What Have You Done? Negan X Reader

Part Two: Chapter One

A//N: hey guys ! been a while!! ive been super busy,, i am a highschool student and i have a lot of things to do,, but im definetly continuing this story!! thanks to everyone reading and supporting me <3

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(Y/N) Grimes let her eyes stay shut, trying her best to go back to sleep as the beeping from a nearby heart monitor made her head pound. She felt her eyelids begin to flutter, so she decided to open her eyes finally.

The light streaming in from a nearby window burned her eyes through her eyelashes, so she held a lazy hand to sheild her eyes. She noticed the finger clip on her index, which monitored her heart rate on the screen next to her. She groaned softly, ripping it off in one swift motion and tossed it aside, letting it clatter off the edge of the bed.

The flatline monitor rang loudly, which was worse than the beeping, in her opinion. She groaned frusterately, lazily swinging her hand her hand at the wires in attempt to disconnect it all.

Someone rushed in, their white coat draping to their knees. She looked up to see Dr. Carson, a worried expression on his face melting into relief.

"You shouldn't be moving much." He said as he strode to her, clicking off the heart monitor. She shrugged, sighing and attempted to sit up. He reluctantly helped her sit up, much to his dismay and the physical strain it was putting on her body.

"You're very lucky. The knife went through your femur, breaking it, and tore the ligaments, barely missing your artery." He rambled, but she wasn't listening. She was nodding, a serious expression on her face, which contained of her eyebrows pressed done and  her lips pressed shut. She seemed to be paying attention, but her gaze was far away.

"You lost a lot of blood. As I said, you're very fucking lucky."

"How long have I been out?" She asked, feeling the strain on her thigh. It felt like her skin was tugged too tightly together, and she pushed her gown aside and saw the stitches. She curled her lip at the sight, yellowish-purple skin surronding the dark stitches that just held her skin together. She wondered how bad it looked on the inside, if her bone was still shattered.

"About 12 or 13 days? I don't know, I lost count."

She ran a hand through her greasy hair, then let her fingers run over her eyes, and she pressed her brows together deeply. "So, remind me again," She started, slowly moving her hand from her face and swallowed hard, "how the fuck am I alive?"

Dr. Carson sighed, rolling his eyes. "Long story short, you'll be fine. Everything has been repaired, but you'll have to learn to walk again. Should be fine, you're tough." He gave her a sympathetic smile before turning to leave. "Get some more rest, you'll need it for tomorrow."

She bit her lip before making a split second decision as he was in the doorway. "Hey." She called out. He turned around, his grey brows raised at her. She sniffled, her hands in her lap. "Where is he?"

Dr. Carson hesitated, as if he was trying to choose his words wisely. "Busy." And with that, he turned around and shut the door behind him, leaving (Y/N) alone with her thoughts.

She sighed heavily, flopping backwards onto the itchy bedsheets, slowly pulling her legs over the edge of the bed and flat onto the sheets. She settled down, closing her eyes and placed her hands over her stomach, letting her mind take her back to when things were simple.

Back to her favorite memory of her family. Before, of course.

~
It was a Sunday morning of July, she didn't remember the exact day. But, she remembered everything about that morning down to the smell.

It was summer-time, a great time of beaches and tanlines. A time of fireflies and story tellings by the fire pit. A time of sleepovers and 3 AM talks with a boy on the phone. Not that her parents knew that last part.

Lori, her mother, used to make these pancakes every Sunday morning. They were godawful.

But, she kept at it, every week. No matter how clumpy the batter was or how burnt the bottoms were, or how mishapen they may be, Lori still woke up every morning at seven AM to make breakfast. (Y/N) remembered she did this back when it was just her, Lori, and Rick. Before Carl. Then, it continued as Carl came along.

She was fourteen in this memory, and Carl was a small kid of seven years old. It wasn't their fault they were born seven years apart, and she tried her best to get along with her little brother. She always looked out for him for as long as she could remember.

This was a while before the end of the world happend. (Y/N) had just woken up, lazily dragging herself out of bed. She smelled the batter of pancakes, and followed the smell to the kitchen. She passed the living room, where Carl was staring intently at the TV in his flannel pajamas, giggling at the cartoons flashing on the screen. She walked into the kitchen, where Lori was hunched over the stove, trying to flip the pancake perfectly, but she fumbled it and it fell off the spatula, and splattered softly on the pan.

Rick was nearby, leaning on the counter next to her with a mug to his lips, and he let out a chortle into his mug, splashing the creamy coffee around in the cup. There was a white flour handprint on Lori's black pajama shorts, and smeared flour streaks on Rick's shirt. (Y/N) smiled when she saw how her father looked at her mother, and wished she would have that someday.

She sat down at the table and greeted her parents, and they made small talk as Lori finished up breakfast. Carl joined them at the table, and they all ate the messy pancakes, laughing together and smiling.

~
God, she wished more than anything she could be there. Her heart ached for her family, and she kept having to remind herself that it was just a memory. It felt so vivid and real, and she wished more than anything it could be again.

But it could never be like that again. And she knew that. Deep down, she knew that her father was different. He wasn't a good person. He did it all out of love, that she knew. But, that didn't make him a good person. He was pushed into a position that slowly drove him mad.

And Carl was forced to grow up too soon, and he changed and let the world change him and warp him to its satisfaction. She knew Carl tried to be good, but it was near impossible to be good in a world like this.

Before she could think too much into this, something brought her back to reality. Because there was a knock on the door, and he entered without waiting for her response.

Negan, looking pale as ever, walked in with black jeans slipped on, a white shirt, and the iconic leather jacket. And his stupid smile that made her heart beat faster.

"(Y/N)." He said in a deep and raspy voice, which made her feel unsettled.