Chapter Text
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The moment he opens the RV's door it hits him, even before he lays a foot on the ground. The smell. Protector. Scared. Familiar. Human. Soft. Brave. Warm. You see, the thing with smells is you don't process them like sight, there is no order to it, smells come with memories and impressions. He squints his eyes and scans over the group of people kneeling before him.
The most conspicuous member is the one he first lays his eyes on, the tall man with ginger hair. He's not the boss, though, he can see that. He looks too cocky. Immediately after, his gaze travels to the black woman with long hair. She's on her knees, like everyone else, but her posture does not convey surrender, she's almost standing up, her head levelled towards him. She looks fierce. She could very well be their leader, but he ponders it is unlikely for her to be called "Rick".
The smell is mixed with gun powder, with sickness, and walker guts.
"Which one of you pricks is the leader?"
Simon answers immediately. "It's this one, this is the guy."
It's still there though, underlying the others, he just can't trace it.
Negan sighs. Definitely there. He assesses the man. Rick looks tough, solid. He's scared (which means he's not stupid). But there's fire in his eyes yet. He's measuring him, he realizes. Measuring them all, just like Negan is doing with his group, studying their surroundings. Calculating. Looking for a way out (there isn't a way out).
He keeps talking, reciting a speech he's given before (new world order, give me your shit, I'm gonna beat the holy fuck fucking fuckety fuck out of one you... the classics). Half his mind is there, half of his mind is trying to pin down the scent.
He walks around them, slowly, theatrically. There is Pathetic Looking Guy on the right, there is Pretty But Sick Girl in the middle, there is Pretty But Sick Girl's boyfriend on the left (judging by how worked up he gets about a simple little comment about her, Jesus), there is Sad Looking Girl, there is Sick Looking Vest guy, with his Hell Angels kind of vibe, and there is the girl with the delicate factions but the military style, pretty badass if you ask him. There is a boring dude next to her, and then there is the kid.
He's not really a kid, but the word "man" doesn't come to you when you look at him either. He doesn't look much. Skinny and jagged. The ridiculous hat covers some of his face, the bandages cover even more, and the hair doesn't help either. He registers that there must be something wrong with his right eye. This isn't a kind world for kids (this isn't a kind world for anybody). Not that he really cares anyway.
He hasn't met this people before. His nose is fucking him up. Like a deja-vu, when you're sure you've already lived something but in reality it's just your brain having a short circuit.
Back to business. It's the ginger dude who gets the golden ticket. He can feel them all vibrating with anger and impotence, he can hear their crazy heartbeats, like little rabbits. So cute.
“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start..." he is almost pissed he can't place the smell, it's so familiar, it's just there, just out of his reach "You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry... hell, you’re all gonna be doing that.”
He rises his bat. He lowers his bat. Ginger falls to the ground as he is hit and one of the girls whimpers. He's a tough guy, he gets back up, blood trickling down his forehead.
"Oh! Look at that! Takin' it like a CHAMP!"
He laughs, and as he is about to raise Lucille again, as he hears his own laugh, and Ginger mumbling, and Sad girl weeping,... He remembers.
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He's running away. As much as he would like to think he's just running, he knows he's running away. Barely any moonlight filters through the dark clouds to clear his path, but it matters little, for he doesn't know where he's going. The dirt sinking under his paws is comforting, he can focus on that, and on the smell of the rain that is coming, almost managing to drown that of the walkers (almost). It's easier not to think when he is the wolf, but deep down, he knows he'll have to go back. And then he'll have to think about the fact that he's alone now.
He sprints through a field and lowers his pace as he starts passing trees that get gradually more and more dense. The air brings the smoke of a camp fire somewhere not very far, and he slightly deviates his path. He doesn't know what kind of survivors they are, and he doesn't want to find out. The living can be scarier than the undead.
Focused on the sounds and smells of the forest, he doesn't see the ring of iron under the leaves. The trap closes its jaws over one of his hind legs, and the momentum of his own body carrying him forward makes it pull on his flesh in a horrible way. A loud whine scapes him without his consent. He can feel the metallic teeth piercing trough muscle and pressing against the bone. It hurts. It fucking hurts. He tries to twist his body to inspect the damned thing but the movement makes it pull again and the pain is excruciating. He can start to smell his own blood, drowning everything else around him.
He knows that if he turned back to his human form, he could use his hands to open the device, but the pain is clouding his mind too much to focus enough to actually do it. Even if he could manage, it's also possible that he would sever his leg in the process.
The wolf does not know time, so it could be seconds or an hour that he spends there, his brain struggling to find an escape, his blood slowly dripping down his paw and into the ground. And then something brushes against a bush just a couple of meters to his right. He snarls in the direction of the noise, instinctively, even though he knows by experience that walkers don't react to threats.
A shape emerges from the thicket, and for a moment the wolf is as still as if he was part of the landscape. The boy (because it's clear now he's not a walker) gasps when he spots him and backs away with a jolt.
For several seconds, they just stare at each other, both of them shaking. The boy's heart is beating a mile a minute, and he looks like he'll run away in any moment. And that's when he hears them. Walkers. It may have been the blood that alerted them, he realizes. The boy hears them too, judging by the look on his face, and by the way he turns away from him. The wolf attempts to pry his leg free again, although he knows it's futile, and just ends up hurting himself more. The boy looks back at him at the sound of his cry, his eyes following the lines of his body till they reach the trap and he understands. He sees the doubt in his round eyes turn to determination as he digs in his jacket.
For a moment, he's convinced the kid is going to pull out a gun and put him down. He's infinitely glad. It's a better prospect than becoming a rotten thing, with yellow eyes and putrefied blood dripping from his fangs (like they did).
The kid pulls out a hunting knife though, with a thick blade. He would have preferred a bullet, but beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. The boy rises an open hand towards him, while he clutches the knife in the other.
"Easy..." he whispers "...easy boy, it's alright... Don't... Don't bite me... Easy..."
He would laugh at being spoken to like a dog, in other circumstances, but he can hear the walkers closing in and he wants the little serial killer to do his job quick. He just tries to give him his most non threatening look.
The boy walks past his head and the wolf is suddenly puzzled. Then he hears metal grinding against metal. The kid is prying the trap open with his knife. It's not going to work. He holds his left hand against his flank, for support, but seems to realize just a second too late that pushing against the animal just makes the procedure more painful. He absently caresses his fur, as if apologizing. Warm, the wolf thinks. The kid grunts while he struggles against the thing. And somehow... it works. There's no way the little human can fully open the mechanism, that's for sure, but he can pull the iron jaws apart as much as the width of the blade, and the few inches are enough for him to wrench his leg out of it. Each metal spike embeded on it carves a crooked groove down his skin on the way out.
The walkers are just behind the closest line of bushes, they've got to get out fast. He turns to the boy and growls low on his throat. His small hand reaches for the knife, but the wolf pounces on it, closing its mouth on the air right next to his fingers and snarls, saliva dripping from his teeth. He gets the reaction he was looking for as the kid scrambles back to his feet and makes a run in the same direction that he came from.
For a strange second, the wolf wants to follow him. For a strange second, he feels a physical pull, a different kind of pain, at the sight of his back disappearing between the branches. But he shakes it off and springs into a quick pace, as quick as he can manage with a limp, in the opposite direction to the one the boy took. His blood would just lead the walkers towards their camp anyway, he thinks. He's returning him the favor in a sense, taking them away.
When the rain finally starts falling against his back, hours later, he misses the warmth of the little hand.
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Negan stares at the kid now, he looks different, he's grown up. But that's what kids do, right? He's taller, slender, and although his face still has a certain softness to it, it is much thinner and more angular. But he hasn't only grown up physically, there's something deeper that seems different. His eyes, sorry, his eye, reflects something older than his face. This world does that to you, Negan thinks, you gotta grow up fast, there is no time for innocence.
He realizes he's standing with Lucille half risen, that his men are expecting him to finish the ginger guy. He looks at the man, at the blood running down his face. He'll have a cranium fracture and a hell of a scar at the very least. At the worst, the one blow might have caused severe brain damage and he'll die. No. He should stop that train of thought. He said no exceptions.
Still, he looks back at the boy. He's holding himself pretty well, considering, but his trembling lip betrays him. He does look the same now, for a second, scared and brave at the same time.
He owes him.
Negan grinds his teeth. He did say no exceptions, and he hates to contradict himself. First impressions are important, after all.
He fucking owes him.
"Good news boys! As I'm feeling incredibly magnanimous today, and I really, really like you Rick, I've decided to give you all a second chance. I've just thought of a proposal for you!"
If his men are taken aback by the unusual curse this is taking, they're smart enough not to show it.
"We'll do anything, you don't need to kill anyon..."
"Shhhh shh shh shh I didn't tell you to speak Rick. If you open your lips again without me asking a question, I'll make you swallow your own teeth and then I'll finish up your friend here." he lets that sink in for a sec and then tries him again. "Okay?"
Rick blinks, and Negan thinks disappointed that he'll actually have to kick his teeth in, but the man recovers himself and croaks an "Okay" in a deep, raspy voice. His face doesn't look like he's okay with anything that is happening.
"That's more like it!" Negan's happy tone makes some of them visibly shudder. "I love it when we all just cooperate! We'll get on so well. Let's see how you do with this one: How about..." he smiles and makes a big gesture with his hands like presenting a plate "... the kid comes with me, and in exchange I don't make your friend into scrambled brains?"
The anger in Rick's face is just delightful. He goes to open his mouth but Negan jumps in. "Caaareful there Rick! Think it over. You don't want to fuck up again so soon do you?" Rick closes his teeth, shaking. "Didn't fucking think so, nope." Negan smiles from ear to ear.
"I understand, you're concerned about the nature of this proposal, I get it. So let me clear this up: I wouldn't do him any harm. Probably. As long as he is a good boy. You have my word." he grins knowing how little value his word holds for this man.
Rick trades a glance with his son, and another with the ginger man, who just nods with his eyes, and Negan knows Rick has made his decision. The wrong decision.
"I can't..." Rick begins.
"I'll take it." the kid cuts in.
Every single face in the clearing turns to him. His father looks at him with his lips slightly parted, like he wants to scream at him but he can't, his eyes blaring into him, inquiring, what the hell are you doing son?. The boy presses his lips hard together and looks at him stubbornly. The exchange barely lasts two seconds, and Negan is fascinated by it.
"I'll go with you, if you don't hurt anyone else." he says firmly.
"That" Negan says holding Rick's chin in his gloved hand and pointing at his son with Lucille "unlike yours, was one fucking smart answer."
He can feel clear as day the rage and the despair vibrating off all of them. But really, there's no other way.
He stands up, shaking the dust nonchalantly from his jacket, like he was suddenly very bored of all this tiresome business. He gestures vaguely towards the young man as he disappears back into one of the vehicles.
"Load him up".
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