Chapter Text
Billy knows who the Saviors are, he's heard all about them from word of mouth and the wanderers that float through The Ring. He might be ruthless, but he isn't stupid. He'll give them whatever they want to make them go away so he can get back to business. It's not like he's a producer like The Kingdom or anything, so he figures the offer of free entertainment for the Saviors' best men would be a good thing to put on the table.
He's sweating buckets outside the warehouse as he waits for the Saviors. Safely inside the fences, of course, with Buck and Jamie at his sides to protect him. Though he has no doubt they'll follow his lead, he also knows the leader of the Saviors smashes heads like pumpkins, and Billy isn't itching to be a jack-o-lantern.
The booming sound of Shave and a Haircut being played via the horn of a large truck suddenly echoes from the front gate. Its driver is hanging out his window, waving gleefully, his white toothed grin visible even from a distance. He's here.
Once the gates are opened, a slew of trucks roll in, parking wherever they want. The driver of the lead truck hops out and stretches his arms over his head, a sharp looking bat dangling from his fingers. It's almost more intimidating how casually he handles the weapon than the weapon itself.
He spots Billy and makes a beeline over to him, eyes sharp like a predator. In another world, this man could have easily been Billy's top fighter.
"How y'all doin' on this fine day?" Negan drawls as he approaches the three, eyes flicking between them.
Billy holds back the instinctive quip of 'could be better', glad to at least be of height with the mad man that must be Negan. Negan is younger than him too, clearly, but it doesn't make him any less dangerous. He straightens his shoulders under the dark denim of his jacket and holds a hand out, wanting to get out of the cold wind as quickly as possible.
"Billy," he introduces first and foremost before answering. "Well, and yourself?"
"Negan." Negan shakes Billy's hand with a firm grip, almost looking surprised that the man offered the gesture.
Buck and Jamie shift at his sides, eyeing the parade of people they're about to let through their doors. If the Saviors were paying customers, they'd be rich in canned foods and bullets. Jamie more than Buck is wary, but she's always been the smarter of the twins. She gives a sure nod to one of the men standing closest to Negan, likely his most trusted as well.
"I think we'd all be better if we got out of the cold," Buck intones. His friendliness is a lot less threatening than Negan's, it's clear he's got trust in Billy.
Negan's eyes flick to Buck, and he chuckles. "I'm doing well myself. Hoping to be doing even better. I hear you've got resources we Saviors may be interested in." His eyes shine as he raises his brows, enjoying the little amount of resistance he's receiving.
"Come on in," Billy says, trying to be welcoming even though he's naturally a gruffer man. "Jamie and Buck here are my kin. Grew up on a farm."
Jamie pulls the metal door open for Negan and Billy to walk in first, but once they're inside she leaves it to someone else to hold so that Billy has both his family and Negan's best flanking them. The front room clearly used to be an office area with a small built-in reception desk, but past that is a room with a big table and some good chairs.
"We aren't really producers, we're entertainment. Our main supplies come from what people pay to get in and our brood of chickens," Billy explains, offering Negan up his pick of the chairs as Buck and Jamie take up space bracketing the door.
"Well, then you better entertain us!" Negan laughs and smacks a hand to Billy's back before he settles down into a chair and rests his bat across his knees. He bounces his feet, excess energy needing a place to go. "If we like it well enough, maybe we can make some kinda deal. Trade one of your pups for something."
"We'll look at the mutts last, they aren't polite company. We don't got any fights scheduled right now, of course," Billy supplies, taking his own seat, itching for a cigarette. "A little birdy told us it's best to give the Saviors our full attention."
He can hear the rasp of Jamie's fingerless gloves as she grips her rifle a little tighter behind them. She's always hated authority, doesn't take direction as well as her brother. Won't say anything for fear of punishment, but she thinks bowing to the Saviors makes Billy a weak leader. Of course she doesn't have the age and life experience that Billy has.
"Can offer up entrance to you and your best for free on them though," Billy supplies, tapping his fingers on the table lightly. "Trade some fresh eggs for some kind of vegetables?"
Negan hums and nods, leaning back in the chair. He looks over to Dwight who's standing at his diagonal. "What do you boys think? Free shows and eggs in exchange for…?" He circles a hand in the air, looking for words.
"We've had a big crop of tomatoes recently ripen, sir," Dwight says, shifting his weight on his hips.
"Tomatoes! You like tomatoes, Billy? Versatile little veg, or is it a fruit? Was never quite clear on that." Negan snorts and leans forward again, resting his arms on the table. "How many people you got holed up in here? What amount you looking to give and get?"
Buck actually cared about agriculture, and the shift behind Billy is probably to supply information about botanical fruits and vegetables versus culinary. Jamie gives him a sharp look out of the corner of Billy's eye.
"We run a tight ship. Eighteen not counting the mutts, twenty-six counting." It's not smart to give up your numbers to an enemy, but a potential ally isn't smart to lie to, especially one as notoriously dangerous as Negan.
"We still use cartons, easy to get our hands on," Billy supplies. "They hold longer than tomatoes though. How about a basket per two dozen? Can't make the trade often until we hatch more hens but I'm hoping whichever mutt you pick can even us out for the int'rum."
Negan hums, scratching at his beard for a moment as he runs the numbers in his head. It's really quite a good deal, especially with this place being on the smaller side. Though, it could just be the allure of fresh eggs on toast that has him so eager to make the trade. That and the thought of a little guard dog curled up at his feet has him almost giddy.
"Alright, I think that sounds fair enough," Negan says with a grin. "We might change out what fresh veg we give ya depending on our own stock, but we'll keep it even. Perks of you being so cooperative."
"Fresh vegetables aren't easy to come by in these parts, but the chickens lay nearly all year," Billy nods to himself. "In my long life I've found cooperation usually gets you better deals."
And keeps you from getting your head smashed in by gnarly cut-wire sluggers.
He glances at the bulk of men filling up their front room. "The cage room is on the smaller side. I'll have to ask you to only bring a few of your buddies if you want to see the dogs."
Negan's grin goes even wider, his shoulders wiggling in excitement. "You heard him, boys. If you ain't D, Simon, or Arat, head on back."
There's murmurs of the cold weather from a few as they file out of the building and head back to the trucks, leaving Negan with his three lieutenants standing behind him.
Billy heaves himself out of his seat, gesturing Buck and Jamie ahead to open doors and lead them past the offices that now serve as lodging. They make their way deeper into the warehouse as Billy starts to explain.
"The eight mutts are housed based on how agreeable they are," he scratches at his stubbly jaw.
"All in the cage room of course, but two of them are able to be rehabilitated. Then there's the four usual fighters, they go into most of our fights and put on a good show but don't cost us much. Lastly, we have our two best, but most dangerous. They're who we pit against our outside challengers and in the deadie rallies." They pause outside of the door where a guard stands, and Billy waves a hand to the man who pulls the key to begin unlocking the door.
"The mutt guards work on shifts. Then we have a vet tech around, she does alright with keeping the dogs and the people still breathing. Mark, our handler who's inside, knows most about each dog, you'll want to direct a lot of your questions his way."
Negan nods along to Billy's words, bouncing on his heels as he waits for the door to open. "Got a nice little system set up here, Bill. You know the dangerous ones are calling my name, but I wanna see 'em all."
Billy nods, stepping forward as the guard holds open the door for them. It's a precaution in case a dog gets out, but also to keep any sneaky outsiders from tampering with them.
Mark seems to be in the middle of feeding when they step in. The four Great Dane sized cages in the front of the room only have two dogs in them. Millie and Rich.
Millie is a young blonde thing, not even in her twenties, had been caught stealing from the kitchen. Likely she'll only be in the cage room for a couple more days serving out her punishment as it's her first strike. Rich is closer to Negan's age, butchered a cock for meat day like a damn idiot, and now they only have one sire. He'll be in here longer.
Mark closes the slat he'd been pushing their bowls through. "Afternoon, boss. This him?"
Billy nods, gesturing for Mark to take the lead. The handler pats the cages gently and steps away from them. "You won't want either of these, they're just here for punishment. I'm Mark." He holds a hand out to Negan to shake, quite obviously not for the one holding that bat.
It's an immediate response to return the man's handshake, but Negan's suddenly caught up on seeing people in the cages. He tries not to let his surprise show on his face, tries not to stare, wondering if he should be feeling foolish or angry right now. He can see Dwight frowning from the corner of his eye, but Simon looks suddenly more interested.
"Negan," he says, smile waning just a bit. "I hear you're the expert on the… dogs."
"Aye," Mark nods agreeably, waving the lot of them to follow. "You'll probably be more interested in our usual fighters."
The second set of four cages actually has cardboard name plates ziptied on them. Steve, Josie, Dan, and Oakley. Three men, one woman. They're clearly scarred up, sitting in their cages dead eyed and leaning against each other through the bars. As much as they must fight each other there's also a companionship there.
One of them, Oakley evidently, has a broken arm and Steve is either knocked out based on the bruising on his face or asleep. The dark skinned man, tagged Dan, snarls at them as they approach. Josie reaching through the bars to squeeze awkwardly at his arm, whispering. "No fight today."
"As you can see, Josie is our calmest and least injured," Mark pats the cage. "The boys try to go easy on her, but she's a mean one. Good for a pet."
These people, unlike the two in the front, have shock collars locked on their throats.
"Hm." Negan nods, looking over the people and wondering what happened to lead them to this. "So, the fights are with each other?" he asks, pointing around to all the cages. "I dunno why I assumed-" that they were actually dogs "-that you had 'em fighting the dead, or other dogs, or people brought in."
"No, we leave that stuff for our most dangerous two," Mark confirms. "These mutts are for continued entertainment. Occasionally they'll face a couple deadies to keep them on their toes, but mostly they fight each other."
Mark knocks his knuckles against the cage. "I'll come around and feed them in a few hours. They're all on a schedule, see."
He tilts his head towards the back of the room after a searching look to Billy and getting his stiffly nodded permission. "Our prize and our feral one are this way if you are underwhelmed by the more obedient stock."
"Lead the way, good man. I'd like to see all of the stock before making my selection," Negan says, waving Mark onward. Honestly, even if they were dogs, Negan would have a hard time picking from the four he'd just seen. Unless they could wake up Steve so he could get a read on him, or guarantee that Oakley's arm would heal fine, Negan's not sure he'd feel satisfied with one of the other two. Call him a bleeding heart, but taking away one from the other seems cruel, despite the cruelty of the entire situation.
This is really not what Negan thought he'd be doing today.
"While I'd prefer to keep Chell, I'm aware of her allure," Mark says, leading them back to the last cages, this time the cages are bolted into the wall, far from each other and a little smaller. The way he stands blocks the other from Negan's sight. The name plate on this cage is more permanent.
The woman inside is sitting on a nice dog bed. She's got short, dark hair and bright eyes, a big, angry scar on her throat like someone tried to rip her throat out with their teeth. Clearly not an undead since she's still kicking.
The scar itself is bisected by a shock collar, but it's loose like it's unnecessary and there's a tag dangling from it.
She leers at them, cracking a grin showing off a missing canine and premolar. Her voice is a rasp as she presses herself against the bars of the cage: "Markyyy, did ya bring me'a treat?"
Negan can't stop the chuckle that comes out, looking between Mark and the woman to see how he'll respond. Allure is right. Negan likes that she's obviously still got personality and isn't just a husk. There's still something in his morals that's stopping him from being completely okay with owning a woman like a dog. He's not sure his wives would appreciate that too much.
Mark chuckles. "You can't have him, Chell, but he might have you if you act right."
"Did you want to pet her? Feed her?" He turns away from her, missing the way she wrinkles up her nose and leans back from the front of the cage. She eyes Negan with a new suspicion.
"Chell's been our pride for a while, tough as nails. Friendly too. The other one not so much." Mark holds up the hand he didn't shake Negan's hand with showing off his missing ring and pinkie fingers. "He's a biter, almost did our girl in and nearly made me a leftie."
"Holy shit!" Negan breathes out a laugh at the sight, or lack thereof, of Mark's fingers. Negan's picturing the biggest, meanest, man he can as this last dog. Because surely who else could have done something like this? "Let me see this monster, eh? You've piqued my interest too much to keep him hidden anymore."
Mark turns, making his way to the other cage a few feet away. This one isn't cheerfully adorned like Chell's, no fancy pillow or plaque. He also doesn't put his hand on it companionably like he did the others, clearly for good reason.
Within it is a teenage boy, dressed in jeans and a white shirt like all the others. His hair is long and tangled, brown waves that could be pretty if there wasn't so much blood in them. Half his face is obscured by gauze and the other half is stone cold glaring at Mark with an icy blue eye.
He, like Chell, has a difference in his shock collar. Only this isn't a looseness. The shock collar is thick leather, almost as if it's keeping his head up and the padlock at the back is a lot heavier duty.
The kid is sitting almost casually. Boots together, knees bent up and out, elbows resting on them with his hands dangling in between his legs covered in dried blood.
Negan knows he's fucked the moment he sees the boy.
"This here is Carl," Mark waves to the cage. "Not as pretty, but our girl, understandably, got a little gouge happy when he tried to rip her throat out. He's learned some obedience since, but he's still a bit of a loose cannon."
"Oh," Negan breathes, trying to keep the want out of his tone. Stepping closer to Carl's cage to examine him better, Negan's face scrunches as his gaze traces Carl's body. "Surely you don't think I was born yesterday. This scrawny ass kid is one of your top dogs? You yanking my dick, Mark?"
The kid in the cage lets out a snort, flicking his eye over to Negan, only he catches sight of Billy and immediately raises two middle fingers in the older man's direction.
For the first time since entering the cage room Billy speaks. "Show some respect, brat," he snaps, stepping forward to kick at the cage.
The cage shudders loudly, but as it's bolted down, it doesn't move much, and Carl only bares his teeth up at the man. The thing is, the way his mouth spreads wide like that, it just looks like he has so many teeth and each one is sharper than the last.
Billy turns to Negan and Mark. "We wouldn't attempt to send you back with any mutt without showing their worth, isn't that right, Mark?"
Mark nods. "We've got a bunch of dead, but I don't have Chell and Carl fight each other. The risk is greater than the reward."
Humming, Negan turns and hands Lucille over to Dwight, who takes her gently but holds on firmly. He moves closer to where Carl sits, crouching down to be eye level with him. "Heya, kid. I like your little spitfuck attitude," he says, wanting nothing more but to clean the blood out of that long hair the more he looks at it. "You really bite Mark's fingers off? You really rip out Chell's pretty throat?"
Carl clacks his teeth together, eyeing Negan thoughtfully with a narrowed blue eye. He clearly doesn't have much regard for being in the cage or being looked at, probably used to it by now.
Mark takes a step forward to warn Negan against getting any closer to the bars without the shock remote on hand. He doesn't get very far.
Carl surges not towards Negan but towards Mark, slamming against the cage to shove his hand through as far as the bars will let him go. Mark lets out a very unmanly yelp, stumbling back against the wall to the side covered in hooks and other supplies clearly made for dogs with a true fear in his eyes that he didn't have around the other caged people.
The kid wheezes, snickering almost soundlessly as he slouches against the bars.
"Stupid bitch!" Mark reaches out, grabbing one of the weird looking remotes off its hook. It's red, Carl scrawled on it in sharpie, and he flicks a dial around, shoving his finger down on the button.
The kid's body jackknifes in the cage before abruptly scrunching up and hunching inwards with a pained moan.
"Hey!" Negan's voice is loud and authoritative as he stands up and glares at Mark. He knows these aren't his people, this isn't his domain, but damnit, he was trying to have a conversation. "He didn't fuckin' touch you. Was that really necessary?"
"He was disobedient," Mark sneers down at the cage. "Needs to be punished, or he'll take off someone else's fingers."
Billy holds up a placating hand between both men. "Now, now, unless you want the mutt and we need to set up a little show, Mark is our handler, and he trains the dogs as he sees fit."
Carl is still twitching in the cage but his head lulls back against it and he makes a sharp, jerking off motion to mock the man clearly not expecting anyone to be paying real attention.
But Negan is.
Oh, Negan is.
"I want him," he says, tone clipped and serious as he looks between Mark and Billy for a moment more before he crouches back down and looks at Carl. "You wanna show me how good you fight, pup? Do real good, and I'll take you away from these jag offs, yeah?"
Carl just quirks his visible brow at the man and faux-gags at him.
Billy sighs. "He's disrespectful, yes, but I'm sure his fighting will speak for itself. How many deadies do you want us to put him in the ring with?"
"How many you wanna fight?" Negan directs his question to Carl, smile curling at his lips. "How many you think to show me your worth?"
Carl lounges back against the cage bars. Something clear in his face and posture says he either doesn't care what Negan thinks he's worth or knows his own worth.
"We've had him fight ten before, but he had a fireman's ax for it," Billy supplies helpfully. "You get to choose how many and what weapon if any at all. It's usually set to a vote."
Negan hums, thinking it over, never taking his eyes from Carl. "How about ten, then? Wouldn't wanna wear you out for the ride home." He chuckles and stands, snapping his fingers towards Dwight. "I'll even let you use Lucille. How about that?" Once the familiar weight is back in his palm, Negan flips the bat around with a flourish. "As long as you promise not to hurt her."
Carl eyes the bat, tracing his gaze over the wood and the gleaming metal of the barbed wire. There's almost interest there in his eye, but in the end he just clicks his tongue, returning to glaring at Billy and Mark.
"We've never put him with only a blunt object for more than five," Mark supplies, clearly not over the earlier scare if the way his finger is hovering over the shock button says anything. "He's scrawny like you said."
"We have put him in the ring without a weapon plenty of times," Billy reasons, not divulging any further information about those instances.
"Can the dead be released into the ring one at a time?" Negan asks, looking towards Billy for the first time since Carl was revealed. "Have him go until he can't go no more?"
Billy's brows quirk. "That could be arranged. I can have a gunner on standby to take one out if he collapses."
He looks back at Jamie and Buck. "How many deadies we got right now?"
Jamie speaks for the first time, a gleam in her eyes at the mention of blood sport. "Fifteen? Sixteen? Haven't been to the traps in a couple days to get more."
Negan's grinning again, excited himself at the prospect of watching this apparent little terror take down some undead. "Sound good to you, pup?" he asks Carl, not really expecting an answer but enjoying talking to him anyway.
Carl picks at some of the blood under his nails. Recovered from the shock from earlier judging by the fact his hands are no longer shaking.
"No weapon then?" Billy clarifies.
Negan flips Lucille around his hand again and opens his mouth to suggest her again when Arat actually steps up to him. "Sir, I'd advise against giving him Lucille. For your sake."
"Well, damn." Negan breathes a laugh, giving Arat a nod. He knows if she is speaking up, he better listen. She probably just doesn't want to deal with the mess he'd be in if Lucille got hurt somehow, but honestly… Yeah, it's probably better. "What are your selections? I wanna see how he handles something."
Mark snorts but his face is grim and his eyes are distrustful. "You send him in there without a weapon, and he won't be without for long."
"Then why even fucking ask me if I'd like one?" Negan bites out, annoyance beginning to vibrate under his skin.
Carl sticks his tongue out at Mark making the man growl at him.
"People generally disapprove of sending such a young pup into the ring without providing something for it to defend itself with," Billy notes calmly, moving to gesture back towards the front of the room. "How about we move up to the spectator box while Mark and the deadie handlers prepare our show."
Negan huffs but nods. "Fine." He looks to Carl again, praying that he'll get to see this kid back in his sanctuary. If not just for guard dog purposes, but because he wants to get him away from these assholes.
"Good luck, kid. Rootin' for ya."
The last thing he hears from Carl on their way out of the room is a scoff.
They make their way up to the second level of the warehouse, a cement catwalk all the way around the largest room. There's a sectioned off place that clearly used to be some sort of overseeing office in the middle, the whole front glass paneling. Four much nicer chairs than before sit in the area, and there's a shelf of what seems like inconsistent bullshit on the back wall.
Billy takes a seat in one of the chairs and waves at the glass wall as Jamie sets up just outside the room with her rifle, Buck hovering at the door. The older man scratches at his jaw. "You can sit if'ya like but most people prefer to stand. 'Specially the first time."
Negan hums and stays standing, fiddling with Lucille in his hands as he gazes out the glass. Dwight, Arat, and Simon all take stances a little bit away, but close enough to also see out. "How long does set up take?"
"It's a matter of how much Carl struggles, but the mutt is always itching for a fight," Billy says, eyeing the glass in wait.
Not but a moment or two later both doors on either side of the lower room come open and figures are shoved through by pole catchers around their throats. One is very obviously one of the undead. The other is Carl, muzzled and twitching slightly like he's been shocked again.
There's a shove, both going off balance as they're released from their binds and the doors are slammed shut behind them.
Negan perks up, eyes instantly on Carl. "Where did you pick him up, anyway? Are they all strays?" he asks, not even looking back at Billy.
"Just outside of DC, if I'm not mistaken. He was alone, needed a home," Billy answers, watching Carl shake the electricity out of his limbs visibly uncaring about being trapped in the ring with a deadie.
"Some of them are previous challengers that lived like Chell," he supplies. "This isn't our first batch, I'm sure you can tell."
"Sure. It seems like you've been doing this a while." Negan frowns slightly, disliking that shock collar more and more. Surely too much electricity will eventually fuck a body up. "How come you keep Chell locked up, anyway? She seems really…" He twists a hand in the air. "Well behaved."
"Most of the dogs are well behaved enough not to need the electric persuasion often and if they do it's a very light shock," Billy explains patiently.
"Chell gets enough special treatment as our prize bitch," Jamie says from the door, eye still level with her scope. "She's still a mutt."
On the ground floor Carl stretches and if they were close enough they'd probably hear his back pop. Finally he starts moving towards the deadie with purpose. Keeping just out of its reach as he moves around it, he's clearly looking for something as he trips it up.
Negan's invested now, watching the way Carl moves and thinks in the ring. His main goal is to use Carl for personal protection, but if need be, at least he'd do well gathering walkers for the outside defense.
"Think he shoulda picked the hot chick," Simon mumbles to Dwight, looking less than enthused about Negan's choices as he watches Carl. "What are we gonna do with a kid?"
"Not like you'd have a chance with her anyway," Dwight murmurs back with a snort, imagining Simon getting his head ripped off by Chell.
"You gave him too much time to think letting him have one at a time," Billy says, ignoring Negan's men. "Part of Carl's allure is his agression."
In just that moment Carl strikes out at the deadie, shoving his shoulder against it's back all the while stepping down hard on its weak foot. The undead goes sprawling forward and the teen takes that as opportunity, grabbing it by the weak ankle and pushing down on the out of place knee with his foot. With a jerk of his whole body, he rips the things rotting lower leg clean off.
Wielding the leg a bit like a bat, he takes a few tester swings as he steps around the thing still trying to reach out and grab him. With an odd little bunny hop, and then another, he makes his way close enough and then… hops… again—
The sound of the deadie's head popping under both his boots like a grape really carries.
"Playing with his food," Jamie agrees.
Negan just grins all the while, the tip of his tongue trapped between his white teeth. "I like it. Shows me his thinking. I don't usually find myself in crowds of enemies, so seeing one on one combat is actually better for me. This whole thing will show me his stamina too." He hums. "Can we send in two more singles and then do a surprise double?"
"I 'spose that's fair." Billy waves to Buck. "Walkie the dead handlers to do that."
Buck pulls a small radio off of his belt from under the tail of his shirt and relays the information as the door is opened again, shelling out a female undead this time. She's faster than the first, fresher, nearly gets back through the door before they get it shut.
Carl clicks his tongue real loud from his end of the small arena, calling out to her like she's another dog needing to be baited over. This is faster than the first, the teen practically clotheslining the deadie with the leg in his hand.
He shoves the ragged end of the leg into her chomping mouth, eyeing her over for a moment before getting into position to start stomping on her throat until she stops chewing.
Negan laughs and wiggles excitedly, like he's watching a sports game of old times, and his team is winning. "Ah, this kid is great! So fucking gruesome and tactical. How long he been doing this?"
"Like I said, he was alone before we picked him up." Billy pauses to scratch at his jaw, watching the mutt yank the severed leg from the no longer chomping mouth. "Had half a clip and a knife to his name. I'd guess he's been in this since the beginning with how well he does in the ring."
"Would've made a good hunting dog," Buck points out as the third single is released into the ring.
This one is slow like the first and Carl seems to be paying it little attention, digging his fingers into the ragged flesh off the leg where the other deadie had been gnawing on it. The rotting skin splits pretty easily once he gets his hand underneath the muscle and he does a little dance to avoid the third undead as he works the broken femur out of the skin.
The muscle sort of flops around it still attached to the foot without a knife to cut it off. This seemingly doesn't bother Carl though because as soon as the third deadie gets close to him again he's slamming the jagged end of the bone right through its eye.
"Alright, alright, but he lost his eye here, yeah? Chell took it out?" Negan asks, shifting on his feet like he wants to jump in and join the fight. "So, not only did he survive that shit, but he can still fight this good without it. Fucking amazing."
"First night he was here," Billy confirms, "we needed a new mutt for the fights and it felt like a good test."
"We don't give the mutts guns," Jamie warns from the doorway. "His aim is probably all fucked up. Couldn't walk right for a week, overshot some of his hits for a while."
Shaking the deadie off of his bone weapon, Carl props it, foot down, on the ground and pushes his boot down on top of it. With a yank, he finally frees the femur from the skin as the door opens and two other dead shamble through.
If the teen is worried about it then it doesn't show from under the muzzle and the gauze on his face. Instead he moves forward, looping around to swing upwards in a smooth arc at the taller undead. The femur is shorter than a bat, and Carl is no baseball player, but the thing goes down like a sack of bricks, not dead but stunned enough that he can focus on the other deadie for a moment.
"Yeah!" Negan pumps a fist in the air, so into this. He wonders if Carl would want to fight like this back at the Sanctuary just for something to do.
He hums though as the other's words sink in. "I'd like to be able to eventually give him a gun if he's going to be my little guard dog, but that won't happen until I can fully trust him, and based on his attitude… Well, that may never happen."
"I wouldn't trust him, but I'll tell you he was carrying a Beretta. 92FS, I think," Billy recalls.
Carl trips the smaller zombie forward, slamming his boot down on the back of its head where its jaw is. The bones crack and the head concaves as the other zombie tries to lumber back to its feet. It never makes it that far, the other end of the femur shattering with how hard Carl slams it into its head.
He still has to stab it to put it down but that makes five undead down.
Negan watches to see if Carl shows any sign of exhaustion, but knows it'll probably be another handful before that really happens. At least, according to Billy and Mark.
"I'll keep that in mind," he says, tucking the gun model away for later. At the moment, he's not letting Carl within grabbing distance of a firearm. Will that change? Up to the kid.
They release two more undead into the arena and Carl tilts his head, eyeing them with his significantly shorter weapon in hand. Oddly enough, he crouches and tilts his head the other way.
Billy leans forward, watching. They've never let them in at a slower crawl like this so he's never seen the deadies be more focused on trying to get back through the door than the mutt. They don't stay that way for long though, Carl whistles, sharp and high behind the muzzle.
One of the undead is faster than the other, the boy getting back to his feet to shuffle over another step. Then, he barrels forward fast as you please, and tackles both undead, all three bodies going down like a sandwich.
"Oof!" Negan moves with the fall, vicariously in the ring with Carl. "God, he's going to stink after this. You got a shower room or something?" he asks, remembering the way Carl had blood in his hair and on his hands when he saw him in the cage. "Also," he points, tapping his finger against the glass, "why does he have a muzzle on? Wouldn't it make more sense to muzzle the deadites so they can't bite your fighters?" This kid better not get fucking bit before he gets to take him home.
"We can hose him down," Billy confirms, watching amused as Carl wiggles on top of the thrashing bodies until they're practically trapped by his skinny thighs. "But we don't have much that fits him."
The mutt raises his hands above his head and slams them down, the fucked up femur jabbing through both undead's heads in different places. The top one dies first and with a jerk to the side, grinding the femur into the brain stem, the second dies too.
"Muzzle is cuz Mark is afraid he'll lose more fingers," Jamie says, clearly amused. "And that's just the game. No safety net."
"Hm. Interesting." Negan chuckles softly at the memory of Mark yelping earlier. He can bet that guy deserves more fingers being bitten. "Did the kid eat them or spit them out at him?"
"Odd question," Billy glances over at his nephew. "You were there."
Buck looks a little green around the gills, and Billy doubts it's from the way the mutt is caving in one of the corpses' sternums to turn a rib bone into his next weapon.
"He, uh… he tried to feed them to Mark before we could pull him off," Buck answers, shivering. "He was laughing."
"Truly a feral animal," Billy shakes his head. "You're sure you don't want a more obedient mutt?"
Negan shivers, and it's not from disgust. He would not be ashamed to admit that his cock twitches in his pants from this new info. He'll be hard as diamond in no fucking time. "Oh, no. No, no, no. That just makes me what him more." There's a feral gleam of his own in his eye and in his grin, something that his three lieutenants are quite used to.
Billy tries not to let his disgust show on his face, focusing on the ring as the door opens again. They've sent a surprise three in this time just as Carl has gotten to his feet, shoulders heaving with his breathing.
The mutt has the rib bone of the biggest deadie in his hand like a jagged bone scythe. He uses it like a hook on the fastest shambler, turning its momentum against it and sending it careening into the wall.
The second one doesn't get away as easily. It's already got exposed brain twitching at the side of its head making it an easy kill as the third stumbles over one of the fallen bodies. Popping the third's head under both boots like he had done to the initial deadie, Carl ducks to avoid the fast one, grabbing it by the arm. He shoves his shoulder into its armpit and throws the rib upwards, stabbing the bone through the soft place under its jaw.
The corpse crumples, nearly taking the mutt down with it but the teen stumbles away. He's breathing a lot heavier now, shaking a bit possibly with adrenaline. That makes ten, his previous record.
Buck's radio buzzes. "We only have four left, should we send them at once?"
Negan licks his teeth, eyeing the gore and viscera Carl has wrecked upon the fighting ring. He looks at the boy, panting and covered in grime. He wants to push him to his limit. See how far Carl can go. He knows they've got the gunman ready to shoot the walkers incase Carl passes out, so he feels pretty secure in Carl's safety.
"Do it."
Buck confirms and a moment later the four are released into the ring.
Carl is all heaving breath and shivering gore spattered body. So loud down below that the deadies hear him immediately, practically tripping one over the other to get to their potential meal. He's a smart dog though, leads them on a goose hunt, tripping them over the other bodies.
His rib bone breaks on the first one, and he tears its arm off with his own groan of pain, barely heard from the box. He gets it off the body in just enough time to bat away one of the ones that's recovered, chasing its flailing body down to cave its head in with his boot heel.
The third grabs him and they both go down, the mutt using the severed arm as a bite guard as he rolls them so that he's on top of it. Taking a page from Chell's book, the kid shoves his fingers in its eye deep deep deep until it stops thrashing and biting.
The last one is approaching from behind. He's not up, still kneeling on the third one's chest, has barely got his fingers out of its head and—
BANG
Jamie's gun goes off and the last deadie crumples.
Carl is on his feet less than a second later, head swinging from the corpse up to the second level. He lifts both arms and flips her off, brain matter still clinging to his right middle finger.
Negan laughs loud and claps his hands like it's the end of the greatest show he's ever seen in his life. "Oh, fuck! I love this kid! Shit, this was great!" He turns to look at Billy for the first time since the fight started. "Expect some of my people at your scheduled fights because I'm gonna hype the fuck outta this. I'll even make sure they pay."
He looks back to Carl and nods approvingly. This was a very good trip.
"The only dog we have nearly as violent as him is Chell," Billy comments, waving for Buck. "We'll have to find another if you're giving endorsements."
"Let me know when you do."
"Bring him up," Buck says into the radio.
The door below comes open and Carl seems to zero in on Mark. He tilts his head, clearly considering something. Rather than fight or lunge at the handler, though, he practically allows the pole catcher to slide around his throat so he can be frog marched up into the box.
The fight must have tired him out.
"Oh, I get to see my boy fresh from the fight?" Negan perks up, turning around to eye his men. "How'd y'all like the fight? You think it's good for us?"
"Yessir," Simon says, almost too fast with his agreement.
"If you can get him to obey you," Dwight says, looking a little pale from all the gore. "He's not going to be easy to trust."
"Good thing I'm so patient," Negan says with a snort, waving away the worries.
Carl barely looks at any of them when he gets into the box. With how much he glares at Billy, it's almost obvious that he doesn't care a lick right now.
It could be the choke pole or even just the exhaustion from the fight, but his eyes are a hundred yards away. Pointed right at one of the shelves along the back of the room.
"Heya, pup! Great fucking job out there!" Negan bounces over, keeping just out of reaching distance. He's sure Carl is too tired to do anything, and doesn't want to be choked, but better safe than sorry.
Carl makes a vague, disgusted noise almost in Negan's direction but keeps his eyes on the shelf.
When Carl doesn't look his way at all, Negan follows the direction of his eyeline and squints towards the shelves. "Whatcha lookin' at, pup?"
There's a battered sheriff's hat sitting on a shelf. Clearly well loved, the gold of the tassels and the sheriff's badge are almost bright against the dark brown fabric of it. A little misshapen from wear with a chip in the brim, but still whole and recognizable.
Negan tracks Carl's gaze, moving to the shelves and pointing at random objects, thinking he sees a slight twitch when he lands on the hat. "What's up with this stuff? This hat?" He directions the question to Billy, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Souvenirs, odds and ends. The picture is of Buck and Jamie's mother. The thirty-eight was my wife's," Billy twists around to squint at the hat. "Ah, the hat. Mutt was wearing it when we brought him in. Figured he stole it from some police lock up with the gun."
Negan hums and looks back to Carl. That heavy gaze seemed to say more than 'I stole that', but Negan doubts he'll get words out of Carl if he asks.
Tucking Lucille under his arm, Negan plucks the hat up and spins it between his fingers. "I'm taking this," he tells Billy, not leaving any room for an argument on the matter.
Billy clamps his mouth shut.
Negan walks back to Carl, once again staying an arms length away. "You can have this once you're cleaned up, alright? Deal?"
Carl looks hard from the hat in Negan's hand up to Negan's face. Finally, he stiffly nods.
"Mark," Billy addresses. "Have Molly check him over and hose him down. She has ten minutes to get him ready, and you can bring him back to Negan in the front room. We don't want to waste any more of the Saviors' time."
Mark jerks the polearm harshly, and Carl stumbles after him but doesn't go down, glaring with the force of a bonfire at the handler.
"If he fucking hurts my new dog, I'll take the rest of his fingers myself," Negan bites out, very ready to get Carl away from Mark. He looks back to Billy and huffs, spinning the hat on his hand. "Thank you for your hospitality and cooperation. This has been a very satisfying visit."
Billy stands, moving back out of the box. "Rest assured, the mutt has a fondness for our vet tech. I'll walk you lot back to the front and wait with you. Your boys can coordinate with Buck about the trade of goods."
"Excellent."
Negan and his trio follow Billy back to the front, discussing what other vegetables they usually have growing or collect from other places. Negan even offers to send some potential dogs over if Billy is interested.
The conversation from there is pretty genuinely business friendly. It seems that with Mark out of Negan's sight both men have common ground to stand on.
It's when Mark returns, thankfully no longer with a pole catch but a leather leash hooked onto Carl's collar, that things get tense again.
Carl is dressed in a shirt that's way too big for him and not suitable for the weather as well as a pair of sweat pants. His shoes at least are the same, though no longer covered in grime and the leather is still a bit wet. His hair is… cleaner than before, wet and tangled up around his face where the muzzle is clasped and his head has been rewrapped in gauze.
"Couple of bruises, and he'll be sore a while, Molly said." Mark says uninterested, still standing clearly apart from Carl even though all the kid has eyes for is the hat. Mark reaches out to Negan offering up the shock collar remote, the handle of the leash, and a key too small to be for the collar so it must be for the muzzle. "Good luck."
"Thanks," Negan says in a clipped tone, taking the things from Mark. He pockets the remote and key, holding tight to the leash as he looks Carl over. They were definitely going to get him into better clothes first thing.
Second thing, a comb.
"Here, pup. Just like I promised, yeah?" Negan holds the hat out to Carl, a peace offering if ever there was.
Carl makes another muted disgusted noise behind the muzzle but snatches the hat anyway. He settles it on his head with a surprising amount of gentleness.
Stepping towards Negan, he pauses and fast as anything whips around. With an aborted jerk, that doesn't even pull the leash tight, he lurches towards Mark.
The man crashes backwards. "Fucking bitch!"
Carl lets out a wheezy snigger, stepping back towards Negan and his men with one last middle finger in Billy's direction.
Negan can't help the loud laughter that booms out of him, throwing a wave back to Billy as he heads off to his truck. "Ah, kid. You're fucking great. This is gonna be amazing. You're gonna love the Sanctuary. Shit, I gotta figure out where I'm gonna put ya. I'll think about on the ride over."
Negan guides Carl to the back of his truck, opening up the large doors and ushering him in. There's bench seats on either side and a metal grate separating the driver from the back. Dwight and Arat climb in the back as well and take a seat along one side while Negan gestures for Carl to take the other. His next action relies heavily on Carl being too tired to put up any kind of fight.
"Here," he holds the end of Carl's leash towards the boy himself. "Hold on to this for me, yeah?" He had debated about tying it to something in the back of the truck, but with Carl's hands free, there's really no point. Dwight and Arat will keep a well enough eye on him.
Carl fiddles with the loop of the leash now in his hands and glances around the truck. It's clearly used to transport people who aren't supposed to be able to touch the driver like a cop car. It doesn't surprise the teen that he's been put in the cage part of the vehicle, but it does surprise him that he's been put in with other people.
He looks at the other two. Takes them in, catalogs their guns and their posture. The woman takes up more space than the man does but the man is in the middle which is the smallest space. Logically Carl should have been there.
In his observing, the blond man catches his eye and Carl stops fiddling with the leash with one hand to tap his gauze covered cheek and point at the blonde's scarred face, tilting his head as the truck starts.
Dwight perks up, surprised he's been acknowledged by the boy. He reaches up to feel his own face, fingers gliding over the textured scars. He glances to Negan through the grate before back to Carl. "I broke a big rule," he says quietly. "I knew this was the punishment for getting caught, but I did it anyway." He shrugs.
Carl makes a farting noise with his mouth, which is jarring, but not necessarily loud. He waves a dismissive hand, and it's somehow clear he's not dismissing Dwight or his pain but the situation.
He presses his hand against the side of his face and makes a sizzling hiss with his mouth before pointing at Dwight again as if asking a question.
"Uh… Yeah. A big iron," Dwight says, cocking his head to the side.
"He can make sound effects, but can't speak words?" Arat huffs softly, watching the scene go down.
Carl absently flicks a middle finger up in her direction.
Dwight shrugs. "It's something, yeah?"
He looks back to Carl. "Listen, I just wanna say, as long as you follow the rules, you'll be fine. You'll probably get special treatment anyway what with you being…" He waves his hand at Carl, gesturing to all of him. "And you'll be treated much better than that place you were in."
Snorting, Carl very pointedly rolls his eye at the blonde man's clear concern. He doesn't seem to give any indication that he cares about this preferential treatment.
Looking again, Carl points at his own one eye and then points two fingers back and forth between their two faces in the universal 'watching you' gesture before very pointedly gesturing to the eye on the scarred side of the blonde's face.
It takes a moment, Dwight and Arat both blinking in silence as they try to understand what Carl is saying, but it does eventually click. "Oh! Can I see out of my eye? Yeah, yeah. I can see fine. The damage isn't that bad honestly."
From up in front, the soft sounds of classic rock begin to play, Negan tapping on the wheel in time to a Styx cassette.
Carl nods, clearly satisfied and goes back to fiddling with the leash, clearly unbothered. Part of the drive he spends looking out the window but he ends up grimacing after a few minutes, messed up depth perception making a motion headache start forming behind his eye region.
Finally he drops his head back against the seat, spending equal amounts of time staring lazily at the ceiling and at the backs of his eyelids.