𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 -Negan x Reader

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"If we take 81, then get off on 66 it will take us straight there.", John explained tracing his finger along the proposed route on the crinkly map strewn on the hood of the escalade.

"There's no way we're going to get there on the interstate. In the beginning, everybody was on the main roads trying to get somewhere. We're going to have to take back roads.", Derrick contended, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Backroads? We're gonna get fucking killed if we take a four-car fucking caravan through the fucking boonies.", John told Derrick, running a hand through his ash-blonde hair.

You looked over to Dean who was still eyeing the map as John and Derrick started arguing per usual. They could never agree on anything.

"Look, we don't have the gas to take an 80-mile detour hiding out on back roads. Derrick's right we're more than likely going to run into too much shit on the interstate. I say we take the state roads. 132 to 67 then 164 and that should take us straight into DC.", Dean said tracing the road to DC.

Both the men stopped and listened to Dean's plan. Dean was the level-headed one. He usually could get them both to compromise. Why they bumped heads all the time, who knows. Always fighting to be the leader. The group hadn't assigned an actual leader. Usually, everything came down to a vote.

"I agree with Dean.", Heather piped in after not saying a word since you all had started planning the trip.

She flicked one of her blonde locks behind her shoulder, setting her chin on her hands supported by her elbows on the hood. Her baby-blue eyes studied Dean, waiting for him to acknowledge her. She was with Derrick, a 47-year-old retired marine. They had been married a few years before the fall. From what she told you, her parents didn't approve of her being with a man two and a half decades older than her. Dean seemed to notice and snaked an arm around your waist. He knew she was into him.

"Yeah okay, this could work.", Derrick said nodding eyeing the map.

"I'll go get Christine up to speed.", John said before walking back to the blue dodge van where Christine was watching John's two kids.

John was a single dad, and Christine was soon to be a single mom. She was about eight and a half months pregnant, due any time. She and John weren't together but everyone thought they should've been. After all, everyone was coupled up. The huddle around the map dispersed, so you and Dean walked back to the truck you rode in.

"I don't know about this.", you told him as you reached the truck.

He spun you by your waist and he still had his arm around to look at him. Your eyes traced his bright green eyes and tanned skin, stubble beginning to grow on his chiseled jaw. He was beautiful. You never understood why he chose you and not Heather when he could have her any time he wanted.

"No matter what. We're going to be okay. I'm going to get us there. I love you."

Brrt brrt brrt.

You're woken up by the dingy little alarm clock on your nightstand. Opening your eyes, you press the button on the top to seize the God-awful tone it would play every morning at 5:00 a.m. Unwillingly, you drag yourself out of bed. Standing up, you see Dean already in the living room area through the doorway. You watch as he slips on his army green jacket and starts to tie his blood-stained boots. Grabbing his gun off of the table he finally looks at you. His dull green eyes scan you. You don't look away and cower as you usually do.

You're trying to see anything in him to give you a reason not to kill him; trying to see if there's any shred of the old Dean left. He tucks the gun into the holster and walks out the door with a heavy slam. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. When you look at his, you see nothing but malice. The old Dean's gone. You know that, you've known that for a long time. But you couldn't let yourself do this without at least trying to see if any part of the old him was still in there. The way he looks at you makes your blood run cold. There's no love there anymore. You are his punching bag, an outlet for his frustration, nothing more.