First line - left to right:

Grooming 'Let's figure out what to do with you' Teacher/ student au The lineup 'At least cry a little'

Second Line:

'Look at his badass' Pool table Sex tape 'You're my sunshine' Fingerless gloves

Third line:

Split lip Dub-con FREE SPACE Nosebleed Eye socket

Fourth line:

Abduction 'Take me instead' Punishment Little serial killer Bruises

Bottom line:

They'd been at this for hours. Which seemed fitting, considering the amount of buildup to it. Negan didn't know why Carl had been acting like such a bitch all day, all one-word answers and one-eyed glares, body language taut and closed off. He didn't have a goddamn clue what made the kid think it was okay to go to the pool hall without him, without his permission, where all those creeps and stupid jackasses roamed like coyotes (he would know), and he sure the hell didn't know how it got to Carl hauling off and punching somebody in the face and starting one of the nastiest scraps that Negan had ever had to drag him out of.

(But he'd lying if he said he didn't find the last bit kind of hot. Even if he got a couple bruises of his own.)

(…okay, especially because of that.)

He didn't know any of this, because Carl wouldn't respond to him the whole drive home: no exlanations, no apology. Just slouched over in the passenger's seat, arms folded, looking positively fucking petulant.

But hell if he wasn't going to find out.

Sometimes Carl got hardheaded. And sometimes that meant needing to break him back in. Which was both awesome (god, sometimes he remembered how pissy and recalcitrant Carl had been when they first met and his jeans got a touch tight—what a hot little number he'd been, it was nice to get a taste of that again sometimes) and infinitely goddamned frustrating because he was still at a loss for how they got there.

But whatever. They came home, he patched Carl's knuckles, inspected the bruises on his face, the busted lip that was still sluggishly bleeding into a cotton ball (God help him, the urge he had to bite it and make it worse), tried not to let his resolve soften at that downcast gaze and pink cheeks as he held his hands and turned his head this way and that, and when he was sure nothing was broken or in any more need, he led Carl into their bedroom and told him, "Get on your knees."

And Carl went without a word, so apparently he knew how badly this needed to happen. Didn't even take the time to take off his eye bandage, like he normally would before a scene, especially a punishment.

And it was going well. Carl had been a pretty tough nut to crack, at first, but Negan had their favorite paddle in his hands now, rich-colored wood with a leather-wrapped grip. Carl had long ago been knocked from his hands to bracing with his forearms with the force of it, and between the current implement and the swats Negan had given him with his bare hand, Carl's rear was blossming in multiple shades of deep red and pink. Negan was playing the long game, wearing Carl down like sanding a board, to hopefully reveal the patterns swirling around in that head of his. And if it kept him a low level of warm and sore for a day or two afterward, made him reluctant to sit, maybe it would settle him. Or at least remind him not to bite the hand that paid his car note and put a roof over his head.

So when Carl started to cry, silent tears dropping to the floor, he thought they were getting somewhere. So he let his mouth run, indulged himself, since surely Carl was listening now.

"Don't know what I'm gonna do with you," he mused, punctuated his sentence with a sharp little smack that made Carl's hips jerk forward. He hadn't moved from his hands and knees, even without restraints to reinforce the position (good boy, just like we worked on). "You've been disrespectful, you've been rude as all hell, getting anything out of you today has been like pulling fuckin' teeth—" Smack. "I don't know when I ever gave you the idea that it was alright to fuck off and get yourself hurt but God as my witness, honey—" He laughed, slightly less sincere-sounding than he meant it, and adjusted the angle of his swing for those sensitive spots at the tops of Carl's thighs, right under the full curve of that gorgeous, heart-shaped ass. "—I will be disabusing you of that notion right now."

Smack!

That one landed harder than the previous. Carl made a sharp noise and his posture tensed before it began to slump. Negan tsked disapprovingly, ran the edge of the paddle up between Carl's thighs, surely collecting some of the wetness that had to be running down his soft skin by now. "Hop up. All fours, now. You know better." Carl struggled visibly, but he got his legs back under him, and when he was sure Carl was settled and in no danger of toppling over, Negan started again.

"I cannot begin to tell you—" Smack. "—how disappointed I am—" Smack. "—in your behavior today." Smack. Carl shivered once, soft little noises escaping around the bit in his mouth that sounded pretty similar to I'm sorry and please, which to Negan was a good sign—when Carl started begging for his punishment, that was usually when they went a bit harder, really immersed him in the way he was feeling, then started to wind things down. Then Carl would go into his arms, still teary-eyed, thank him, and they would watch reruns of Bonanza on the TV until the boy fell asleep snuggled up into the space next to his partner, content in the knowledge he was adored and forgiven. They didn't talk about it much, but Negan knew Carl knew, because he would approach the next day with a lighter air, maybe even a sense of relief.

So he let it go for a few more good swings, maybe seven, the sharp sound of paddle on skin interplayed with Carl's muffled pleas for more, and when the final one hit, Negan set the paddle down on the ottoman at the foot of their bed, ran his fingers along the edge of it as he went, and knelt down beside Carl to take the gag off.

"Baby. It's over." He undid the fastener and reached under to receive the bit. Carl took a moment to drop it out of his mouth, and Negan set it aside. He went to put his hands on Carl's face, to thumb away a few of those tears and tip his head up for their eyes to meet, but Carl swayed off to the side, ended up lying down kind of hard on the floor. Poor kid, he was probably exhausted; Negan didn't see any more light filtering in the blinds, so the sun must have set while they were working. Well, that just meant he'd heat them up some leftover spaghetti for supper, maybe even eat it sitting up in the bed after he rubbed some salve into Carl's newly-red areas, and they'd turn in early.

Negan's pleasant prediction of their plans for the rest of the evening cleared out a bit when Carl curled in on himself, drawing his hands up close to his chest and locking his legs together. He was still, so still, and so quiet for what felt like ages but was probably half a minute at most, then his shoulders started to shake.

Negan ignored the slight tightening in his own throat, and called out to Carl, "Did you hear me, kiddo?" He reached out to him, and his fingertips had just barely brushed bare shoulder when the poor Carl-shaped heap on the floor drew in a hard, shuddering breath, and what came out sounded like it hurt, harsh and wounded as Carl hugged his middle and huddled up against the floor like he was weathering a tempest.

Carl…didn't cry like that, and the wrongness of it twisted in Negan's gut. He didn't tend to make a lot of noise, didn't like to have attention drawn to it, not even when he was really hurt. They had just recently gotten to a point where he could cry outside of the bedroom in front of Negan.

Negan leaned forward, put a hand between Carl's shoulder blades, whispered, "Hey—" and was immediately cut off by a sharp, hiccuping sob and Carl's back jerking away in a flinch, like it was another strike from the paddle. A frown pulled at Negan's lips and he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, like he did when trying to untie a complicated knot or when he was dropped into a difficult match on one of his games.

Did I hit him too hard?

Surely not, Carl had taken much harder hits with a smile and then presented his mouth eagerly.

The why could be figured out later, Negan quickly decided. Carl would have to be calmed down before they could have any kind of conversation. Right now, Carl didn't want Negan to touch him. Which made that difficult. But he couldn't just leave him there on the floor. It couldn't be comfortable, and it was probably cold.

When Negan stood up, he didnt miss it that Carl leaned just so in his direction, and when he walked away toward the bed, he heard Carl shift, turning his head to hide his face further against the floorboards, crying harder as if it just confirmed something to him, and holy hell if it didn't make Negan's heart feel just a bit like he was gonna bleed to death.

"I'm coming back," he said, almost involuntarily, though he wasn't sure Carl could even hear him, all wrapped up as he was in his distress. "Just hang on, killer, I'm coming."

He pulled the black throw blanket off the foot of the bed, soft and comfortingly heavy, brought it back over to the pale form in the middle of the room. He held it open like he was trying to catch something, some small animal, got back down on the floor with a soft grunt as his joints protested loudly (Maybe I'm getting too old for this shit), and gathered Carl up into his arms.

He was so cold to the touch, and once Negan lifted him up and had a hold of him proper he noticed the fine tremors running through Carl's thighs, his back, his hands where they were still held tight against himself. He'd always been sort of little, even with the firm muscles wrapped around his lanky frame and that last good growth spurt he swore he got at twenty but no one seemed to believe him, but Negan really couldn't think of a time Carl had felt and looked so fucking small to him.

"C'mere."

He sat back, Carl's pliable form in his lap, and propped the boy's head up on his shoulder. He smoothed down that soft brown mop of hair where it leaned on him, and was self-conscious, privately, at how much of a relief it was when Carl turned his face to press into his T-shirt, hot tears bleeding through the fabric. "There you go." He rubbed Carl's upper arm, his back too, trying to get some friction going to aid in warming him up, and it seemed like big, firm touches were alright for now, because Carl didn't try to pull away. Not that he really seemed to have the strength to.

He hadn't stopped crying, not by a long shot, but after a minute or two he didn't sound like he was being actively tormented anymore. Just…like his heart was breaking into a million pieces. They sat like that for a bit, Carl softly whimpering into Negan's chest, hands finally loosening enough to grasp at his T-shirt, and Negan rewarded him for the gesture by kissing the side of his head, pulling another soft, gasping sob from the raw, injured thing balled up against him.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice a soft rumble in his chest, as he slowly rocked the two of them back and forth. "It's gonna be okay, look. It's over. You're not in trouble anymore, babydoll, nobody's mad at you."

"…you're not?" It was the first time Carl had spoken this whole time, all strained and wavering, and Negan knew his throat just had to hurt after all that. That didn't make a whole lot of sense to Negan—punishment was just that, and it was over when it was over. That was a big part of their whole deal. Of his rules.

"Of course I'm not. You did something stupid, you got your ass torn up. That's how it works, and it's done. I'm not mad." There was a brief, guilty silence, and then he asked, just in case, "Did I get too rough on you?"

Carl went still in his arms. "No." Yes.

"You tellin' me the truth, Carl?" He was more serious this time, used his name this time, though he didn't think he'd ever regretted something as quickly as that when he felt Carl's chest jerk in a convulsive, sharp breath like he'd been slapped and felt his hands cling to the hem of his shirt.

"I didn't mean t—disappoint you," he gasped. He was starting to shake again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" He pressed his face back into Negan's shoulder, and the tears came heavy again, where they'd started to taper off.

Oh.

Ah, hell.

"Carl. Look at me." It took some coaxing, some nudging, but he got Carl to lift his head, and with one hand he brushed that overgrown fringe to the side. "Get that hair out of your face, I wanna see you." Carl's face was all flushed, smeared with tears, and his lips trembled hard at the corners with how he was trying to get a hold of himself. Any other time, it'd be a really pretty picture, and Negan felt a flush of annoyance at his traitorous-ass dick trying to stir. "I was disappointed—" and he winces internally at just how crushed Carl looks, he isn't supposed to look like that. "Shh, shh. Let me finish. I was disappointed. Because I expect you to know how valuable you are. And I want you to act like it. I was disappointed, because you know better, you know to nut up and tell somebody what's going on with you. So runnin' off, starting fights, hiding from me…"

"I know." Carl dropped his head, but he looked back up when Negan's hand bumped his chin. "I'm sorry."

"If 'you know, you know,'" There was a whiff of teasing in Negan's voice, just barely, in case Carl was still too sore to recognize it, "then why'd you do it?"

Carl fell quiet, looked down at his lap, and for a second Negan thought he'd have to ask again, but then he shook his head, long hair swaying with the motion.

"I don't know. I don't…I didn't feel good. All day, I don't know why. I just woke up feeling…bad. Like I was bad. And off, and I don't know, I just wanted to do something about it. I wanted you to do something about it."

"You wanted me to punish you." It was a statement, not a question. The pieces were starting to slot into place.

"I thought I did." Carl's voice was thick with unshed tears. "I thought I did, and then we got home, and you took care of me, and I felt better. But I still had to take it, and—and I tried, but then you said you were disappointed, and everything hurt—so bad, and I…" His voice pitched up and broke. He gestured, a little helplessly, and when he went back down into Negan's chest, Negan practically crushed Carl up against him, let him hide there.

"I got you. It's alright, I got you," he mumbled into Carl's hair."You did good, darlin', real good."

When Carl spoke again, it was uneven and between fresh sobs, seemingly uncaring what he sounded like, focused on just getting it out when he said, "I tried—to tell you to stop. I wanted you—to stop, I wanted to say sorry—but I couldn't."

There weren't many times in Negan's life that he felt like the stupidest son of a bitch to breathe air, but the realization that he'd never even talked about a nonverbal way of getting out of whatever shit they were doing at the time definitely made top three, easy.

They were going to have to talk about it. No way around that. But…Carl yawned between sniffles and sighs, and Negan had the feeling all he wanted right now was to eat, maybe to shower, and to go to bed, tucked up against him where he should be.

He hugged Carl tighter, if that were even possible, pushing an awkward squeak out of him. And it took too fucking long, he knew that and kicked himself for it, but he did manage to say, "I'm sorry," and hell if he didn't pack as much sincerity into it as he knew how.

They stayed on the floor longer than they probably should have, until Carl was just wiping his eyes from time to time and squirming from the discomfort of being in the same position too long. Which, sitting on a freshly-paddled ass probably didn't help. Negan had a feeling they'd both be walking sort of stiff for the rest of the night.

Before they got up, though, he took Carl's face in both his hands and kissed him on the lips, real soft and sweet, thumbs stroking both his cheeks, and Carl leaned up into it like he'd been waiting on it all day.

"Let's get your hoodie, get some water in you, and maybe some dinner," Negan said, when they finally parted a moment later, Carl looking much more dazed and content—until he went to get out of Negan's lap and paused. He seemed to mull something over, eye narrowed, then looked so utterly and completely unimpressed that it made Negan grin out of pure conditioning.

"Are you seriously hard right now?"