"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

twenty five, 𝗀𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽

It wouldn't be long until they found him, but she suspected every soldier Negan had was dealing with Carl right now. Sure, he'd have some security on standby but it couldn't be too severe.

The only tricky part was actually finding Daryl.

She scouted the halls with her shotgun outstretched in-front of her, the old blood now dried onto her face and flaking. She rounded corners carefully and made light steps, trying not to get lost in the pretentious hallways.

She wondered where Carl was now. Was he okay? Was Negan dead?

Suddenly, faint voices were heard from the other side of the hall. She quickly crouched behind some storage unit, watching as a man and a girl talked.

They were gathered outside a door, talking into it.
Daryl? Maybe.

Then, they swung open the door, dragging someone out by the arms. It was Daryl. Her heart skipped a beat, but quickly calmed again due to the sight of him.
He was beaten up, bad, and he looked almost ill. He was wearing a tracksuit with an orange 'A' on the front, completely dehumanising him.

She felt a twang of pain in her heart, knowing that Daryl was in here because of her. But the thought of sadness only provoked revenge.

She followed the three of them down the hall and up a flight of stairs. She stopped and flew behind the wall when they came to a halt outside of a large white door. She could hear voices from inside, but they were muffled and faint.

She guessed she was just too focused on the door, and what might be inside, or Daryl's unforgiving expression as she was grabbed from behind. She managed to whack whoever it was with the barrel of the shotgun, but soon there were more and more people struggling with her.

She could've been more careful, and maybe, if she had, Daryl would be okay.

★
𝟣𝟢 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗋

"See, I'd expect a kid your age to be moping around, not doing a damn thing, except crying about missing the prom. But you—why you go on a mission."
Negan announced, as Carl swallowed hard.

"You find me, you kill two of my men, and you're smart enough to know that I'm not gonna let this slide." He chuckled, almost driving himself mad with his own humour.

"Ah, I can't-- I can't do it. It's like talking
to a birthday present. You got to take that crap
off your face. I want to see what Grandma got me."

Carl was afraid this would happen. The only people who he even let see him un-bandaged was Jane and Michonne. He knew they wouldn't judge him, infact, they made him feel a lot better about it. But he knew exactly what Negan would say. He would poke at it, make fun of it, praise it - maybe.

"No." Carl announced, making sure no fear was evident in his voice.

"Two men! Two... men. Punishment.
Do you really want to piss me off?"

As much as he didn't want to, he had no choice. Negan was, infact, being reasonable. But honestly, Carl would rather take a beating from him than take his bandage off.

He hesitated, but lifted his hands to the cloth anyway. The bandage unraveled slowly, falling in twists and turns on his lap. He looked up at Negan, knowing his long brown hair strategically covered his gaping wound.