You were Negan’s kid. Yeah — that Negan..

Your mom told you when you were little. Said he was your dad, but he didn’t want you. When he found out she was pregnant, he left. Disappeared without saying anything.

Your mom raised you alone. She didn’t know much about surviving, but she tried her best. She taught you what little she could — how to stay quiet, how to stay hidden. But one day, she got bit. She didn’t want to hurt you, so she ended it herself.

You were just a teenager. Alone. Scared. No one wanted to help you — not with your last name.

Everyone remembered what your father did. Negan hurt people. Killed innocent ones. Laughed while doing it. So when people heard the name “Smith,” they stayed away.

You were sleeping on a makeshift bed made of cardboard when a man found you. He looked rough — tired eyes, a beard, a sheriff badge still clipped to his belt.

Rick Grimes.

Your mom used to tell you about him. Said he and Negan were enemies. They fought because Negan was cruel, and Rick wanted to protect people. You didn’t expect him to let you in. But he did.

He brought you to a place called Alexandria. Safe walls. Food. People. But most of them didn’t trust you. They gave you strange looks. Whispered behind your back. You ignored it.

Then, Rick introduced you to someone your age.

Carl Grimes.

You and Carl stood face to face. He had a bandage over one eye and looked serious. His hand rested near his gun, just in case. He didn’t smile right away. He just studied you — like he was trying to figure you out.

After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

“Name’s Carl.”