Chapter Text
“You’re overcompensating on the left.”
He shoots yet again.
Shit- that was even worse.
“...and now on the right. ”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do this when you’re standing there breathing down my neck?”
Negan scoffs. “Yeah. Cause if a walker is coming at you he’s going to take into account your fuckin’ feelings.”
They’d been out here all afternoon. Truth be told, Carl has no idea how he ended up in this situation. Negan had seen the dart board in his room, realized just how off his shot was since he’d lost his eye.
"Don't rag on my dart board, Negan. I relate to it." Carl had told him as revealed his other scar from when he was shot the first time, showing that he, too, looked like bad target practice.
"You're got serious issues kid, you know that, right?" Had been his response. Negan had then asked him what Rick was doing to help with his aim, and Carl just looked at him like he had two heads. That was the only answer Negan needed, and he’d given him a radio that same day.
And somewhere along the way- Carls not sure when, exactly- things had changed between them. Because inexplicably Negan suddenly trusts him with a gun around him. He seems to know Carl isn’t going to kill him. Or, shit, maybe he just thinks Carl is really that bad of a shot.
And so here he was, out near a collapsed barn about fives miles from Alexandria, attempting to hit something. Anything . So far his aim hadn’t improved one bit and his irritation with Negan was at an all time high. The mans been sitting on the bed of his truck, drinking straight from a bottle of Crown and giving him rather unhelpful advice all day.
"Alright, alright. Hold on."
Negan leans over in the bed of the truck and after some shuffling seems to find what he’s looking for. He comes back with an AR with a scope on it and hands it to Carl who takes it rather gruffly. Negan grabs it back almost immediately.
"First off. Drop the fuckin’ attitude. You're actin' like a pissy teenager and I expect better from you."
Carl just folds his arms."I am a pissy teenager."
"Well it's affecting your shooting. So fix it. Right now.”
“Uh, no, the fact that I’m missing a fucking eyeball is affecting my shooting.”
But Carl knows he’s right, and Negan seems to know that as well. He finally hands him the AR.
"This thing is accurate as fuck. The red dot sight on it is going to be your best friend. That fat chick in Alexandria could mow me down with this thing, easy peasy."
"Olivia? She’s dead. Arat killed her."
"Shit really? Was too worried about her almost shootin’ you. That was an oversight on my part. Should have told her to shoot anywhere but exactly where she shot at.”
“Surprised you care.” Carl says, clearly still annoyed.
“Care enough to be out here right now with you.”
Well- Carl can’t argue that.
"What's the point of me using the sight? So I can rely on it and then when I don't have one I'm just as terrible of a shot as I was before?"
“Listen kid. Anyone can shoot a gun. It’s not fucking rocket science. But good shooting is done through feeling. It’s like a, uh, relationship you have with your gun. You need to rebuild that relationship again. Your pissed because your aim is off. I get it. It’s not the guns fault, though. So right now, I need you to shoot something that you’re gonna enjoy shooting. And you’re gonna enjoy that gun.”
When Carl raises the AR and actually hits the target he looks back at Negan with a huge grin. He can’t help it. Negan doesn’t say anything, just nods.
The sight is ridiculously accurate. And Carl is truly enjoying it.
He doesn’t go crazy. He takes his time, pops off a few shots, slowly, but hits it every time. It’s a hanging metal target suspended by some frayed old rope so once he’s shot it it starts to move slightly, and even while it’s moving it’s still fairly easy.
He looks back at Negan after a few shots because he knows better than to waste ammo on target practice like this.
“What the hell ya waiting for?” Negan asks, confused.
“I don’t want to use all your ammo on nothing.”
Negan shrugs. “You’re not gonna use all my ammo. I brought enough to have out here for us to have a fuckin’ field day . Have at it. Have fun. Just, you know, don’t shoot me.”
Have fun. Carl hasn’t been told that for as long as he can remember and especially when it comes to guns. But, whatever, he’s game to use up the Sanctuary’s ammo.
He does have fun. He actually has the most fun he’s had since the fucking end of the world started. Hanging out with Negan, the sun on him, sipping a shitty old Coors. It’s fucking fantastic.
Negan adds more and more targets as he goes on, makes him get further away, makes him lay in the grass like an idiot with him and stand in the back of the truck in the bed and use the cab to steady himself. He still hits it almost every time regardless of where they go or what they do.
“Okay. Gimme. Time for this to go away.” Negan says with a grin after a bit, taking back the AR.
Carl takes a drink of his beer, knowing he’s going to need it. It’s warm and flat and Carls not sure why people like this shit, but his malnourished self with zero alcohol tolerance is starting to feel just a little buzz.
“Cool, now I can suck again.”
Negan looks over at him with a fierce glare that actually stops Carl in his tracks.
“You know, you get that piss poor attitude from your father. Here we were, havin’ fun , and now you wanna suck the fun out of it. Not cool, kid.”
Carl nods, realizing that he’s right, and reaches out to take the gun.
Negan sees the way he goes tense, how his stance is now completely different, how he’s already lost that confidence he had gained. Sees how everything Carl does is an act, just like himself. And suddenly he wants to know the real Carl, not just what the kid is putting out there for the rest of the world to see.
He goes behind him, his hand going to rest on his hip lightly, and his other forming around his body so that he can guide him in his shot. Carl doesn’t shy away.
“Relax.” Negan says in his ear. “You’re overthinking. Just… feel it.”
Carl tries. He really does, but it's still in his head that he can’t shoot for shit. He misses, just as he expects.
Negan doesn’t move away from him. He takes his hand and covers Carls with his own, and if anything he gets closer. It should feel strange, threatening even, being in such close proximity to him.
It doesn’t. At all.
He smells intoxicating. It’s a mix of everything he shouldn't have in life. The cigarettes on him, the liquor on his breath, the leather of his jacket, mixing in with the sweet gunpowder smell. It’s all just…good. The hand on his hip gets stronger, pulling him in even more, and even though he shouldn’t want it there he finds that he does.
“Relax.” Negan says again into his ear, whispering, his soothing voice rolling over him and making him actually relax. “You know how to shoot. You did this for years before you lost that eye. Just feel it, okay? Just feel it, you got this kid.”
Carl pulls the trigger with Negans words still running through his head. He had been a good shot, a long time ago.
When he hears the tell tale ping that he’s hit the target he’s in shock.
“Holy shit.” Carl says under his breath in disbelief. “Holy shit, I did it.”
Negan steps back and just looks at him proudly, a huge grin on his face. “See? I knew you could.”
Immediately he misses the mans presence against his body, even if he knows he shouldn’t.
"Now do that again, but without me." Negan tells him.
Carl nods and shoots. And misses. He shoots. He misses.
Negan comes over again, makes the smallest adjustment. Has him dig the rifle into his shoulder just a little more.
"You got this. You're the kid who fuckin’ snuck into my home and gunned down two of my men without batting an eye. You’re a badass.” Negan tells him again in his ear before stepping away. "So take a breath and just shoot."
Carl does. And when he aims this time and shoots he hits the fucking target.
"That's my boy!" Negan exclaims from behind him with genuine excitement. Carl turns to him with what feels like the biggest smile he's had on his face in years, taking a step towards him.
Negan closes the distance between them, his ĥands grabbing Carls arms as he almost scoops him up in excitement. It happens naturally, both of them caught up in what just happened.
"I can't believe I actually hit that!"
"Of course you fuckin' did."
Carl smiles up at him, a huge grin still on his face, when he realizes how close they are. Negan doesn’t let his grip up, just looks down at him, returning his stupid ass smile, looking proud as fuck.
Carl had waited a long time to see that look on his dads face- he never thought in a million years he’d get the validation he’d been seeking for so long from Negan of all people.
***
An hour later finds them sitting in the bed of the truck cleaning their small arsenal. Carl feels lighter than he has in a long time. The man had been right. Since Shane and his dad had taught him how to shoot all those years ago it had become part of his identity. He was a good shot, could protect himself and the group.
After he lost his eye he also lost that part of him. He never thought he’d get that back. He thought he’d be a liability for forever, instead of an asset to everyone like he knew he could be. And that, in a world that revolved around survival, was a feeling he had drowned in. He felt like Negan had given him air, had let him get that side of himself back.
He’s happy. He’s happier than he’s been in a long time. He isn’t sure how he feels about Negan being the source of that.
“Fuckin’ hate the smell of this shit.” Negan mumbles out about the Ballistol. Carl shrugs. He’d been around it for so long that he barely noticed it. It reminds him of the prison, and his mom.
The man watches as Carl disassembles the KSG in front of him like it’s second nature. He’s without a doubt faster than Negan at it, clearly he’s been doing this for years. That’s what makes Negan finally voice a question he had been wondering.
“How old are you even, kid?”
“Eighteen." Carl replies, not looking up from the KSG. "Or I will be, in a few days.”
“How…you all have a calender over in the burbs? Of course you do.”
Carl nods. “The two people who started Alexandria..they were there from the very beginning. So, yeah, they knew the date and everything. It’s on a white board in the armory and Olivia changed it every day. Someone else does now, I don't know who it is, but it seems accurate. Honestly no one pays much attention to it, but.”
“So what the fuck is the date? I don’t even know what fuckin’ year it is.”
“Today? June 22nd. Or around there.”
There’s a pause before Negan speaks again.
“You have plans for this birthday comin' up?”
“I don’t know.” Carl shrugs and grins. “You tell me, Negan.”
***
The day of Carls birthday dawns stormy, but it’s hot as fuck as it always is. Judiths woken up early by the thunder, so Carl gets her and takes her down to the couch to cuddle with her, hoping she’ll fall back asleep. Which of course doesn’t happen, so he supposes he’s starting his day at 4:30am.
He’s playing blocks with her when his dad finally makes his way down. Carl hadn’t meant to, but his attitude towards the man had been rather short since he’d overheard him talking to Daryl recently about a run him and Michonne had gone on.
“It was nice, I’ll admit it. Bein’ out there, just me and her. Didn’t wanna come back. I mean, there’s nothing but bullshit here to deal with, y’know? Out there, things were just simple. Just us two. She had to convince me to come home.”
Carl of course knows what his dad had meant, but he still can’t help but feel cold towards him. That apparently him and Judith are bullshit.
“Big day today.” Rick tells Michonne at breakfast. Carl looks to his dad, surprised he remembered, until-
“Daryl and I are gonna go hit that barn past Springfield. Been eyein’ it for some time. We think there’s definitely somethin’ there worth going after. Have a good feeling about it.”
Carl immediately feels childish for thinking his dad would remember something as insignificant as his birthday.
He shoves his breakfast down fast and silently, and goes to find the radio Negan gave him to firm up their meeting spot today. He doesn’t want to think about the feeling of disappointment that's settled in him over something so ridiculous.
***
When Carl jumps into Negans truck it's like he can finally breathe. He takes his bandage off, because it had been bothering the hell out of him all morning.
"So how does eighteen feel?" Negan asks him with a grin, grabbing a box of .22 out of the back and some magazines that Carl knows he's supposed to fill on the way there. They'd developed a routine, and Carl finds that he likes that. That he likes routine, something predictable.
"Feels like seventeen did. Feels like everything else did. World went to shit when I was ten, and it all just stopped mattering after that, y’know?" Carl says with a shrug.
Negan nods, because he does know.
"Well, something tells me you haven't been a kid for a long time."
Carl thinks back to Hershel's barn, all those years ago.
‘No more kid stuff.’
And yet, he feels like his dad is always shoving him to the side and treating him exactly like that. He’s getting addicted to Negan, to the way the man almost treats him like an equal, as someone who’s been through shit and has valuable experiences to contribute.
A lot of things run through his head. His dad getting shot, realizing what was going on with his mom and Shane, getting shot the first time, Sophia, killing his mom, the run in on the road with those terrible men and watching his dad literally rip a throat out for him, then almost getting fucking barbequed. Thinking Judith was dead. Losing his eye. That night in the Clearing. His Sanctuary kamikaze spree.
It’s dizzying almost when he thinks about it at once. He takes a sip of his flat Coors that's been sitting in Negans truck for entirely too long.
"No. I really haven't."
***
“Alright. You can’t laugh.” Negan tells him once they've arrived at their usual spot.
“At what?” Carl says nervously, unsure what the fuck the man is planning now.
“At this.”
Negan pulls a box out from behind him. Carls not sure if it's going to be a bomb or a tiny Lucille, but either way he's worried.
“Happy birthday.” The man says with a grin.
Carl takes it, rather hesitantly because, well, this is Negan. He opens it slowly to find….some sort of tiny cake. A… cupcake?
Carl- of course- does indeed laugh. “What…what is this?”
Negan is grinning maniacally at him but he throws a hand up at Carl's reaction. “You said you wouldn't laugh!”
“How can I not laugh at this?”
“Well, fuck you. I tried.” Negan says with a huge grin. Carl can’t deny that.
“You did.”
Negan grabs a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it, and holds it up to it like a deranged birthday candle.
At first, Carl thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s seen in his entire life. But then he goes quiet, and just stares at it for a moment.
“What..?” Negan asks, put off by his silence, visibly deflated a little at Carl's reaction.
Carl looks at him and just shrugs lighty. “This is just… the nicest thing anyones done for me in a long time. A really long time.”
“It’s a deformed cupcake and a cigarette.” Negan says flatly but Carl sees a ghost of a smile on his features now.
“You tried.” Carl says with a grin, taking the cigarette from him.
“I certainly did.”
***
The rest of the day passes in a glorious haze of beer and assault weapons that Carl probably shouldn’t be using while under the influence, but he reasons he’s already lost an eye and what are the odds of losing two? If he shoots Negan, well, so be it.
"I'm sweating like a whore during confessional. How the fuck you still wearing that flannel?" It's hot as fuck, summer being in full swing and the afternoon sun beating down. They're laying next to each other in the bed of the truck working on distance shots and passing a bottle of Jack back and forth. Carl has a good buzz going, and he's feeling rather good.
Carl shrugs. "I don't know if you noticed this, but I'm like the whitest person alive. Keeps the sun away. I’d actually die if I was out in it too long."
Negan hums out in agreement but then looks over at him again. "Y'know- I already saw them."
"W-what?" Carl knows exactly what he's talking about, but he still plays dumb.
The scars, all over his arms, that he's hid fairly well all these years. That's what the man is talking about.
But Negan just continues to stare at him. Carl gives in. Maybe it’s the alcohol making him talk.
"When?"
"Oh I don't know,” He starts thoughtfully. “-maybe when I was about to chop off your arm?"
Oh. Carl suddenly feels like an idiot. He shakes his head at him, because the memory is absolutely so ridiculous.
"When did it start?" Negan asks him gently.
It's a question Carl would usually shrug off, but for some reason he feels like he can't hide anything from Negan. He takes a sip of Jack and hands the bottle back. He has the alcohol tolerance of a toddler, so sipping Jack straight out of the bottle isn’t his greatest idea, but whatever. It’s his fucking birthday. He can do what he wants.
"Right after my mom." He doesn't feel the need to elaborate. Negan knows he killed her and that was enough for now.
"Yeah, that'll do it." The man says softly.
But a little while later Carl gives in and finally takes off that damned flannel. Negan just grins like an idiot at him, knowing anything he wanted to say was better left unsaid. No bandage, no stupid flannel hiding all those scars.
Carl should feel exposed, with the things about him that he'd been trying so hard to hide for all these years out there for Negan to see. But it's Negan, and something about him puts him right at ease.
It's a good day. The sun comes out, Carl gets sufficiently drunk and trips over an old car bumper on the ground and laughs for a solid five minutes as he lays in the grass where he fell while Negan throws peanut shells at him from the truck.
"You alright down there, gimpy?"
"I’m not gimpy. I lost my eye, not my legs, fuck face." Carl tells him, still laughing, his words slurring together.
"What a mouth you got on you, boy." Negan says in mock surprise.
"You love it."
Negan looks down from the truck at him rather fondly.
"I do." He says with a grin.
Carl stares up at him from his spot on the grass for entirely too long. Stares at his stupidly white teeth, at the way he's grinning maniacally at Carl. He’s too drunk to realize that the man is absolutely staring back at him.
“When walkers start to rot and get too skinny why don’t their clothes fall off?” Carl asks him at some point from his spot on the ground.
“What?”
“They’re literally rotting pieces of flesh. Wouldn’t their pants all just… fall off? It doesn’t make any sense, Negan.” He waves his hands in the air drunkenly to prove his theory like it makes all the sense in the world.
Negan sips his Crown. The kid has a point.
Wisely, he stops trusting Carl with all the deadly weapons at that point. Carl falls asleep in the grass for a bit, and Negan just sits and stares at him, still sipping from his whiskey bottle. Carl doesn't wake up until Negan launches another peanut straight at his socket, which is a dick move. He shoots up in a huff wondering where the hell he is and why he has so many peanuts on him.
Once Carl sort of gets his bearings Negan hauls him up to the bed of the truck with him and they end up just filling magazines and talking about things they missed about life before, like the movies and tacos. There’s a point where Carl’s too drunk to even do that, and he laughs and nearly rolls off of the truck when he can’t even get a bullet in the magazine.
It’s one of the most amusing things Negan has ever seen, and half of him wishes he could just bottle up drunk Carl and keep him for entertainment at the Sanctuary. He’s carefree and happy, for once. It’s an entirely different side to this boy who he’s starting to become addicted to.
It gets late too fast, and Carl also feels like he gets sober too fast. His dads words come back to him.
Nice to be out there away from all the bullshit.
It was.
Except the man he’s sitting next to is in fact the bullshit his dad had been referring to, while that same asshole served as Carl's reprieve.
Carl wasn't sober enough yet to wrap his head around that one, so he just stops thinking.
“Well. We better get you home so Ranger Rick can dote on you all night, birthday boy.” Negan announces, interrupting those thoughts.
Carl huffs out a strangled laugh.
“What?”
“Oh he has no idea todays anything other than just…normal. I probably won't even see him.”
Negan just stares at him.
“I don’t expect him to know.” Carl says in a rush. “No one pays much attention to the date anymore. It’s not important, it’s just kind of…there.”
“It’s your birthday. Your eighteenth birthday. It is important.”
Carl shrugs.
"Well. You have a good day?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I really did." Carl's one eye lights up suddenly. "The cupcake!"
Clearly he still has a small buzz going on.
"It's not a cupcake. It's just a…small cake!" Negan defends himself as Carl goes to grab it.
"Negan…that's literally the definition of a cupcake, you asshole."
The man rolls his eyes. "See now, I had one more gift for you, and you're making me regret it."
Carl perks up immediately and suddenly actually looks his age versus someone who's had the troubles of the world on his back since he was ten.
"What is it?" He asks, his one eye so aglow that Negan couldn't deny him this even if he wanted to. He’s cute as fuck when he’s excited.
Negan pulls out a small Walther handgun and gives it to him.
“I don’t like droppin’ you off and havin’ you make that walk back to Alexandria by yourself. So. That’s yours to keep. But- you let anyone find out that I’m playing favorites though and that goes bye bye right away.”
Carl grins at him and doesn’t even try and hide his excitement. Fuckin' adorable, Negan thinks.
“Really?” But then Carl catches himself and shrugs. “I mean, you know you’re just giving me back what you stole in the first place.”
“Watch it kid.” Negan says with a laugh, while he throws a box of .22 at him. “Pushin’ your luck, now.”
***
The ride back is silent, but not in a bad way. In a very comfortable way.
Carl starts to recognize familiar landmarks and knows they’re about to be back to where Negan usually drops him off at. He suddenly remembers his bandage. He pulls his flannel back on and searches for the tattered gauze in his pocket. He doesn’t miss the look Negan shoots over at him. It's some strange mix of almost sadness and anger that makes Carl stop for a second.
Once they've stopped Negan looks over at him and does this weird little grin. Carls well aware of the shitty job he's done with the wrapping.
“Here. Let me help you. You look like a deranged one eyed squirrel.” Negan laughs. Carl rolls his eye but moves a little closer.
The hand that brushes over his face is gentler than he expected. It’s nice. Something he feels he could get used to. That he’d like to get used to.
“There.” Negan says softly once he’s wrapped it better.
“Do I look less like a deranged squirrel now?
“Eh. Jury’s still out on that one kid.” Negan says, a hand going to his mess of hair and ruffling it ever so slightly.
“Thanks, Negan. Today was…”
Negan just nods. He doesn’t need Carl to finish what he was about to say.
“See you soon, kid.” He says with a grin. Carl goes to get out, and that’s when Negan finally breaks.
“Fuck it.” Carl hears Negan mumble from behind him. He feels a hand on his arm and turns around to see Negan leaning towards him, and before he knows it the mans lips are on his and he’s kissing him and holy fucking shit he had absolutley not been anticipating the day ending this way at all. Before Carl can even react- before he even knows what’s happening- Negans already pulling away with a grin.
“Sorry.” The man says with a smile, running a hand down his face. “Couldn't help myself any longer.”
Carl shakes his head and grins at him. “You…don’t have to apologize for that.”
“Good. Good. Now go have a good birthday kid, alright? I’ll radio you later?”
Carl nods and gets out of the truck, his head on a totally different planet.
***
“Carl.” His dads voice pulls him out of his trance a few hours later as he’s sitting with Judith on the front porch. It’s dark, and she’s asleep in his arms. Probably because the little heathen had woken up at four fucking thirty.
He jumps and is suddenly convinced that Rick knows about the Walther he has hidden in his waistband.
Rick just sits down next to him silently.
"Happy birthday." Rick says softly to him. Carls actually startled by it. He decides it's best to play dumb.
"Oh- is it?"
Rick just nods. "Saw the date when we were just in the armory."
"Oh. Well- I. Thanks." He stumbles out.
"I'm sorry I wasn't around today.” Rick says softly, reaching out to run a hand through Judith's hair. “Tryin’ to do the best I can for you two, but…”
Carl shakes his head. "I didn't even know, it's no big deal."
"No, it is, though. I've been distracted lately. And I'm sorry."
"It's fine, dad. I…” Carl pauses, wondering if he should go down this road. “I…actually had a really good day today."
“Yeah? Well, good." Rick's face genuinely lights up. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Wanna go on a run? And afterwards Michonne wants to make you dinner. Whatever you want."
"Sure. Yeah. That'd be great."
"Y’know, it feels like you've been eighteen for a long time." Rick tells him after a pause. “Your mom would be proud of you.”
Carls not sure of that. Especially after today. So he settles on avoiding it.
“I miss her.” He says softly.
Rick nods. “I do too. Best gift you could have given her though, is taking such good care of your sister, you know that?”
Carl genuinely smiles. It’s one of the most heartfelt things his dad has said to him in a long time, and it does make him feel better.
“You knew it was your birthday.” Rick says suddenly. It’s not a question.
Carl just nods, but grins at him. Shit.
“Yeah, you’re a terrible liar. I really am sorry. You had a good day, though?”
“I did.” He did.
“Good. Tomorrow. What do you want Michonne to make you?”
Carl thinks on it for a minute. “I don’t know. Spaghetti?”