Carl may or may not be a brat. Well, he was 100% a brat, and most could see that. Negan. His mother. Enid. Shane. His teachers. Everyone except Rick knew that Carl was the biggest brat there was. Not only was Carl a brat, but he was also spoiled. Spoiled rotten. His birthday was in three days, not counting today, which meant he had no excuse to see Negan until then. Which fucking sucked. So, naturally Carl ran to his daddy, bat his lashes and begged him to take Lori out again. Rick said no, that they were saving up money for food and decorations for Carls sweet sixteen.
Carl had always hated the term. There was nothing sweet about getting older. Becoming an adult seemed painful and boring and busy. Being fifteen was just fine. He got all the men he wanted and he was still babied by everyone. Plus, there was nothing sweet about Carl Grimes at all. He played dirty and knew how to get his way no matter what. Enid once told him that it was best to be that way. Be sweet when you want something, but be hard any other time. It kept the fakes away. Only real people would stay when Carl was bratty. With Rick it was different. Rick was Carls exception. He would rip everyone's throat out then kiss Rick on the cheek. He was nothing like everyone else. Carl was a daddys boy, there was no hiding it.
Once Carl had realized he couldn't convince his dad and mom to leave so Negan could babysit him he had to come up with another plan. The plan he made wasn't very smart nor was it okay, but it would get Negan into the house and that was what really mattered. Carl laid on his bed, kicking his legs back and forth as he Google's various ways to clog a drain. Negan had told Rick that he used to do plumbing on the side, along with other odd jobs so if he ever needed anything just to ask. Well, Rick was only minutes away from begging Negan to come over.
Carl shut off his phone and ran down the stairs, slipping into the kitchen where new grocery bags were piled all around. He dug through them as Lori went back outside to get more, grinning when he found a new box of cotton swabs. He darted back up the stairs and ran into his own bathroom, ripping the box open. Quickly, Carl turned on the water and began to stuff cotton swab after cotton swab into the drain until no more could fit. Carl turned on the sink and within seconds the sink bowl was filled, water beginning to peek over the sides and spill onto the counter.
"Dad!" Carl yelled, pulling the cabinet below the sink open and throwing the box of cotton swabs inside. He slammed it shut and looked down at the overflowing sink. "My sink isn't draining!" He ran out into the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. He stood on the last step, crossing his arms over his chest."I keep trying to fix it but nothing is working. Its about to overflow. I don't know what I did." He played with the hem of his shirt, crossing his legs. "Can you come help? Please?"
"Yeah, yeah." Rick stood up and walked around the couch, putting his hand on the small of Carls back as they walked up the stairs. "Have you been brushing your hair above the sink again? Thats why your moms sink got all clogged?" He followed Carl down the small hallway, pushing past his son when he saw water pouring out from the bathroom and onto the carpet in the hallway. "Shit, shit shit." He stepped over the water, slipping around a little before grabbing the handle of the sink and twisting it so the water shut off.
Rick leaned down agsinsr the counter, frowning when a cotton swab floated up, out of the drain, and into the sink. He picked it up and tossed it in the trash, walking over to the doorway. He leaned against it, smiling at Carl. "Go get my phone and text Negan to come over when he can and that your sinks messing up." He reached out and ruffled Carls hair, his wet hands dampening his hair. "And put some real clothes on before you complain about being cold."
Fifteen minutes and three outfit changes later, Negan knocked on the door. Carl could see through his bedroom window that the man was wearing the same white t-shirt he always wore, along with jeans that had stains from different colored paint on them. In his hand was a red tool box that was rusted, the paint chipping away. Carl quickly pulled on his new shirt, a black Led Zeppelin shirt that used to be Enids. He made sure his shorts barely peeked out beneath the hem before laying down on his bed and grabbing the book closest too him.
