I own nothing regarding TWD or the Supernatural series.

NOTE: Spoilers included.

If a man lives in the heart of civilization, chances are he's going to be alright. He'll conform and melt into the crowd. He will say hello to his fellow kin on the street. He understands laws, and the mores, and the common habits that hold society together, and he knows the harsh consequences should he ever break any of them. But—if that same man is taken from the only life he's built for himself, shipped away from the only country he's ever known, and then is replaced in an entirely different territory where those rules are not significant anymore, tensions are bound to rise. He is swallowed by the wild nature of the change, becomes a beast, resorting back to answering primal urges and those things alone. Eventually, it'll happen. Something will make it happen. Morals get messy and all lines are blurred.

Take the Vietnam War for an example. It was not all glamor. It was not even all patriotism; certainly not in the way the public should have wanted it. American soldiers were given their orders, given their guns and they went out slaughtering Vietnamese natives including woman and children, merely to up the kill count. Similarly, Hamburger Hill had earned its notorious name after the battle took place along the A Shau Valley. The end result—a countryside vastly littered with body parts torn up so badly that they looked exactly what it sounded like—ground meat.

Humans claim that they have found equality among their masses. But in reality, that's all said in jest. Despite what they wish to ignore or what they're willing to admit, they still have a hierarchy to maintain, a food chain, the great pecking order of the two-legged world.

They drown in their sorrows, go rouge, abandon their faith, and then turn savage inside and out. It's dreadful, though true.

That's the weight of power, and its repercussions. That's how sin is born. That is what a place like Hell was once designed for: those who were corrupted by all the above.

To demons, generally speaking, the Human Race is nothing but one big Lord of the Flies freak fest. Man versus Principle. Man versus Nature. Man versus Temptation...with Man honestly and regularly losing the fight.

And finally, after decades of enduring torture and delivering the torture, succumbing to such conditions, and the demonic tenancies, the hellish influences, the darkness seeps deep into John Winchester's eyes.

Overtime he becomes one of Hell's most feared and respected lieutenant figures. One day John is fueled with enough hate and malice to break free. He leaves with very little standing in his way. He ascends from Hell, to another time, another realm, totally unbound and bent on stirring up havoc.

He has no genuine memory of Mary, or Dean, or Sammy. Or, really, he has no feeling attached to that image, his home. There's only black smoke housed on the inside in place of his mortal soul that got cut to spiritual shreds. There is no turning back now. Winchester is a name of the past, one he's been lost to for quite some time. It has no meaning. He has no drive to reconnect, no motivation to return there. So, in the meantime, here, he fabricates himself a brand new title, a new story, a whole new role while remaining Topside.

He is Negan.

Negan is a man of many women, with a hot temper and a thick head, who suddenly shows up out of the blue ready to roll and ready to take charge.

His captives think he's mad, off his rocker. Their faces are stiff with both panic and ire.

Privately, he thinks it's hilarious. It amuses him to no end.

These people are so wrapped in this aftermath of a virus that went completely bat-shit crazy…that they only worry about advoiding the wandering corpses. (It's no skin off his back personally. He's something far worse than that.) These people are too caught up in their bad Zombie Apocalypse survivor-mode, that they don't even consider once that he can't be human either, that there could be other monsters slinking about out there too. (Oh, if they only knew.)

Because the fact of the matter is, Lucifer might be stuffed away for now, locked up tightly within the Cage, but the devil still exists. For the devil is a little more than God's Fallen child. It's actually an instinct. And the devil lives on inside him. It's what makes Negan raise the club, Lucille, making it swing down for the final blow.

Goodbye Asian kid called Glenn. Goodbye ruffian called Abraham.

Though Negan is not a man who regrets his actions. He does not mourn his own victims. He does not bend to the raggedy archer with the forget-me-not blue eyes or the brokenhearted sheriff who looks back up at him with sheer horror and contempt.

They know nothing of Hell.

Only for moment, under the flickering light, does Negan let his eyes shine a nice inky black.