Chapter Text
There was no escape.
The whole building looked as glittery, sparkling and festive as it could possibly get. From the beautiful wreath on the red front door, over interminable elegant garlands and dozens of poinsettias in all sizes, to the jolly group of reindeer, angels, elves that had taken over every room and hallway. It smelled like Christmas, too. Like a pungent potpourri of oranges, cinnamon sticks, dried rosemary, cloves, pine cones and apple cider. It was nauseating. Especially under the constant stream of holiday music, letting Negan know how joyous he was.
After the 34th repetition of 'Joy to the World', resounding through the vast premises of the Leather Factory, the door of basement office number seven flew open, a tall angry man with leather jacket and slicked back hair stormed out, strutting straight up to the vintage CD-player his janitor had placed on the club's bar counter, and lunged out with his baseball bat, turning the little silver boombox with four precise swings into a sad pile of shredded plastic. He vanished back into his office without a comment, throwing the door shut.
"Fucking bullshit all day long." He put the bat on his desk and instead picked his ringing phone up. "Yes." He listened for a moment, before a faint smile brightened his grim face. "Sure, he's upstairs. Hold on a sec."
----
Daryl bumped his head accidentally into the bottom branches of the tree, making everything rustle and jingle, when the apartment door opened and his name was called.
"Did you pick up fucking needles like a good boy?" Negan pulled a fir needle out of his sub's tousled hair, loving the caught expression on a flushed face. "Here, you wanna speak to your brother. Sit over there." He handed the phone over, giving an encouraging nod.
Daryl shook his head, heat shooting through his body. Why was Merle calling now? That had never happened before and he really didn't know what to say. "Have to piss." He got up, trying to give the phone back.
"Ten minutes in the corner for lying to me." Negan didn't take it. Instead he shoved his sub towards the couch, making him kneel down in front of it. "After the call. Now say hello." He sat down himself, his legs left and right from Daryl.
Daryl hunched his shoulders, pulling an arm across his chest as he held the phone somewhere in the direction of his ear. "Hello. Daryl Dixon." It sounded gruff and not very polite but Negan seemed to be proud anyway.
He stroked the back of his boy's head affectionately, "Well done, being good for me, right." and saw him straighten his back immediately. "Ask him if Tyreese is still alive."
Daryl leaned into Negan's comforting touch, sniffing his nose. "Did you kill Tyreese."
Negan could hear Merle's hoarse laugh and then saw the interest spark in blue eyes when Daryl started to listen to everything he was told. About a fight on the yard, disgusting mincepie for lunch, Tyreese seeming to have some badass balls underneath all his cuddly soft brown skin. And about a new penpal, who sent regular letters to inmate Dixon for a few months now.
"'s she comin' for visit." Daryl held the phone with two hands, flicking his head because his long bangs tickled him.
"Come downstairs when you're done." Negan got up with a kiss on tousled hair, granting more privacy now that the conversation was going well. The happy chuckle he heard as he closed the door and jogged back down to the office made him smirk and almost forget the penetrating Christmas stench assaulting his nostrils.
----
The good thing about stinking cinnamon and tons of fucking tinsel in the factory was that Negan couldn't wait to take his boys swimming in the late afternoon.
Because Apex swimming had a no fucking holiday decorations policy and the only smell here was a mix of chlorine and the fear of the swimming instructor.
Negan walked up to the head of the pool, blowing his whistle once, then let it fall from his lips. "Boy! What are you doing. You wanna do your fucking warm up."
Daryl was stretching his left arm half-heartedly, looking around in search for Paul. "Where's Jesus." His question sounded a bit reproachful. They wanted to swim a race. Negan had said so in the car and now he was all alone at the pool.
"Paul volunteered to stand in the fucking corner for twenty minutes because he is a rude little shit. You wanna work on your time until he remembers his manners, right? Do your warm up." Negan clapped his hands twice. "Chop, chop."
Daryl nodded and started to swing his arms in circles, taking deep breaths in and out to load his blood with oxygen. After two minutes he stepped onto the starter block, curling his toes over the edge.
"Ready?" Negan came closer, stop watch in hand. "What do you wanna do? Breaststroke?"
Daryl glanced at the perfectly flat water surface, then shook his head, pulling the side of his rubber swim cap. "Butterfly."
"Good boy." Negan was a sucker for ambitious aims. "Get in position." He watched as his sub bent over, head close to his knees, and grabbed the front of the block. "Ass up!"
Daryl lifted his hips as high as possible, closing his eyes, ready to give it hell. He would make it under 50 seconds this time.
He waited for the whistle to come, anticipation building in his body, his guts tingling with excitement. He heard Negan count, and then the shrill sound of the whistle splitting the air, making him push off with full force. He threw his arms forward and exploded from his bent crouch into a perfect streamline position, hooking his thumbs together, his chin resting on his chest as he entered the water. For a couple of seconds he remained under the surface, swimming in a smooth, wave-like motion, before he blasted to the surface and used the momentum he had built to make his first swim strokes as strong and powerful as possible.
Negan monitored every movement with hawks eyes, shouting his criticism or approval through the hall. Daryl was highly focused, cutting through the water with targeted strength. He rotated his shoulders and whipped his arms simultaneously overhead out of the water, combined with a strong dolphin kick, just as he was taught. There wasn't much to criticize. "Looking good boy! Keep your rhythm!" He watched his sub finish the third lap and wall-flip for the final lane, then glanced at the stop watch, biting back a curse. It didn't look like he would beat the record. "Come on, sweetheart! Fucking speed up for me!" He hollered his encouragement, then went down on his knees, grabbing the edge of the pool, making sure he was seen. "PULL! YOU CAN FUCKING DO IT! COME ON!"
Daryl thought his lungs would burst. His arms hurt, his muscles burned like fire, but all he saw was Negan at the head of the pool, cheering him on like a maniac. Three more strokes, two, a last one and he reached up to the edge, panting for air.
"YES! FUCKING GOOD BOY!" Negan gave his exhausted sub a high five, then grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him out. "Fortyfuckingnine seconds!"
Daryl blinked the water from his eyes, a huge smile spreading all over his dripping face. He did it. One second faster.
"Am I fucking proud of you?" Negan grasped Daryl's chin, pulling him close to suck wet lips.
Daryl nodded, "Yes." the happy grin staying firmly in place.
Negan copied the nod. "You bet your ass."
----
Negan turned the key and nothing happened. He paused and tried again, then pulled the key out, put it back in, and tried once more. But nothing.
"I think the car doesn't start." Paul stuck his head past the headrest of the driver's seat. "Maybe because it's too cold."
Negan gritted his teeth. "Thanks for the tip."
"No problem, Sir." Paul smiled sweetly, climbing back on the backseat. "Should I call someone?"
"No." Negan flung some stuff into the glove compartment, threw it shut and grabbed his keys and phone. "Move it boys. We're walking."
----
There were worse things than strolling through the dark, snow-covered streets of Atlanta in the early evening.
"Yeah, right?" The light of the streetlamps bathed Paul's happy face in a warm, orange glow. "And if you turn your head super, super fast for a quick breath he won't even notice." He chuckled and wrapped his arms tighter around himself, pulling his coat closed and tucked his chin downward into his turtleneck pullover.
Negan zipped his jacket up all the way. "Or I notice and that's the reason you don't get fucking treats anymore after swimming."
"What?" Paul's head shot up, shock in his eyes. "You said they don't make them anymore!" He still mourned his beloved Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
"I also said you wanna breathe every five fucking strokes." Negan stopped at the side of the street holding both of his hands out, expecting them to be taken. "You can't trust anyone anymore these days." He took his subs in a firm hold and dragged them across the busy street, looking to the left and right, then jogged the rest of the way.
Daryl followed along, respectfully walking one step behind Negan, holding on to the big, warm leather clad hand he was offered. He knew this part of town. He had seen it last year when the streets had been his home. He remembered sitting on the cold ground in front of a store, watching how everything around him was suddenly transformed into a Christmas market at the end of November. How all the lights were put up, as well as an enormous Christmas tree adorned with glistening ornaments and glowing fairy lights draped around. And festively designed wooden stalls, illuminated with brightly colored signs, got lined up along either side of the street. He remembered the mouthwatering smell of deliciously hot food filling the streets. All the pretty people swarming in and out of the decorated shops and bakeries like bees, carrying boxes and bags with secrets inside. He remembered the warm smiles of the merchants behind the stalls as they tossed freshly roasted chestnuts into paper cones or carefully poured hot chocolate into mugs and added generous layers of whipped cream for people with money and clean faces.
He remembered smiling with them sometimes, as he sat there in a distance, all alone and somehow invisible to the rest of the world, with an empty stomach and cold fingers.
He remembered the half eaten grilled sausage he had found next to a trash can and the popcorn a child had spilled on the way.
He remembered a woman with pretty purse and red lips looking at him with disgust in her eyes. But then she had tossed him a dollar without a comment. And he had been so happy and had wandered around all the stalls to buy something that smelled really good. He wanted the awesome roast meat with onions or the sausage grilled over open fire, but it had been all much too expensive. In the end he drank a cup of watery hot chocolate from McDonald's and just kept on watching from his spot on the ground how the normal people ate fantastic Christmas food.
"Boy." Negan snapped his fingers in front of Daryl's face for the third time, raising his voice a bit. "What do you want, ketchup or mustard."
Daryl blinked startled, snapping out of his thoughts. He looked around, back and forth between the stocky guy behind the stall holding a grilled sausage in a bun, and Negan with his beautiful face, cheeks slightly red from the cold. And he pulled his shoulders up and shook his head because he didn't want anything.
"Nothing." Negan handed the man a ten dollar note and blindly curled his fingers around the back of his sub's neck, squeezing a little. "Thanks." He took the food, guiding Daryl to the side for a bit more privacy. "What's the matter, puppy. Are you unwell?"
Daryl sniffed his nose, glancing at a couple walking by with a huge bag of popcorn and a balloon in the shape of a reindeer. "'m not unwell."
"Mhm. Open." Negan held the sausage up, making him take a bite.
It was hot and kind of crispy and tasted even better than Daryl had imagined.
"Good?"
"Hm." Daryl nodded, swallowed and opened his mouth for more. The next bite was sausage and bun, the third too, and after that Negan smirked and leaned in to lick the corner of his boy's mouth, ignoring the appalled looks and comments of a group of elderly ladies with fluffy hats.
"Bratwurst! Awesome!" Jesus jumped up at Daryl's side, taking a huge bite of the food one of his Dads was generously holding, before he reported with full mouth what the past five minutes of his life had looked like. "Guess who I took a selfie with!" He grinned, holding his phone in front of Daryl's nose to show a photo of himself in a life-size nativity scene, giving a peace sign to a baby doll in the crib. "It's baby Jesus!" He turned his phone around so Negan could see it as well. "I think that will be my Christmas card this year."
"Mhm. I told you to go take a fucking piss and then come back immediately." Negan pulled a piece of straw out of long hair.
"I know, but they had a real donkey." Paul earned a blank look for his explanation and tried another route. "I also met Joey and Olivia. They made out like crazy over there at the 10-foot nutcracker."
"Great." Negan could have lived happily without that mental image. He sighed, split the last bit of sausage in half and fed each of his subs a piece. "Enough fucking boy entertainment for today. Daddy is exhausted. Time to go home."
Daryl liked that. He liked walking hand in hand with Jesus at one side and Negan at the other. He liked all the smells and lights the Christmas market had to offer. He liked that he wasn't sitting on the cold street. He liked that he wasn't invisible and that everyone who gave them weird looks was instantly challenged by a tall protective man who was never too exhausted to take care of his property.
He liked that Jesus tricked the tall angry man to walk past the stall with the candy and then had the right arguments to get him to buy a bag of sugar coated roasted almonds. He also liked the small gingerbread heart that smelled really awesome. Negan didn't buy it because a silly pink snowman was on it. Instead he bought the one that said 'You are my Sweetheart'. It had two small holes and a cord, and he put it around Daryl's neck with the most serious face, hiding it underneath a new black North Face winter jacket, so nobody would see the secret message written in white and red icing.
Daryl felt warm and tingly all the way home, listening to Paul and Negan talk about a movie they had seen a while ago, being fed with almonds from Paul, and with a raisin from Negan because he spelled the word 'soup' right on the first try.
He liked his life a bit. And Christmas.