his own was.

God, he must've looked so feral towards the group. Being restrained as his grimey appearance sneered at the more civil scavenging team.

Turning his attention towards the leader he simply asked, "How many walkers have you killed?"

A question that caught the man with the bat off guard, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Walkers. The dead ones," Carl repeated himself, "How many have you killed?"

The man gave a small chuckle, "Does it matter?"

"To me? Yes," he gave the man a look. "My dad taught me three simple questions could determine if a person was good or not. So how many?"

The leader gave a sigh as he played with his bat, "Fine. I'll humour you. I've killed a shit ton."

"How many people have you killed?" Carl didn't break eye contact.

A few members of the leader's group suddenly chuckled at the question, though he simply shushed them, "Gentlemen, please, please. This young man asked a question," he turned back to Carl. "Of course I could lie and say that I haven't hurt a soul. But... What's one of our rules, men?"

The man smirked as the lot all spoke in unison, "We don't lie."

Carl's brow raised as the leader flashed his teeth, "We don't lie. No sir-rhee! And I have killed a lot of people. The number... depends on who you ask and I don't feel inclined to give one as I'm not too fucking sure myself," he shrugged. "And this third question?"

"Why?"

"Why?" He repeated him, "Well that's easy. They didn't play by my easy to follow rules, I needed to make an example or they simply were not worthy of breathing anymore. Is that good enough for you? Did I pass your daddy's three questions?"

The teenager never broke eye contact with the man as he pondered his options. As of right now they seemed rather slim but they still made him wonder, "No. Not yet."

He gave a rather mocking frown, "And what other thing can I say to make me a 'good person', huh?"

"One more question. What's the catch?"

"The catch?" He raised his brow.

"The catch," Carl sneered. "Why would you want me to join your group? There has to be an ulterior motive of some kind."

That made him slightly chuckle, "Nothing gets past you, eh?" He clicked his tongue, "Okay I'll level with ya'. The catch is you come with me willingly."

Carl's face twisted like his arms did in the leader's men's grip, "The hell'd you say?"

He shrugged, "Look Kid, I'm all for free will and shit but I have limits. When I look at you, you know what I see? I see a man. A man who knows how to handle himself and survive out in this shit storm with a rather fucking well cleaned gun. I see a survivor."

Carl cringed as he poked his face, "But, I still have some of the old ways in me. You may be a man in my eyes but the civil side that I can't let go of sees a boy. My heart can't let a kid go off into that shit storm by himself."

He then got to his feet as he signalled the others to let go of Carl's arms, "So here's my proposal, young man. You stand up and come with me back to my main base and we get you some clean clothes and a plate of my piping hot spaghetti in that empty stomach. How does that sound?"

The teen stared up at the hand awaiting his one as he pondered what to do. Though as his stomach growled Carl ignored any signs of doubt and grabbed the man's hand, "That's it, kid," he helped Carl stand up before properly introducing himself. "The names Negan."

"Carl. Carl Grimes," he mumbled his name as the man, Negan chuckled.

"Well Carl Grimes," he placed his arm around the boy. "Welcome to the Saviors. You're gonna love it."

•••