Fix You ! Cegan

VIII

It was dark by the time Negan pulled into the Sanctuary, Carl still fast asleep next to him. He nudged him a little but got no response- the kid was really out. After the long few days they both had had he realized he didn't have the heart to wake him. He sat in the truck quietly, mulling over what the kid had told him. Despite his little walker-killing rampage he felt no better, the anger flowing through him like some lava. Carl's words just kept running through his head again and again and again. And again. How he wished to God he could find who hurt him and skin them alive.

He needed a drink- or maybe ten. He needed to calm the fuck down first, actually, and then have a drink, but his head was clouded with anger and he didn't care. After a moment more he went to the passenger side and gathered Carl up in his arms, the kid being just scrawny enough for him to carry. Or maybe it was the anger giving him adrenaline. Either way, Carl felt relatively light in his arms.

There were a few people still milling about and they looked over at the two suspiciously. As he reached the door it swung open to reveal Dwight, who looked down at Carl, concerned.

"He alright?" he questioned.

"He is now." Negan answered quietly. "Can you fetch me a bottle of our best liquor, Dwighty boy? I need a shot."

//

Carl stirred, reaching out for Negan and wondering why it was so quiet in the truck. Were they at the Sanctuary already? He blearily opened his eye and realized he wasn't in the truck at all, but in their bed and stripped down to a shirt and boxers, and had no recollection at all of how he got there. He looked around the room but there was no sign of Negan.

Carl realized he must be doing rounds. As much as he would love it, Negan couldn't spend all his time with him, and the last two days he had done just that. He yawned and laid still for a second, enjoying the quiet after the last few days. His head was still pounding, but it still felt better than yesterday.

Carl caught sight of his discarded clothes on the floor, covered in walker blood and guts and every other bodily fluid imaginable, and realized a shower was probably in order. He made his way off the bed, and as he slid off he realized just how sore he was from last night and let out an audible gasp. He tried to tuck away the thought that it reminded him of the days after his run in with the claimers, but it wouldn't leave and his stomach turned suddenly. He had thrown up more times in the past two days then he could count he felt like, but he didn't have much left so he ended up just dry heaving everything up. He laid on the floor for a second afterwards, thoughts drifting to Negan. He realized he was starting to feel truly safe when the man was around, especially now that he knew what had happened to him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and would take some getting used to, but he wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel. Being with someone, feeling safe. Wanted and safe.

He hoisted himself off the bathroom floor, hissing slightly at the pain and then catching sight of himself in the mirror, which made him jump a little as he had forgotten his bandage had long been discarded. If he didn't know he was alive he legitimately believed he could have passed for a walker between his socket, the leftover blood on his face from the day and his paleness from once again getting sick. Maybe he really was dead inside and his features were just finally reflecting that.

He ran the shower hot again, silently thanking the powers that be that he had hot water here, and rested his head against the wall as he let the water run over him. He would have fallen asleep standing up if he hadn't of heard the door open of their bedroom, loudly, and heard someone stumble in. Negan appeared a moment later, leaning against the bathroom door frame with Lucille in hand. Head still on the wall, Carl looked out at him, studying him for a moment and knowing something was off.