Warmongering

                                    

                                          
Negan held off the dead with the help of Timmy's knife and his natural ability to kick the shit out of roamers. Only when the sound of Rae's car pulling away told him she was safe did he scramble up the embankment which he'd tumbled down.
                          
He peered over the grassy edge with cautious eyes, double checking that a certain fiery redhead wasn't baiting him into her trap. She wasn't and part of him was disappointed, not because he thought she'd missed out on a golden opportunity but more because he'd spent the last week looking forward to seeing her and his plans had well and truly fallen down the shithole.  
                          
Negan pulled himself all the way up onto the road, wondering how the hell Rae had managed Timmy up the hill and feeling surprised to see a set of car keys waiting on the roof of Timmy's car. Although he shouldn't have been surprised. This was Rae and she might have shot him with 50,000 volts and threatened to kill him but under those threats she was a good girl at heart. Regardless of her reasons Negan decided to take this small gesture to mean that she was still interested in him at least enough to give him a fighting chance and that was all he ever needed anyway.
                          
With a smile he grabbed the keys and popped the trunk, sighing in relief when his gaze landed on "Lucille." Negan had only hoped that Timmy had brought her and with the impending shitstorm he was going to need at least one of his girls on his side. He picked her up, admiring her before taking a swing at the roamer that had chased him to the road. Brain matter flew through the air, splatting on the tarmac like jello and it might not have been Timmy's skull but it was a start.
                          
With that in mind he considered following Rae back home but even with the men he'd left at the farm across the field it wouldn't be enough for him to feel comfortable. He had no idea what Rick was planning and he wasn't going to walk into a fight with his dick in his hand. So with the fuel tank running on fumes Negan made it back to the Sanctuary just after nightfall and he was barely through the gate before he was jumping from the car and yelling for Simon.
                          
"What happened?" Simon said, following hot on Negan's heels as they stormed through the halls to his apartment.
                          
"Not here," Negan replied, casting a wary eye to the people they were passing. He'd realised that Rick finding Rae would have been like finding Sherry's personality, unlikely as fuck. That meant someone had told him about her and that someone could be anyone, he didn't exactly have many friends around here. Negan didn't want anyone to ask questions just as much as he didn't want anyone to hear what he had to say, except of course for Simon. Out of all the fuckers in the Sanctuary he trusted Simon.
                          
Kirsten was sitting in his room when they got there, her lipstick freshly painted, her breasts falling out of her bra as she stretched out across the chaise like cleo-fucking-patra.
                          
"Jesus christ!" Negan exclaimed, storming through the door. "Did you not fucking understand the words leave and never fucking come back?"
                          
A slow smile crept across Kirsten face, "you married me for better or worse, Negan."
                          
"Then you're right in fucking time for the worse part sweetheart," Negan ran agitated fingers over his face, his head pounding as hard as his heart. This was the nightmare he'd been trying to avoid and every part of it was his fault. The wives, Rae, Rick, his people. It was all a web of fucked up.
                          
He remembered leaving Lucille's room and the months he'd spent on the road. He'd promised himself he wouldn't be one of those dead fuckers, he'd swore to himself that he'd stick it out alone and somewhere in between he'd ended up with all these lives in his hands and the responsibility to keep them breathing.
                          
"Everything's fucked," he decided, ignoring Kirsten's unholy presence as he paced around the room before pouring a glass of bourbon. He knocked the liquid back, relishing the burn and quickly pouring another.