Chapter Text
“You got one of our guns.”
Carl meets Negan’s gaze, narrows his eye at the tyrant kneeling in front of him. The soft ‘woah’ that Negan huffs out almost makes Carl smirk, but he doesn’t, just keeps glaring.
“Yeah, you got a lot of our guns,” Negan continues, searches Carl’s eye for something other than hatred. When he comes up short, he leans a little closer, the beginnings of a smile stretching his lips. “Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little.”
Carl doesn’t cry, and Negan eyes him curiously for a few more seconds before he chuckles and moves on.
Carl stiffens when Negan makes his way over to Maggie, but he doesn’t act out like Glenn. No, he won’t make any stupid moves and get himself killed. He’ll kneel, still and stoic, and he’ll glare but he won’t try to be a hero.
“Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit,” Negan says, and Carl follows his eyes, sees his dad on the verge of tears, panting, swaying back and forth like a madman. Carl has to stop himself from rolling his eye at his dad’s weakness.
Negan catches Carl looking, and his eyes light up as he glances between the two of them. “This is your kid, right?” Negan points the bat at Carl, takes a few steps closer to him and laughs. “This is definitely your fuckin’ kid!”
“Just stop this!” Rick yells, and Carl closes his eye as Negan turns away. He mentally curses his dad for his stupidity, for doubting that Carl can handle this asshole on his own.
“Hey!” Negan yells, but the humor in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Do not make me kill the little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me.”
Carl snickers, feels Aaron’s eyes on him but he doesn’t take his eyes off Negan.
“I gotta pick somebody,” Negan glances back to Carl, smirking, “Everybody’s at the table, waiting for me to order.”
Carl watches Negan as he says his stupid nursery rhyme, swings his bat around, doesn’t flinch or falter as he focuses on the spikes of barbed wire standing on the wood when it’s pointed at him.
Negan stops on Abraham, and Carl doesn’t react when Negan talks about cutting his remaining eye out, doesn’t look away when Negan slams the bat against the top of Abraham’s head.
Carl watches, eye wide with morbid curiosity as blood and bone and brain mix in with the gravel. He memorizes the way the man’s body jerks, his fingers twitching where they rest next to the pile of gore that once was his head. Carl can make out part of an ear, some hair still attached to a larger chunk of Abraham’s skull, a few teeth. Blood drips off the end of the bat, skin clinging to the barbed wire. That’s Abe, that’s all of him, spread out on the ground in a mess of flesh. That’s the man whose arms Carl found refuge in when he was at his lowest. That’s the man who held Carl tight in his lap and pet his hair as they watched Rick commit a murder. Every thought Abraham has ever had, all of his memories, squished into the dirt.
How fucking fascinating.
Glenn is harder to watch, and that’s mostly because of the baby Maggie’s carrying, but Carl manages. Takes in the sight of his popped-out eye, the blood running down his face, the sound of him choking on it, gurgling low in his throat. He watches long after everyone else has looked away, as Negan continues to uselessly mash Glenn’s brains into the earth long after he kills him.
When Negan leaves with Rick in tow, Carl wants to get up and go to Maggie, comfort her, tell her that Glenn died so she didn’t have to, so her baby can live, but he doesn’t. Just stays put like everyone else, staring at the ground in front of him, aside from a few glances at Maggie to make sure she’s still conscious. It’s like he’s in a trance, like he’s watching the sun rise on a movie screen and not in front of his eyes.
Negan brings Rick back in one piece. Carl watches in disinterest and mild disgust as his dad is thrown onto the ground, Abraham’s blood still streaked across his cheekbone. Rick’s voice is shaking and Carl almost cringes. He’s too fucking weak to be in this position.
Carl peers up at Negan when he calls him, beckoning him over with a wiggle of his finger. He doesn’t move until Negan calls him a second time, the joking tone now lost from his voice. Even then, Carl sighs like it’s a nuisance, fixing Negan with a bored stare as he walks over.
“You a southpaw?” Negan asks, and Carl watches him tug off his belt with his empty hand.
“Am I a what?”
“A lefty,” Negan says, waiting for the answer that Carl takes his time in giving.
“No.”
Negan’s eyes widen, brows shooting up for a second, amused by Carl’s lack of fear. “Good,” he says, grabbing Carl’s left arm and wrapping the belt around it, pulling it tight.
“That hurt?” He asks as he secures the leather in place.
Carl tells him it doesn’t, watching, unsure of why the hell this idiot is tying a belt around his bicep. “It should,” Negan says, eyeing Carl carefully, “it’s supposed to.”
Negan tells him to get down on the ground, pulls the sheriff's hat off Carl’s head and tosses it behind him. Slowly, Carl lowers himself, the fire in his gut burning hotter when Negan pushes him the rest of the way. His pulse quickens a bit as he remembers the last time he was pushed onto gravel like this, what the last man to shove his face into the dirt did to him.
Negan asks for a pen, catches it easily when Simon throws it to him. He mumbles some shit about cold balls as he draws a line across Carl’s forearm in black marker, and that’s when Carl catches on. He remembers how Rick tied his belt around Hershel’s leg when it had to be amputated, realizes that’s Negan is doing, that he wants to cut Carl’s arm off. Rick starts whispering to Negan, pleading with him not to do it.
“Me?” Negan laughs, “I ain’t doin’ shit.”
He tells Rick to cut Carl’s arm off, threatens to kill more people, before Michonne speaks out. Carl shakes his head at her minutely, but she doesn’t stop, keeps talking. Negan doesn’t listen to her, and Carl vaguely hears him talking about a salami slice, about a doctor that will fix him up, but he’s not really listening, trying to process the fact that he’s about to lose his arm.
Negan starts counting, Rick starts crying. He picks up the axe, grabs on to Carl hand and yells, shaking his head.
“Just do it,” Carl says, twice, and Rick raises the axe. Rick clutches onto Carl’s hand but it feels far away, a faint tingling on his skin that he tries to chase but can’t quite reach. Carl braces himself, waits for the pain, but it doesn’t come.
Negan is talking again, and Carl realizes it’s not going to happen.
Daryl is thrown into a van, Negan makes more threats, calls Rick a little bitch (and Carl has to swallow down a laugh at that), and then they’re gone.
Maggie says they have to get ready to fight, and Carl looks over at her from where he’s seated on the ground. He guesses he should be sad, about Glenn at the very least, but he isn’t. As he looks around at his friends, Carl realizes something.
He’s the only one who didn’t cry.
Carl’s in awe as his eyes scan over the saviours, all kneeling on the floor below him and Negan. Negan tells him it’s respect, but Carl knows it’s really fear. It’s cool all the same, thrilling to be standing above this sea of followers, even if it’s not him they’re kneeling for.
Negan’s harem is shocking. A dozen or so women, all Negan’s wives. Negan tells him he can look at their “titties”, and Carl raises his eyebrow, deciding to keep his lack of interest in the female body to himself. He wonders why Negan is willing to share with him, though, when right after he’s scolding one of his wives for cheating.
Daryl comes in and Carl decides it’s good to see that he’s alive and well. He finds that he doesn’t really care, but he knows he should, so he tells himself it’s good. Daryl asks Negan why Carl’s there, like it was Negan’s doing, like he thinks Carl can’t make his own decisions, take care of himself. Just like everyone else. Negan makes some empty threat about sticking a toothpick in Carl’s eye, and he laughs, can’t help himself. Daryl looks at him oddly, and Negan laughs too.
Next, Negan takes him to his bedroom. It’s nicer than Carl expected, clean and well decorated. They sit in chairs across from each other, a table in between them.
“I want to get to know you a little better, Carl,” Negan says, resting his elbows on his knees.
Carl asks why, gets a spiel about how smart he is. It’s something Carl doesn’t hear from anyone, and it makes him feel good, proud even, until Negan tells him to take his bandage off.
“No,” Carl says, scowling at Negan.
“Two men!” Negan yells, and Carl flinches, just a bit, “Two. Fucking. Men. Punishment. Do you really want to piss me off?”
Carl wants to tell him he’s not afraid, but knows that his life currently rests in this man’s gloved hands. So, he reaches up, starts unwinding the bandage. Once it’s off, he lets his hair cover the wound, but Negan quickly tells him to move it, so he does.
“Christ!” Negan exclaims, “that is disgusting! No wonder you cover that shit up. Have you seen it? I mean, have you looked in the mirror? That is gross as fuck. I can see your socket!”
Tears burn in Carl’s eye, not because his feelings are hurt, but because he’s mad, at Negan for trying to make him feel bad, and at Ron for shooting him.
Negan asks to touch it, then he notices the tears and starts to apologize. Carl tells him to stop, and Negan studies him for a moment.
“All jokes aside, you look rad as fuck. I wouldn’t cover that shit up. It may not be a hit with the ladies, but I swear to you, no one is gonna screw with you looking like that,” Negan says with a grin, “So, how’d you end up lookin’ like that, huh?”
Carl glares, doesn’t say anything.
Negan sighs, leaning in closer. “Answer me. You get shot?”
“No shit,” Carl says.
Laughing, Negan shakes his head. “I like you, kid. So, who did it?”
“Someone I used to know,” Carl shrugs, “his name was Ron.”
“Was?” Negan inquires, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s dead.”
“You kill him?”
Carl rolls his eye. “No, I was a little busy getting a bullet removed from my skull.”
Negan’s demeanour changes, humor seeming to fade, being replaced with curiosity. “Who was Ron? A friend? Enemy?”
Carl sighs, looking down at the table for a second, before he meets Negan’s eyes again. “My boyfriend.”
“Huh,” Negan chuckles, nodding, “I knew something was up when you didn’t jump at the chance to see my super fuckin’ hot wives naked.”
Carl doesn’t really know what to say, though so many thoughts wait on the tip of his tongue. He could tell Negan that he didn’t love Ron, was only with him because it was convenient, normal, what he was supposed to do. He could tell Negan that he didn’t want to see one of those women naked because he didn’t want to see anyone naked, not even a guy. He settles on muttering, “I’m not gay.”
Negan smirks and Carl can feel his amusement. “Right,” he says, nodding once. “Tell me about your family,” Negan orders, leaning back in his chair, a neutral expression taking over his face.
“You’ve already met them,” Carl monotones. It’s a statement that he only partially agrees with himself.
Negan chuckles, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh, your real family. Your blood. Where was your mom that night? No fucking way the black one is your mom, unless you’re adopted.. Are you adopted?”
“No,” Carl mutters, “my mom is dead. Died having my sister. I shot her before she turned.”
“Damn,” Negan’s voices softens and Carl wants to hit him, let Negan know that Carl doesn’t need his fucking pity. “No wonder you’re a little serial killer in the making.”
If only you fucking knew, Carl wants to say, but he bites his tongue.
“I’ve got a proposition for you, Carl,” Negan says, standing up. “You’re a smart kid. You’re tough as fuck. I juiced the heads of two of your friends and you still ain’t scared of me. Your dad was seconds away from chopping your arm off, at my command, and it still didn’t break you. No, shit, nothing can break you, huh?”
Carl shrugs, watching Negan circle him. He’s wrong. Negan can’t break him because he’s already broken. “You know what I’m thinkin’, Carl?” The man leans in closer, whispers into Carl’s ear, “You know what I want from you to make up for the people you fuckin’ killed today?”
Carl clenches his fists to hide the way his hands shake as he’s reminded of a man holding him down, breathing right into his ear, telling him to stop squirming. He tries to focus on the memory of his dad stabbing the guy in the stomach instead, his insides slipping out of bloody slits in his shirt.
“I want you to work for me,” Negan says, taking a step back. He grabs his bat from where it stands against the table, swings it up and rests it against his shoulder. “I think you and your man-sized balls could make a fucking great leader someday. I want to train you, whip you into shape, have you work for me. My second in command, maybe.”
Carl looks at him incredulously, tamps down his excitement, because he can’t be serious. Asking a kid he knows nothing about to work so closely with him? It doesn’t make sense.
“So? What do you think?” Negan asks.
He’s towering over Carl, so Carl stands up, glares at him. “I know what you’re doing,” he says, crowding Negan’s space, “you want me to say yes so you can use it against my dad, but I’m not going to walk into your trap. What you’re really gonna do is kill me or lock me up like Daryl. I’m not stupid.”
Negan grins, puts an open palm against Carl’s chest and shoves him back down into the chair. He tries to stand again, but Negan stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t make offers like this, kid. Ever. If you don’t accept, I will kill you. Having you as a prisoner would be useless. You’d cause a whole lot of fucking trouble, I know it. It would be a waste of damn time. I’m not trying to get you to betray your old man so I can rub his face in it. You’re valuable. You’re an asset.” Negan sits on the table so he’s just above Carl’s eye level. “I don’t have kids. I need a fuckin’ heir to this shit. And you know what? I think we’re the same in a lot of ways. You think like me. You ain’t afraid to get your hands a little bloody. You don’t have a guilty conscience. You’re cut the fuck out for this. You could fill my shoes.”
Carl blinks at him, says, “you’re serious,” and though it’s more of a statement than a question, Negan nods.
“I.. Yeah,” Carl nods, “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Really?” Negan asks, grinning. “You won’t miss those sorry fuckers back home?”
Carl shakes his head. “No. I don’t need them. It’s better to play for the winning team, right?”
“Damn right, kid,” Negan chuckles, standing up. “Get up. We gotta pay a visit to your family.”
“Rick! It is great to see you!” Negan greets, an arm around Carl’s shoulder.
“Carl,” Rick whispers, looking between his son and his enemy, taking a step forward.
“Ah!” Negan stops him, pointing his bat at Rick. “This little badass here hopped into one of my trucks and killed two of my men with a big ass gun, all in an attempt to take me out! Can you believe that? What a fucking kid you’ve raised, Rick!”
Rick’s eyes are wide, mouth open, and he’s looking at Carl like he’s grown a second head. “You did what?”
“If it were anyone else they’d be six fucking feet under by now, but I like Carl. I like him so much that I made him an offer he couldn’t possibly refuse.” Negan takes his arm off of Carl’s shoulder, nods at him once. “Go on, tell daddy dearest what we talked about.”
Carl stares into his dad’s eyes and doesn’t feel a thing. “I’m leaving,” he says, eye flickering to Michonne, who’s now standing just behind Rick, “I’m going to work for Negan. I’m going to be his right hand man.”
Tears well up in Rick’s eyes and Carl sighs, though he expected it. Rick feels too much. Carl knows he would to, had he grown up in a normal world. He considers himself to be the lucky one.
“Why?” Michonne whispers, taking a step closer. She goes to rest a hand on Carl’s shoulder but he steps back.
“Life will be better for me there,” Carl says, “I’d be stupid to say no.”
“He killed Glenn, Abraham..” Rick says, furrowing his eyebrows, “he killed your family.”
Carl rolls his eye. “That was on you, dad. Rick. You’re the one who decided to kill all those people,” Carl takes a step closer so he’s almost chest to chest with his dad, standing at his full height. He’s small, shorter than Rick and almost everyone else, but there’s fear in his dad’s eyes as Carl glares up at him. “You got them killed. Maggie’s baby isn’t gonna know it’s dad because of you.”
A crowd is starting to form around them, but Carl doesn’t look away from his dad. People are whispering but he doesn’t care. “Fuck family, Rick. You couldn’t protect mom. See this?” Carl brushes his bangs to the side, catches Rick’s flinch as he looks into Carl’s empty eye socket, “Your plan ended with this. You remember what happened that night on the road, after the prison? ‘Cause I sure as hell do. You couldn’t protect me. So I’m protecting myself now.”
Carl steps back, sees Aaron watching with tears in his eyes, Father Gabriel shaking his head sadly, Rosita glaring at him, other people he never learned the names of watching the scene unfold. Olivia is standing near by with Judith, and he walks over to her, takes the toddler out of her arms. She lets him, eyes wide, fearful.
“Hey, Judy,” he says, bouncing her gently.
“Call!” She yells, smiling wide at him, grabbing on to the brim of his hat.
“I have to go away for a while, sweetheart,” Carl says softly, watching his sister’s face drop, along with her hands. “You’ll be a good girl, right? I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.”
Judith frowns, looking at Carl with watery eyes. “P’omise?” She whispers, head tipped to the side.
Carl nods, lifting a hand to brush it through her hair. “I promise, angel. You be good for mom and dad and Olivia, okay? I love you.”
Judith nods, presses a sloppy kiss to Carl’s cheek. “Okay, Call. I love you too.”
Carl smiles at Judith as he hands her back to Olivia. He makes his way back to where Negan stands in front of the truck.
“Well, let’s go pack you a bag and get the hell out of here,” Negan says, so Carl leads him in the direction of his house. What used to be his house.
Inside, he grabs a backpack and shoves what little clothes he has into it as Negan walks around, examining the house. Carl hears occasional laughs and exclamations over the sound of his boots tracking through the building.
From the bathroom, Carl grabs a few pieces of gauze and a new bandage to cover his eye with. He’s not sure if he’ll use it or not, not sure if he’ll get in trouble for it, but having the option soothes some of his nerves. Negan can tell him it looks badass all he wants. It won’t make Carl feel any better about it.
Carl almost brings the picture of his family, the one from before all of this, the one he and Michonne risked their lives to get, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes it to Judith’s room, leaves it in her crib. She deserves to know what her real mom looked like.
When he’s done, Carl finds Negan standing in front of his dart board. He winks at Carl before he puts a hand in front of his right eye and throws a dart, hitting the bullseye on his first throw. Carl scoffs, rolls his eye and tells Negan he’s finished.
“Alright!” Negan grins, descending the stairs with an excited hop in his step. Carl follows, though he lacks the overdone enthusiasm.
Rick and Michonne are still standing in the same place, but they’re talking now. Carl barely catches Michonne suggesting that he’s planning something. Carl smirks but doesn’t tell her that she’s wrong, decides to let them think whatever they want to make themselves feel better.
“You ready, cowboy?” Negan asks, pulling the bag off Carl’s shoulders and tossing it into the truck.
Carl nods, rounding the truck and climbing into the cab without another word to his family. As they drive through the open gate, Carl watches in the rearview as Rick falls to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.
There’s a room set up for him at the Sanctuary, across the hall from Negan’s. It’s just as big as his but aside from a bed and a dresser, it’s just empty space. The floor is concrete, as are the walls. The bed is dressed in white, from the sheets to the pillowcases. It’s all bland, but Carl can’t really complain. It’s so much better than the pile of blankets on the floor that he slept on back in Alexandria.
“We’ll work on getting some furniture in here,” Negan says, standing in the doorway, “Anything specific you want?”
Carl shakes his head, drops his backpack onto the bed. “This is fine.”
Negan raises an eyebrow, shrugs, but doesn’t push it. “C’mon, we got a bit’a business to take care of,” he says, heading out of the room.
Carl follows him down some stairs and through mazes of hallways and wonders if he’ll ever be able to find his way around on his own. They stop at a door with a piece of paper with ‘INFIRMARY’ scrawled on it in black marker tacked into the painted wood.
“Doctor is here,” Negan says, tapping Lucille against the wood softly, “he’s a damn good one, too. You need anything, he’ll take care of it, all hours of the day. How’s that eye, by the way?”
Carl shrugs. “It’s fine. Healing.”
Negan nods. “Good. Think we’ll get him to check you over tomorrow, make sure you’re healthy. You’re not living on points like everyone else, though I‘d keep that between us for now,” Negan says as they continue on, “you go in there and bitch about being in pain and you’ll get some good shit. Save that for a rainy day, though.”
Carl rolls his eye but doesn’t speak.
Negan brings him to the armory next. The woman standing guard kneels as they approach, watching Carl carefully. Negan nods at her and pushes the door open, revealing a room filled with more guns than Carl could count, ammunition, knives, swords, explosives, fucking slingshots, everything Carl could imagine and more.
He’s given a knife and a gun. It’s just a pistol, but it’s better than nothing, feels good to have a weapon in his hands again. Carl puts them in the holsters on his thighs, the ones he hasn’t taken off in years, even when he didn’t have anything to put in them.
“Alright, kid. It’s almost time for dinner. Your training officially starts tomorrow, so you can do whatever your cold, dead heart desires tonight,” Negan chuckles as they leave the armory, “There’s a bar downstairs.. how old are you?”
“Sixteen, probably,” Carl says, following Negan down another hallway. He officially has no idea how to get back to his room.
“Eh, you’re old enough,” Negan decides, waving a hand dismissively.
The mess hall is busy when they arrive. It doesn’t take long for Negan’s presence to be noticed, and once it is, everyone gets down on their knees. Carl looks around curiously, can’t help himself. All of these people kneeling, just from Negan’s presence.
“As you were,” Negan orders, and the saviors stand, chatter resuming like nothing happened.
“Well, kid,” Negan claps a hand on Carl’s shoulder. His eyebrow shoots up when Carl flinches, but he doesn’t ask. “Make yourself at home.”
With that, Negan leaves him, alone in a crowd of strangers. They stare him down as he passes, but Carl doesn’t falter, just stares right back.
There’s a short line up along metal food warmers at the far end of the mess hall, people slowly making their way down, taking scoops of food as they go. Carl joins them, picking up a plate from a stack. There’s all kinds of food; pork and chicken, an assortment of cooked vegetables, rice, soup, bread. More food than Carl’s seen in months. Carl takes a small scoop of rice and a piece of bread, knows he can’t stomach much more than that after years of on and off starvation.
There’s so many tables, and almost all of them are occupied. Not full, there’s plenty of empty chairs, but he has a feeling he’s probably not welcome to sit with most of these people, not after the entrance he’d made, killing two saviors.
Carl finds an empty table off in the corner, so he takes it. He’s nibbling on the bread when he hears the chair across from him scrape on the concrete floor.
The man with the half-burnt face, Dwight, slides into the seat, sets a plate full of food down in front of him. He’s looking at Carl, at his missing eye.
“Damn,” he mutters, picking up his fork and knife, “that’s ugly.”
Carl scoffs. “Like you can talk.”
“That all you’re gonna eat?” Dwight asks as he slices a piece of chicken, “you’re scrawny as shit.”
“What do you want?” Carl asks, setting the bread back down on his plate.
Dwight raising his eyebrow. “You looked lonely.”
“So you thought you’d bless me with your great company?” Carl rolls his eye, leans back in his chair.
Dwight just shrugs, “in a place like this you need friends. People to watch your back, at least.”
“I can handle myself.”
Chuckling, Dwight shakes his head. “You don’t know even know what you’re dealing with.”
Carl glares at him. “I know that there’s worse. I’ve lived through enough shit to know that there’s a lot worse out there than what’s in here,” he says bitterly.
Dwight raises his hands in surrender and starts eating without another word.
Carl finds that, for the most part, he’s lost his appetite. He pushes the rice around his plate a bit with his fork, but doesn’t eat any of it, manages to get down half of the bread before it feels too heavy in his stomach.
“You really not gonna eat?” Dwight asks, something like concern wrapping itself around his words.
Carl stares at him blankly. “It’s hard to eat when Freddy Kreuger is sitting across from you.”
“Fuck, when did Mike Wazowski get so mean?”
Carl chokes out a laugh at that, can’t help himself. “Fuck you,” he retorts, smiling.
When he’s done eating, Dwight doesn’t ask before leading Carl back to his room, knows that there’s no way he’d find it on his own. They walk slow, Dwight points out odd colored doors, paper signs and other landmarks Carl could use to find his way around. Though he won’t say it, Carl is grateful.
“Negan got anything lined up for you tonight?” Dwight asks as they walk down the hall that leads to Carl’s room.
Carl shakes his head. “He told me to do whatever.”
“What are you gonna do?”
After thinking for a second, Carl shrugs. “Sleep. Maybe shower, if that’s an option.”
“Bathroom’s right there,” Dwight says, gesturing at the door next to Negan’s.
Carl nods, eyeing Dwight carefully for a second. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“No,” Dwight admits, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lighting one up, taking a long drag. “He wants you to work for him, I’m guessing. And you don’t seem to be putting up a fight.”
“Yeah,” Carl says, hesitantly accepting the cigarette when Dwight offers it to him. “I don’t feel bad about leaving my family, except my sister. My dad looked so betrayed, but I don’t care. Is that bad?” Carl takes a pull from the smoke, resisting the urge to cough when he breathes out. It burns his chest, but he doesn’t mind, enjoys the headrush the nicotine gives him.
“Probably,” Dwight shrugs, “but in this world you gotta look out for yourself. You already know that, though.”
A burst of static comes from the walkie-talkie that’s strapped to Dwight’s belt. A woman’s voice comes through, but Carl can’t make out what she’s saying.
“Coming,” Dwight says into the speaker, and Carl takes one more drag of the cigarette before he hands it back.
“Goodnight,” Dwight says, offering Carl a small smile, “if you get your hands on a walkie-talkie, mine’s always on channel eleven when I’m here.”
Carl returns the smile, nodding once in agreement before pushing open the door to his room.
Kicking off his shoes, Carl shoves his backpack onto the floor, tosses his hat down next to it and collapses onto the mattress. He’s fucking exhausted, feels it in his bones in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since waking up in the infirmary with his eye missing and only real friend dead, since lying helplessly on a gravel road listening to his dad gut the man who assaulted him, since shooting his own mother in the forehead.
Carl crawls under the plush blanket and falls asleep.