Chapter Text
The next couple of days went by inconsequently, for which Rick was relieved. Getting punished was tiring, both on the body and mind. He much preferred when Negan played the role of doting Daddy, only because it made life easier for Rick. Not because Negan looked after him or had turned out to be pretty fun to play with.
So, Rick behaved, and Negan also behaved. There were no more icy mornings or ignoring Rick, which he was glad for. Instead, Negan woke Rick up like clockwork, changed him, fed him breakfast, and then let him play on the mat while Negan worked.
It wasn't as fun playing alone if he played at all. Some mornings, he just sat with his own thoughts. But other days, it felt like he'd used up all of his thinking, and all that was left was the blocks or dolls in front of him.
There were some days when Rick felt so numb that he didn't do anything at all, he couldn't even look at Negan when the man came to him. He lay like a doll and let the saviour change him, bathe him and generally move him where he pleased.
He knew those odd days infuriated Negan beyond no end, but Rick couldn't even bring himself to be fearful of punishment. His head felt empty. Negan would huff and clench his fists when Rick refused to open his mouth for food or a bottle. He'd bring out all the tricks, get down on the floor and try and play with Rick or threaten to parade him in front of the entire compound in his diaper. When none of that worked, he'd swear under his breath and lock Rick in the crib until he eventually slept it off.
Rick didn't like to think of those dark, guilty days. Days when his heart screamed at him to go home, Rick couldn't even bring himself to think about what awaited him there. His family, whom he'd abandoned, would be sick to learn what Rick had been reduced to. So he locked it in a box and refused to open it until the possibility of escape felt achievable. Otherwise, he'd lose his mind.
So, Rick had begun to monitor his wandering mind. He still thought about getting away, thought about it a lot. Always keeping an eye on Negan and the man's schedule. But beyond that, thinking about home and his family was too much. Too painful. So, Rick avoided it at all costs.
Lunch was usually some kind of finger food he could help himself to while Negan pulled funny faces at him and babbled about random subjects. Rick tried to keep his eyes on the tray in front of him, but Negan was determined to catch his eye and often wouldn't give up until Rick's lips twitched upwards.
Most recently, movie time had become somewhat of a staple, the latest addition to their daily routine. It was always some baby-friendly children's movie, which Negan turned off at exactly the right moment to warp the story to fit whatever moral he was trying to teach Rick that day.
"See, Ricky, little babies need their Daddys."
Sometimes Negan was content to let Rick focus on suckling his bottle while Negan explained the happily ever after. Other times, he held Rick's chin tightly until his gaze was trapped and Rick replied, "Yes, Daddy."
Rick couldn’t keep track of the days and wasn’t sure how long he’d been with Negan. But the day of the ‘incident’ started like any other. In fact, it started as one of their ‘good days’. Rick hadn’t earned any major punishments and there had been no overly dosed-up sleepy bottles. In response to Rick’s good behaviour, Negan had been practically chipper.
“Hmm, what should we have for dinner, Ricky?”
Negan scooped him up from the mat, shaking him on his hip as he lightly tickled his side. Rick giggled, couldn’t help it, but mourned the loss of the storyline he had been deeply into with the dolls.
Action man Daddy was just about to break into the block tower and free the hostages.
Negan caught Rick’s forlorn look and examined the crime scene below, letting out a low, impressed whistle.
“Damn, looks like quite the party happening down there, huh?” Negan walked them into the kitchen, “maybe Daddy can play after dinner? Does that sound okay, baby boy?”
Rick tried to tamp down his excitement, but he was already nodding before he even realised what he was doing, looking at Negan with wide eyes. Negan chuckled, tickling his side again before putting him down in his high chair.
When the tray was snapped in place, Negan jogged back to snag some of the excess blocks, placing them in front of Rick to play with.
“Here, you keep yourself busy and come up with a way for us to save the day while Daddy gets dinner together.”
Rick nodded, fiddling with the blocks and trying to decide how to put together a battering ram to help action man Daddy rescue the hostages safely. Like usual, Negan was busy in the kitchen but nattering away all the while, filling Rick’s silence with inane chatter.
Rick zoned in and out, and caught snippets of Negan talking about some successful crops or something silly his ‘Uncle Simon’ had gotten up to. All of the stories made ‘baby friendly’, of course.
Negan had placed his sippy cup filled with water on Rick’s tray and was spooning some kind of casserole into his baby bowl when he started acting a little odd. Even for Negan.
He was appraising Rick, studying him while pretending to be nonchalant. He turned the conversation to some of the communities.
Rick tuned him out, focusing on what dinner Negan had made as the older man came to sit in a chair in front of him. It smelled delicious, and Rick dropped his mouth open ready for the first spoonful as Negan got some ready to airplane inside.
“Y’know the whole project was Carl’s idea, he’s really stepped up.”
No.
No. No. No .
Carl . His name instantly broke something inside Rick, hearing it from Negan’s own lips made it all the worse.
Rick couldn’t swallow, food stuck awkwardly at the back of his mouth as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at Negan, uncomprehending as the older man pretended nothing was amiss.
“Helping at home with Michonne and Judith and with my guys, they all really like the little serial killer.”
NO .
Rick began to scream. He spat his half-chewed food out, couldn’t give a fuck where it landed. It all tasted of ash and bile.
He shook his head, and couldn’t stop, trying to wake himself up from this nightmare.
The shouting was loud, it was hurting his own ears, he didn’t realise at first it was him.
“Rick!” Negan sounded shocked, but still stern, “You better calm down right this second.”
Rick couldn’t, wouldn’t .
This was all Negan’s fault, he’d broken the rule. He was talking about Rick’s family, his family who he’d abandoned, and it was Negan who took him away, who’d done all of this.
“I want to go home!” Rick screamed, throwing the blocks from his tray, “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”
He began pulling at his shoulder straps, still shaking his head and screaming. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air, he was trapped.
Negan was shouting something but Rick couldn’t listen. He just needed to get out.
“Hey, that’s enough!” Negan bellowed, frantic, looking seconds away from hitting Rick, but he didn’t care.
He’s still shaking, and he knocks the sippy cup to the floor next. Negan jumps back from the splash, and then it all happens at once.
The high chair starts to rock with Rick, becoming unbalanced as he thrashes, trying to get out. It tips backwards, and all of the air wooshes out of Rick as his stomach drops. He distantly sees Negan’s panicked face, alarmed as Rick drops further away and his hands reach out and miss.
Rick goes down fast, feels something sharp and heavy on his head, white-hot pain then everything goes black.
When he blinks, his vision is blurry but he can see the ceiling. Then Negan is in front of him, his face white and eyes furious.
“Look at what you fucking did,” Negan seethes, hands moving fast, unstrapping Rick and poking around his head. It hurts and makes Rick whimper, he feels something hot and sticky pooling beneath him.
Rick blinks again and realises he’s crying.
The walkie-talkie cackles to life in Negan’s hand.
“Bring me Carson.” Negan barks into the receiver.
Rick whimpers again.
“Don’t you start, Rick, you’re lucky you’re not dead .” Negan seethes, and Rick cries harder, then it goes dark again.
Rick blinked his eyes open, bleary and wet, as he tried to focus on the faces in front of him. Negan was still there, which was a relief, looking pale and furious as his hands moved fast over Rick's body. He was saying something to another man, words Rick couldn't grasp onto, but the other face was familiar. Dr Carson?
Seeing the doctor made Rick's stomach twist, and the pools in his eyes quickly spilt over, trailing down the sides of his temples and into his hair. He was still lying on the floor, but now out of the high chair.
Negan hushed him, stroking Rick's cheeks, his gentle touch feeling cool against his hot skin. The Doctor kept talking and prodding his hands around Rick's head, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth.
"-take him to the infirmary," Dr Carson told Negan, who nodded and moved Rick gingerly to put an arm beneath his shoulders. Rick instantly started crying harder, using a hand to clutch Negan's shirt and bury his face in his chest as his head flamed with pain.
He didn't want to go to the infirmary. He hurt, and he was in a diaper, and everyone was going to see him crying like a big baby holding onto his Daddy.
"I know, baby, I know," Negan said as they started walking, "Daddy's gonna get you all fixed up."
The sway as they walked caused Rick's eyes to flutter closed again.
When Rick woke up again, it was to a sharp pain in his arm.
His eyes flew open, and he groaned with pain as the shock jostled his head. It felt heavy, and it was pounding, and Rick already wanted to close his eyes again but the face above stopped him. Rick recognised her, one of Negan's Saviours, with tanned skin and a shaved head.
"Aw, did I wake the baby from his nap?" She snickered, plush lips curved in a mean smile.
Rick just felt confused and cotton-headed, he couldn't even feel embarrassed as the woman's eyes trailed over him. Rick only had time to realise he was back in his crib with no sign of Daddy before he succumbed to sleep again.
The next time a sharp pinch woke Rick, the room was dark. This time, it was Negan, and Rick whimpered when he saw the thunderous look on his face.
"Nuh-uh, no crying, Ricky. You did this to yourself," Negan said, looking far from pleased.
That was bad. Rick didn't even want to know what punishment he was in for.
"Daddy," Rick whimpered again, trying to turn into the hand that was feeling along the back of his head, but Negan took it away.
"Back to sleep now, baby."
The third time he was pinched awake, he thought he was still dreaming. Eugene was looking over at him with a flat face.
“Apologies for waking you, Baby Rick, but your Daddy was clear in his orders,” Eugene said, his voice in his usual monotonous drone.
“Eu-eugene?” But the man hushes him before Rick can say anything else, and his eyes have slipped shut before he knows it. He thinks it must have been a dream.
The next time he wakes up feels more like a nightmare. It’s Dwight pinching him awake, but his face is all wrong. Half of it is red and skeletal, and his eyes are full of disgust as he sneers down at Rick.
“I want Daddy,” he cries as he’s left alone in the dark again.
It was one of the worst nights sleep Rick had had, and that was saying something with the number of nights he'd spent outside, listening for the thudding steps of the undead.
All he wanted to do was sleep, but he kept being woken up. Pinched awake with a start, and the faces peering down at him were never warm. He thinks Uncle Simon wakes him up a couple of times, and he usually has an amused smile that doesn't seem too mean. But Rick was too groggy to speak or lift his arms to be picked up. He didn't want Uncle Simon anyway, he only wanted Negan.
But Daddy was so mad with him. Rick was bad. He should never have thrown his food or shouted. He knows it's against the rules. Rick sniffled.
The scary woman had been in to wake him up again. Once again throwing him a smirk as she tapped the tip of his nose. Rick had gone nearly cross-eyed following the action.
Now he was alone again, missing his Daddy. He used what little strength he had left in his arms to feel around his cot, wincing as his head throbbed in pain. He just needed to find Jet and his blankey, then he could get back to sleep. But the more he felt around the mattress, he knew they weren't there. The whole crib was empty except for Rick and his pillow. None of the usual bedding was tucked in around him. Luckily, Daddy had dressed him in some footy pyjamas, so he wasn't too cold.
Daddy was kind like that. Rick missed him.
He sniffled again and curled up on his side with his hands beneath his chin. He tried to nuzzle into the pillow, rubbing his face along the soft texture, but it wasn't the same. He really wanted his blanket and horse.
Rick fell back to sleep like that, crying quietly.
He wakes up again, this time all on his own. There's light streaming in through the curtains, and Rick sits up slowly.
Any minute Negan will stroll in, ready to change Rick for the day. They can get his punishment over with and then maybe Negan will let Rick watch another movie. Rick won’t even complain at Daddy’s made-up endings!
But Negan doesn’t come, and as the minutes drag on, Rick starts to worry.
Did he make Daddy mad enough to leave Rick all alone? Maybe he’s finally had enough of Rick being an ungrateful baby.
He starts to cry quietly and wishes he had his blankey to rub his face into. He sits, hoping he might spot it somewhere in the nursery, but the back of his head throbs in pain and Rick cries harder. Reaching his hand back, he feels where his hair has been shaved and the jagged line of stitches protrudes from the tender flesh.
“Hey! Don’t touch that, are you fucking dumb?” The shout is loud and mean, and it startles Rick enough that he jumps, banging his head on the grate above him.
He whimpers, tears streaming down his face as he blinks wearily at Dwight.
“Wh-where’s, Negan?” Rick asks, huddling against the far bars of his crib.
Dwight stalks forward and begins unlocking his crib, while Rick tries to hide how he shrinks away. The blonde saviour is just so scary with his monster face and angry scowl.
“He’s busy.”
Rick can feel how much the taller man hates him. He wants to ask him when Negan will be back but doesn’t dare.
Once the top of the crib is open, Dwight yanks Rick up by his arm and pulls him out of the crib, ignoring Rick’s startled yelp of pain. His tight grip falls on Rick’s wrist and pulls him out of the nursery and into the living area.
“Sit down, don’t move.”
Rick does as he’s told, too nervous to break Daddy’s rules even while he’s not there. As he sits cross-legged on the mat, he realises his diaper is wet. Usually Negan changes him as soon as he gets Rick up.
His bottom is uncomfortable and his head hurts, really bad. And Rick is also kind of tired from his poor night's sleep, and his throat dry from all the crying he’s been doing.
Maybe if Negan comes back he will give Rick a bath and let him sleep in the big bed with a bottle of sleepy, his blanket and Jet.
The reminder of his plush has Rick scanning his eyes across the living room, looking for where he might have left the horse. But none of his toys are visible. Maybe Daddy took them with him when he went away?
Rick’s eyes sting again. He looks towards Dwight and freezes when he finds his disgusted gaze already fixed on Rick. The blonde sneers and turns back to the book he’s flipped open on the kitchen table.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Dwight grunts, not bothering to look up at Rick again.
He nods, just barely before the pounding of his head stops him. He wants to feel the stitches again, and work out how large the wound is, but doesn’t dare draw Dwight’s attention again.
Instead, he sits quietly, exactly where Dwight left him, and watches the door. Maybe Daddy will be back soon?
Rick’s not sure how long he sits there but enough time passes for Dwight to drop a baby bottle full of water and a packet of crackers in his lap.
He’s really thirsty so he drinks, despite already having a full diaper. He really hopes Daddy gets back before he needs to use the bathroom again.
He leaves the crackers, his stomach roiling too much for him to feel hungry.
After another little while, the door finally opens and Rick straightens immediately, ignoring the sharp pain it sends to his head. But his excitement is short-lived when, instead of Negan sauntering through the door, it’s Simon.
“Where’s Uncle Simon’s best little guy?”, the tall man called, voice as cheery as ever. He came to stride in front of Rick, dropping into a squat to meet his eye, balancing on the balls of his feet.
“There he is,” Simon smiled, eyes trailing over Rick’s form with a furrowed brow. “You’ve been in the wars, huh?”
Rick felt his eyes burn again, shallow tears threatening to fall.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Simon said, chucking Rick under the chin as he stood up again. “The fuck, Dwight? You didn’t even change him, he was in these pyjamas all night.”
Rick heard Dwight move again from his place in the kitchen but didn’t want to look, instead, he buried his face in his arms. Of course, Dwight didn’t change him, only Negan did that. He just wanted his Daddy.
“I’m a Saviour, not some fucking babysitter,” Dwight spat, his voice much closer now, “I’m going back to work, have fun with the ankle biter.”
“Yeah, yeah, watch your mouth,” Simon calls, “and wear a fucking mask next time, you’ll scare the baby.”
The front door slams shut, and Rick just about hears Simon sigh before he feels strong hands under his arms, tugging him upwards.
“C’mon, sport, let’s get ya cleaned up.”
Rick wants to protest, shake his head and tug his hand out of Simon’s grip. But that was against the rules. He needed to be a good boy so Daddy would come back. So he follows Simon into the nursery and squeezes his eyes shut as Simon makes quick work of changing his diaper and pyjamas.
Uncle Simon doesn’t talk while he works, and doesn’t try to distract Rick with silly jokes or funny faces like his Daddy would.
Once he’s changed, he opens his eyes again. Simon has dressed him in his sweatshirt with the bear on the front, one of Rick’s favourites, but the pants don’t match, not like how Daddy puts together Rick’s clothes.
Uncle Simon smiles proudly at Rick, pulling him upwards from the changing mat, “There, bet that's better, huh, little guy?”
Rick nods but winces at the sharp pain it sends through his skull.
“Oh no, your head hurtin’?” Simon cooed, reaching to pick Rick up with an arm under his bottom. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
They walk back into the living room, Simon depositing Rick onto the sofa before heading off into the kitchen. When he returns, he has a bottle of milk, a sandwich on a plate and two little pills in his palm.
“Here, take these,” Simon holds the pills out towards Rick and he’s about to reach forward and grab them when the older man changes his mind, quickly curling his fingers over the tablets. “Hang on a sec.”
Simon puts the pills down on the coffee table, next to the sandwich plate, and uses the butt of his walkie-talkie to crush the tablets into dust. He then grabs the bottle of milk, unscrews the top and pushes the powdered pills inside. Once done, he shakes the bottle vigorously and Rick tries to watch them dissolve but it's over quicker than his eye can even catch.
When Simon pushes the bottle into his hands with a self-satisfied, “Here,” Rick doesn’t even hesitate, just latches on and begins to suckle. He’ll think about what that means later.
“Your Daddy said you like finger sandwiches,” Simon said after a couple of minutes of silence, the only sound being Rick’s soft suction of the bottle. Rick looks over at him and notices how he’s cut the sandwich into not only bite-size pieces but some little shapes too. He can see a couple of crude stars, love hearts and circles, none of them perfect but the effort is clear as day.
Simon picks one up, an unrecognisable, misshapen piece of bread, holding it with a ‘Ta-da’ motion, “This one’s a dog, d’ya see?”
Rick lets the bottle fall from his lips and lets out a giggle before he can even register what he’s doing. Uncle Simon is so silly.
“Hey, ya gotta use your imagination, alright?” Simon huffs, but Rick can see he’s smiling, “It’s not like a regular dog anyway, it’s a sandwich dog.”
Rick giggles again and plucks the sandwich dog out of Simon’s fingers, popping it into his own mouth whole.
“That’s a good boy.”
Once the sandwich is gone, Simon takes the empty plate back into the kitchen to wash up, and Rick goes back to sucking on what’s left of his bottle. He thinks the pills are already kicking in, his head doesn’t hurt anywhere near as bad.
While Simon’s back is turned at the sink, Rick fingers the stitches on his head again. He’s not sure if the shock of the last 24 hours is settling in, but suddenly he wants to cry again. Wants to go back in time and tell himself to just eat his lunch like a good boy. Then maybe Daddy would be here instead of Uncle Simon.
The static of Simon’s walkie-talkie crackles to life from its place on the coffee table, startling Rick. He hadn’t even considered it being at arm's length before, but now his chance is already gone as Simon comes striding over to retrieve it. He’s a dumb baby.
As Simon scoops it up, Rick thinks he can make out Negan’s tinny voice on the other end.
His mouth falls open, and he watches Simon with wide eyes as he walks back over to the kitchen, speaking in a low hushed voice that Rick can’t catch.
“Daddy?” Rick asks in a small voice, but Simon doesn’t respond, just finished his quick conversation and puts his walkie back in his belt.
“Nothing to worry about, little guy,” Simon says.
“Where’s Daddy?” Rick asks again, the tears that had started to swell start to stream down his face like a dam bursting. “I want Daddy,” he cries.
His eyes screw up and he can’t really see Uncle Simon walking over, but he can feel the couch cushions moving next to him, accompanied by the older man’s soothing sounds.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, squirt,” Simon wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugging Rick into an embrace.
It would be comforting, but the pit that has opened up inside of Rick has gone from a few loose stones falling to a total collapse. He feels hollow and he just wants his Daddy. But Daddy doesn’t want Rick anymore, doesn’t want an ungrateful baby who throws things and says no.
Rick hiccups on a sob, shoulders shaking where he’s curled in towards Uncle Simon.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Simon tries again, “Is it your head?”
Rick shakes his head, tears and snot rubbing again Simon’s t-shirt where his face is pressed into his chest. He starts to tell Simon, but his words are muffled through his tears.
Uncle Simon turns his head to the side with a thumb on his chin and ducks his head down to see as much of his face as possible while still hugging him.
“Try again, baby, what’s got you so worked up?”
“Da-da-daddyy,” Rick gasps, his sobs uncontrollable, “Daddy’s gone, Daddy, doesn’t wan’ me anymore.”
“Hey now, of course, your Daddy still wants you, you’re his baby!” Simon soothes, stroking a finger through the tear stain on Rick’s exposed cheek.
“Was bad, m’bad baby.”
“You’re not bad, Ricky, we all make mistakes, even your Daddy sometimes,” Simon begins swaying, effectively rocking Rick in his arms. He feels so small, with his legs curled up on the couch and Simon’s huge arms encircling his waist and shoulders.
“Your Daddy’s coming back, he’s just got some work to do is all,” Uncle Simon’s voice sounds strange, and Rick thinks he’s not a great liar. But at least he’s here and not Dwight.
Rick hiccups again and lets out little shuddering breaths as he sinks into Simon even more. His eyes start to feel heavy, and he begins to drift off, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway and warm hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.
It feels nice, but Rick knows it would feel so much better if it was his Daddy rocking him to sleep.
“You have a little nap, I promise your Daddy will be back and you’ll feel all better when you wake up.”