#yeah some kids come out of potty training with control issues but who wins if you spend two hours arguing with a 4 year old?

[knaveofmogadore]

Pretty much all of my advice from years of tutoring, working with foster kids, and helping raise half a dozen toddlers is two questions and an answer:

1) Is there a developmental or medical reason the kid is doing [behavior], or is it a control thing?

2) If it is a control thing, what will I gain from tackling it head on that I wouldn't gain from alternate solutions or by giving up entirely?

And the answer is almost ALWAYS "No one wins when you initiate combat with a toddler, because you're an adult with a million responsibilities, and that kid ain't got nothing else to do. You might get what you wanted, but you'll both still lose"

[vizhi0n]

Sundown - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

If you wanna be tagged and untagged, lemme know!

@flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @crzcorgi @lucifers-trash-stash @mypapawinchester @kellyn1604 @i-am-negan-trash @superprincesspea @negans-network @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @heartfulloffandoms @rapsity @divadinag @tolieboy @manawhaat @haleyea @kijilnn @my-achilles–heel @jasoncrouse @alyisdead 

This chapter is sorta long af (it was gonna be longer but i had to cut it down) but yeah lemme kno what u think. I don’t plan on this fic being any more than 10 chapters, at the most. 

Warnings: uh for this chapter just negans potty mouth and some gore. Is there smut in le next chapter? who knows? i shall not spill le beanz

Sundown was right around the corner. I’d watched Negan slowly drift off, falling asleep on the carpet, Lucille cuddled against him while he used his leather jacket as a pillow.

That was when I mustered the strength to grab my gun from the table, slipping it over my shoulder. I pulled up my own chair next to the window, where I’d sat for a few hours, surveying the stagnant area for any signs of Negan’s crew or, hell, Rick and the others coming back for me.

I’d given up hours before. In fact, I’d given up the moment I’d watched Gregory speed away like the coward he was. My chances of survival were practically nonexistent, but that primal, animalistic part of me that wanted to live kept me moving.

Negan stirred. I glanced behind me, watching him slowly sit up. He blinked a few times, Lucille resting in his lap. He was careful not to jostle his injury as he pulled himself into a chair.

“I’m keeping my gun,” I said.

“Won’t do you any fucking good. The rounds are in here,” Negan patted his pants pocket. “Sorry, not fucking sorry.”

I rolled my eyes, setting the gun next to the chair. I crossed my arms, watching the setting sun turn the clouds a beautiful pink and a vibrant orange.

My stomach began rumbling. Negan glanced up, jerking his chin towards the cabinets. “There might be food in there. Canned shit, but at least it’s fucking edible.”

He was right. I found two cans of beans and a few bottles of water. The food wasn’t as important — I could already feel my body beginning to become dehydrated. The humidity in the room didn’t help, either. I tossed a bottle to Negan, setting the beans on the table.

“I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“Then fucking do something about it,” Negan took a swig of water. “This is basically your fucking show. I can’t even fucking walk.”

“Is there a way I can get onto this roof?”

“Ladder on the other side. Why?”

“Could you get up there?” I turned to face him. “With me covering you? You go onto the roof and start shooting, clear a path for me?”

“There are several fucking flaws in that plan. First, I don’t fucking trust you enough for that shit. Second, I just said I can’t fucking walk. So fuck no I can’t climb a ladder.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Shit. That’s understandable,” I sighed, glancing around the room. I stood and began rummaging through each and every cabinet and closet I could find, aware that Negan was watching me.

Besides the cloth and beans and water I managed to salvage some wire, an old lighter, a rope with a hook attached to the end, several bottles of liquor, and what looked to be —

“A crowbar? I can work with this,” I nodded my head enthusiastically. Negan made no move to grab the weapon from me, instead beckoning for the bottle of liquor.

“Give me that shit,” he murmured. I obeyed, setting it on the table.

“Alcohol dehydrates you,” I said. “So, you know…you probably need to just not.”

“I asked, and you fucking gave,” Negan replied.

“Yeah but I assumed you had self control — you know, let’s change the topic,” I rested my chin in my hands. “I’m not pissed at you anymore.” 

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah. So, let’s talk. You said you wanted to have a conversation. Let’s converse.”

Negan eyed me warily, before shrugging his shoulders and saying, “I’ll fucking bite. How old are you?”

“Different question.”

“O-fucking-kay. What do you do, back at Alexandria?”

“I’m basically Judith’s babysitter,” I glanced down at the table. “I love kids, and I want to help out. I also run most of the garden. Glenn and Maggie used to do that together. With Maggie at Hilltop and Glenn….” I trailed off. “I wanted to take that over. Judith likes to help sometimes.”

“And then Rick made you a soldier?”

“I wanted to fight. I volunteered. I love taking care of Judith and I love gardening, but I know how to use a gun, how to kill walkers. Rick needed me because I didn’t have to be told what to do and how to do it. You know, humble foot soldier stuff.”

“I bet you regret that shit now.”

“What I regret is helping that asshole Gregory. The rest is cool.”

“You gonna kill him if you get out of here? Assuming that you’re alive and not one of those fuckers,” Negan flipped a thumb towards the scraping, undead hands against the windows. “I mean, I wouldn’t fucking blame you. Have you ever killed someone before?”

“We’re getting personal, now.”

“Me asking if you’re a virgin was fucking personal. This is just conversational shit. Everyone has done some fucked up shit before. Everyone.”

I stared, setting my crowbar on the table as Negan gingerly sipped some liquor.

“When I was on the run, alone. I was in college when all this shit went down. Wasn’t around my family. I still have no idea if they’re still alive,” I shrugged. “Because of my upbringing, because of what I’ve dealt with before the world ended, I’ve never had issues with death or killing. I mean, I’d never done it, but I knew that if I ever had to, I wouldn’t hesitate. And naturally when people started coming back from the dead, I had to protect myself. Fear makes people crazy.”

“How many?”

“Now? Maybe a dozen. Maybe. I don’t keep count because if I keep count, I start to care,” I ducked my head. “Most were over stupid stuff. Like stealing food, attacking my friends…friends that died, anyway. I don’t regret any of it and it doesn’t bother me.”

Negan whistled. His lips pulled back over those perfect white teeth and he smiled. “So I know you would have fucking killed me. Damn. Lucky for me I punched you in the fucking face.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“Don’t take that shit personally,” Negan leaned forward, wincing as he jostled his wound. He slid the liquor bottle across the table.

“I don’t like hard alcohol. I’m picky,” I grimaced. “I only like fruity stuff. Mojitos and whatnot.” 

“I can respect that.”

“Can I ask you questions, now?”

“Sure. I can’t guarantee that I’ll fucking answer, though.”

I sucked in a breath, looking him up and down. I was always drawn to his eyes — his eyes and his hands. His eyes, because they were dark, unflinching. His hands because they were calloused, fingers long, his grip powerful.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Really?” Negan scoffed. “That’s what you ask me?” 

“Mine is pizza. Your turn. It’s only fair.”

“I don’t fucking know. It’s not like we have the time to grill out and shit anymore.”

“Before, what was it?" I asked. “C’mon. You don’t strike me as the boring type. Spill.”

“Goddamn. Fucking…chocolate covered strawberries. My wife, she—” Negan stumbled, stopping abruptly and cursing. “Shit.”

I grinned. “Got you to spill. You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.”

I stood, standing over Negan before spreading out the supplies I’d salvaged. I had a pretty good plan forming in my head. It was only a matter of executing it, and whether or not Negan would be on board.

If he’d trust you.

“I’m going to sleep. It’s sundown,” I said. “Wake me up in a few hours.”

“This is a very stupid fucking idea,” Negan said. I ignored him, measuring the rope. I gnawed on my bottom lip, praying that I had enough. “A very, very stupid idea.”

“At least it’s an idea,” I said. I slung the rope over my shoulder, turning and facing Negan. I deftly slid the gun across the table and into his waiting hand, adding, “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I don’t have a fucking choice. I really don’t want you to fucking die on me.”

“Good,” I flashed Negan a smile. He returned it, and I immediately felt warm. Like, fucking warm inside I shoved the feeling down and went back to focusing on my ludicrous plan. I checked the window once more, hearing Negan stand and join me.

“When I get on the roof, I’ll stomp my foot two times to let you know that I made it,” I said. “And I want you reply with two hits against the ceiling.”

“Do you even have enough fucking rope for this?”

“Yeah. It’s not that big of a gap between this building and the balcony. This rope is at least eight yards long. Maybe longer,” I swallowed, meeting Negan’s gaze. “This is a win-win for both of us. It’s not like your men will let me leave.”

“You’d fucking risk that? They have no idea who you are — I told them to kill any Alexandrian they see. You aren’t fucking exempt from that, and I can’t exactly call them off.”

“If we don’t do something, we’re dead anyway. I’ll risk it.”

“Ballsy,” Negan murmured. “I like that shit. I like it a lot.”

I brushed past Negan, standing in front of the door, crowbar in one hand, rope in the other. I knew thinking about it would only make me hesitate, waste time, so I looked back at Negan as he began loading the rifle and said, “Ready?”

“I was fucking born ready. Let’s get this over with.”

I pushed open the door. The noise and stench of the undead hit me like a freight train — at the sound of the metal door scraping against the concrete, they turned their heads, groaning at the sight of fresh meat.

Gunfire exploded next to me. Negan had pushed open the window, taking calculated, methodical shots. I leaped down the small stairs, clutching the rope tight against my body as I ducked and swerved and weaved through the thicket of walking corpses. One lunged and I swung the crowbar, catching it in the head.

“Left fucking side! Go! Get up there!” Negan shouted, gunning down a trio of approaching walkers. I cursed, ducking beneath sweeping hands and turning a corner. The rusty old ladder was there, right in front of me.

I furiously began climbing. I felt teeth scrape against the back of my boot, grimy hands pulling at my pant leg. I nearly lost my footing, but continued climbing, even as I felt my boot come loose, pulled into the crowd of walkers.

I was safe. Sort of. I scrambled atop the trailer, bending over to regain my breathing. With my one booted foot I stomped three times, and heard the faint sound of Negan pounding the ceiling three times in return.

Right across from me was a wide balcony with a door. That was my destination. i knelt, setting down the crowbar and wiping my brow. It felt nice, no longer being in that humid, cramped space. There was a nice breeze as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

One shot at this. Shit. I began tying the rope to the top of the ladder, tugging it hard to ensure that it was tight enough. I bounced on my toes, sucking in huge breaths of air as I tried not to look down. I was afraid of heights. I was afraid of heights, but my will to survive was far more intense than my fear.

I threw the hooked end of the rope, hard. The metal carried it through the air and, to my surprise, it sailed over the balcony. I tugged and watched as it hooked itself around the railing. I pulled, testing its hold.

That’s a good few yards to scale.

I stomped two times to let Negan know that it had worked. I heard two more hits in return. I grabbed my crowbar, shoving it into my belt. Then I began climbing, amazed that the rope didn’t snap as it strained to hold my weight. The walkers were looking up now, arms outstretched as I shimmied across the rope. I used my legs and arms, going slow and steady.

I was a little over halfway there when I heard the balcony door fly open.

Shit.

I craned my neck, tilting my head back. I could see the upside down figure standing with his arms crossed and a devilish smirk on his face. I immediately recognized the man as Simon.

Forming words was very hard while hanging upside down from a suspended rope. 

“Hell of a contraption you got there,” Simon poked at the hook, and I immediately began breathlessly shouting.

“Wait. Wait, wait, dude, don’t. Don’t. Just wait — shit,” I tried scaling the rope faster. Simon drew his knife, and I stopped immediately. “Dude, I’m on your side. Negan is in the trailer. He’s hurt and we’re both stuck—”

“Now why the hell would I believe you?” Simon’s smile faded. “If I remember correctly, you were one of the people shooting at me. Yeah. I remember — one of your bullets almost blew my face off.”

“I’m sorry, dude, I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry. To be fair you shot back—”

“I’ll give you a choice. You can crawl back down onto that trailer, or you can keep going until you get here and have to deal with me. I’d very much like the latter,” Simon raised his knife so I could really see it.

I didn’t like the latter. I’d die, immediately. There was no way I would be able to take Simon in a fight. But I kept going, slower than before, praying that Simon would believe me.

“I have no reason to lie. I swear,” I shouted. Simon frowned, but didn’t look at me. He stepped closer to the hook and I boldly released one hand from around the rope, reaching for him in a plea. “Don’t, dude, don’t. Seriously. I’m not playing. Please don’t. For the love of God don’t! I’m begging you, man!”

“Too late for that.”

I shrieked as he brought his knife down upon the rope, sawing away. The entire time I was screaming, pleading as I felt the rope sag until it finally snapped. I plummeted, the rush of wind tearing my desperate howls from my throat. I landed atop a car, feeling and hearing the windshield shatter as my back impacted the glass. I slid like a raindrop , discarded onto the concrete.

Ow.

Concussion? Probably. Something in my left shoulder really, really hurt, and I could barely breathe.

“Negan—”

Walkers around me began dropping. Ignoring the pounding agony in my head, I unsheathed my crowbar and swung. I shouldered my way through the herd, disoriented and confused. The trailer door was like a hazy object floating in the fog. My right eye went dark — I realized that I’d closed it to keep out the blood cascading down my face.

The trailer door opened. I saw Negan, leaning against the frame, reaching towards me.

“Get the fuck in here, now! Hustle!”

I threw myself through the door. Negan slammed it shut, sagging against it as his injured leg gave out.

We both lay, trying to regain our composure and our breath. I tried to move my arm, but it refused, pinpricks of pain shooting through my entire body. I prayed that I hadn’t broken it.

“Shit, girl, what happened?” Negan struggled to stand. He limped over, taking a seat next to me on the ground. I was caught up in my own pain, barely acknowledging that he was there.

“Your boy Simon happened,” I said, finally able to speak. “I was almost there, Negan. I was so fucking close—”

“Did he cut the rope?”

“Yeah.”

“Goddammit, Simon,” Negan gazed at the ceiling. He slammed his fist against the ground, cursing once more. “Fucking hell. If I die because of his dumbass—”

“He wasn’t having it. I tried,” I groaned. “Shit. Negan, I think my arm is fucked up…”

“Let me see it,” Negan helped me sit up. I immediately felt woozy and nauseous, a clear sign that along with some broken ribs and possibly an arm, that I was also most likely concussed. Negan gingerly grasped my arm, lips pressed into a grim line. “No. Your shoulder might be dislocated — yep. Shit.”

“Fix it for me.”

“Are you sure?” Negan leaned in close. When I didn’t look at him, he gently grasped my chin between his thumb and his forefinger, moving my head. “I said ‘are you sure’?”

“I’m sure,” I pulled away. “Go ahead and do it.”

I closed my eyes. I felt Negan’s big hands wrap around me. He didn’t hesitate or count or give me any warning as he snapped my shoulder back into place.

The scream I let out was inhuman. Tears gushed from my eyes as I grit my teeth, fighting through waves and waves of pain. My wooziness only increased, and Negan held me until I finally managed to open my eyes.

I sat in silence, hardly able to move as he grabbed a cloth and began tending to the gash on my head, wiping away the blood.

“It’s dark as shit. We aren’t doing anything else tonight,” Negan said. I watched as he removed his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. The leather engulfed my small body like a blanket. “Go to sleep. You need it.”