On The Flip Side

Chapter 5

When John Winchester's sons died, he died with them.

He had to become someone else after that, because John wasn't a man who could live without his children in this world. Hell, Negan hardly was either. Any thought of them sent sharp pangs through his chest, made his temples hurt and his eyes sting. His boys had been his everything, and he wishes every day that he could trade places with them.

He hadn't been the best father. Far from it, he'd been pretty shitty overall. But he'd tried. He'd loved Sam and Dean with everything in him, and he likes to think maybe they'd loved him back at least half as much. 

He regrets ever bringing them into his dangerous way of life. Raised on the road, hunting monsters, was no way to grow up. Left alone in hotel rooms and obscure cabins-- waiting and hoping their father would come back unscathed-- had hardened them and forced them to grow up too fast.

They took the the hunter lifestyle like fish to water. They'd been good at what they did, but too noble. It's what had gotten them killed. John had preached the importance of helping people, and that's exactly what his boys had done. They'd tried to save everyone, and they'd... they'd died for it.

Negan has never regretted anything more.

So, John had died, and Negan rose up in his place after it happened. This world is different now. He still saves people-- he protects them, but he doesn't mess around anymore. There's no room for softness in this new way of life. If you have something, you fight for it. You kill for it. Because if you don't, someone or something will take it from you. 

He spends a lot of his time in somewhat of a haze. It is easy to sink into being Negan. He doesn't know why he does, some days. What's the point? He drowns it out as best he can. Wives and reinforcing rules and drinking whatever beer his Saviors can scrounge up. He jokes, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? Generally... generally he acts as different from John Winchester as he can.

Sometimes it's easy to separate the two. Other times, the identities converge. A dead man with a dead name looming ominously at his back, a dark, disapproving specter. Normally this doesn't happen unless something triggers it. An outlier, something that reminds him of his boys. 

Something like a 1967 Chevy Impala.

The smile drops off his face like a stone in a pond. Lucille swings off his shoulder, almost skimming the ground but not quite. He stares at the car, unsure if his heart has stopped beating or if it's just going so fast that he can't feel it anymore. Rick flinches at the movement of his weapon, eyeing him warily. 

It is exactly as he remembers it. Dean had inherited it proudly, treating the car like it was something with real, tangible life. He loved the thing, cherished it, drove it everywhere with no exceptions. It had always made John feel oddly proud. Dean took good care of the car he'd long since deemed 'baby'.

Maybe it's not the exact same one. But it sure as shit looks like it is, right down the Kansas license plate he'd know anywhere, and the John Winchester in him aches. The Negan, however, can't feel anything but stone cold fury.

"Where did you get that car?" His voice comes out deathly cold, low and dangerous in a way that sucks all the oxygen out of the air. Tension rises as he turns to Rick, his face twisting with fury. The other man pales in the face of it, hand reaching for a gun he no longer has at his hip. "Where the FUCK did you get that car?!" 

His hearing and vision tunnel. The world tinges red and grows fiery hot, his grip on Lucille tightening to the point of his knuckles going white. Rick looks a little stunned and unsure of how to respond, blinking and trying to process the level of rage before him. He opens his mouth to say something only to close it a second later, seemingly out of words.