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"𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞."

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.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Daryl peeked his head around Sunny's door, careful not to make a sound. It was barely six in the morning, and the girl was fast asleep. Her small chest rose and fell steadily, a dictionary still resting on top of her as if she'd fallen asleep mid-sentence. He couldn't help but smile. It was the first time in a while that things had started to feel... normal again, or at least as close to normal as they could get.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful, far removed from the chaos that seemed to follow them everywhere. He'd heard what had happened while he was out leading the walkers away a few weeks ago. Sunny had been forced to kill people, and worse, she had been hurt. Daryl felt a knot of guilt tighten in his chest every time he thought about it. He hadn't been there when she needed him most, and that tore him apart inside.

Her wounds were healing, though. The cut on her arm was almost gone, and the one on her side was getting better every day. Still, every scar on her small body was a reminder of what she'd been through, of the things she should never have had to face. Twelve years old, and already she had seen more violence and pain than most people do in a lifetime.

Daryl clenched his jaw, guilt twisting inside him. Sunny was a kid—a good kid, too. She was kind, and that was a rare thing these days. Too kind for the world they lived in, but somehow she still managed to hold onto that part of herself. He loved her sass, the way she threw in a bit of attitude to lighten the mood, even when things were tough. It reminded him that she wasn't broken, not yet.

But every day was a fight, and Daryl couldn't shake the worry that one day, the world might finally break her. He wished she could live a normal life—one without the constant violence, without the fear. She deserved better. But there was nothing he could do to give her that. All he could do was try to protect her from whatever came next, even if he knew it wouldn't be enough. It never was.

With a quiet sigh, Daryl stepped into the room and made his way over to Sunny's bedside. He crouched down beside her, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. "Hey, Sun," he whispered softly, his voice rough but tender, hoping not to startle her too much.

Sunny stirred, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. She blinked a few times, looking up at him with that sleepy, confused expression she always had when she was just waking up. "Daryl?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she tried to sit up. The dictionary slid off her chest and onto the bed.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't mean to wake you so early. Just... wanted to say bye before I head out. Me and Rick are goin' on a run."

Sunny blinked again, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. She sat up a little straighter, her face showing a hint of concern. "You're goin' now?" she asked, her voice still groggy but laced with worry.

"Yeah, just a short run," he reassured her. "We'll be back before ya know it."

But Sunny knew better. In their world, nothing was ever guaranteed. A short run could turn into anything, and the last thing she wanted was for him to leave without saying goodbye. "You better come back," she muttered, her voice small but firm.

Daryl gave a low chuckle. "Ain't got a choice, do I? You'd be pissed if I didn't."

He ruffled her hair gently, the smile on his face fading just a little as the weight of their reality settled in again. He wanted to say more—to tell her that everything would be fine, that she'd be safe, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. But those were promises he couldn't keep, and he knew it. So instead, he just looked at her for a long moment, memorizing the peaceful look on her face, just in case.

"Be careful, alright?" Sunny said, her voice a little steadier now, though she couldn't quite hide the edge of worry.

"You too," Daryl replied, standing up and giving her one last glance before heading toward the door. "Watch your back. I'll be back soon."

As he reached for the doorknob, he hesitated, turning back to her once more. "And don't go swingin' that bat 'less you have to."

Sunny smirked, that little spark of sass in her eyes. "No promises."

Daryl shook his head with a quiet chuckle, then finally stepped out, closing the door softly behind him. His heart weighed heavy as he left. He hated leaving her, especially with everything she had already been through. But he had to, for the group. 

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Sunny managed to grab a few more hours of sleep after Daryl left, though she wished she could sleep in until noon. The longer she slept, the faster the day would pass, and Daryl would be back before she knew it. But, Carl had other plans. He kept repetitively bouncing a ball against the wall, the rhythmic thudding making it impossible for her to drift off again.

Carl was lucky to be alive. Denise had saved him, but not without a cost—he only had one eye now. Most days, he just sat in his room, bouncing that ball over and over. Denise had told him that physical therapy would help strengthen his remaining eye, and it was something to keep him busy. 

But anyone could see Carl wasn't the same anymore. He wasn't as lively or carefree as he used to be. Losing his depth perception made him more cautious, more hesitant. His ability to fight, to protect himself, had changed, and that weighed on him.

Sunny felt for him, she really did. But deep down, selfishly, she was just relieved he was still here. She couldn't lose her brother—not after everything else. Losing an eye was hard, but losing Carl entirely would've shattered her.

She stretched as she got up from her bed, feeling the stiffness in her muscles. The house was mostly quiet except for the soft thuds of Carl's ball and the gentle hums coming from Michonne in another room as she rocked Judith. It was a peaceful hum, one that brought some sense of normalcy back after everything they'd been through.

Sunny made her way downstairs, grabbed a bowl, and poured herself some stale cereal—the kind she was used to by now. It wasn't much, but it was still her favorite. As she sat down at the table, munching absentmindedly, it hit her how much things had changed since the attack. 

Alexandria had rebuilt itself in record time. The walls had been reinforced, sturdier than ever, and people were going back to their daily routines. As if the walker invasion had just been a bad dream.

The announcement from Glenn and Maggie had helped lift the group's spirits, too. They were expecting a baby. Sunny couldn't wait to have another sibling in the group. A new life in this world—it gave everyone hope. 

But with that excitement came a small, gnawing fear that Sunny couldn't shake. Lori had died in childbirth, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. What if the same thing happened to Maggie? The thought made her stomach twist. But she had to remind herself that Denise knew what she was doing. Things would be different this time.

Still, it was hard not to worry in a world where everything could change in a heartbeat.

As Sunny ate her stale cereal, a familiar thought crept back into her mind, the same one that kept coming back, tightening her chest and making her hand freeze mid-stir. Daryl had told her what happened when he left to lead the walkers away a few weeks ago.

A man and woman had stolen his stuff, left him stranded, but somehow, he managed to get back with Sasha and Abraham. He made it through, like he always did.

But it wasn't the stolen bike or his near-death experience that bothered her the most—it was what came next. Daryl had run into a group of men after getting back. They were outnumbered, and those men had been ready to kill them on the spot. But what had stuck with her most was what those people said. They were part of something bigger, a group that called themselves Negan.

Negan.

The moment she heard that name, her heart had stopped. She'd tried to keep her shock hidden, had forced herself to nod along and listen as Daryl explained it like it was just another danger they'd have to deal with. But it wasn't just another danger to her.

Negan was her father's name. It wasn't common. It wasn't a name you heard tossed around lightly. The possibility that it could be him—her dad—leading a group of people who were ruthless enough to kill without a second thought? It gnawed at her. She tried to push it down, tell herself it was just a coincidence. But she knew better.

Her father had always been a force to be reckoned with, and in her heart, she had wished he was alive, despite everything. She'd hoped he'd survived somehow, that maybe one day, they'd find each other again. But not like this. She didn't want him to be some cruel leader, some monster running a group that threatened people's lives.

Sunny's fingers tightened around the spoon as her mind raced. Could it really be him? The man who used to tuck her in at night, the man who used to make her laugh with his silly jokes—was he now the leader of a violent group terrorizing others?

She shook her head, trying to shake off the thought. No, it couldn't be. There had to be another explanation. Maybe it was just someone else with the same name. But deep down, a part of her was terrified. What if it really was him? What if her dad had changed, had become someone she wouldn't even recognize anymore?

She stared down at the soggy cereal in her bowl, her appetite gone. The quiet of the house, which had felt comforting only moments ago, now felt heavy with uncertainty.

Sunny took a deep breath and set her spoon down. She wanted to believe her dad was still the man she remembered, not the leader of some ruthless group. But until she knew for sure, all she could do was hope that she wouldn't have to face that reality. She didn't know if she could handle it if the man who used to be her hero had turned into something so much darker.

She was spiraling again, and it felt like she was trapped in that loop of worry and fear about her dad, about Negan, about what it all meant. But then a voice broke through, yanking her out of her dark thoughts.

"Hey, heard Daryl's out. Thought you'd be all worried and stuff... 'cause you always are," Lincoln's voice filled the quiet kitchen, casual but with just enough concern to show he knew her too well.

Sunny blinked, looking up from her bowl, the cloud of anxiety slowly lifting as she saw him leaning against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna... I dunno, maybe go outside? Do something other than sit here and think yourself into a hole?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Wasn't thinkin' myself into a hole," she muttered, though they both knew that wasn't entirely true.

Lincoln shrugged, stepping into the kitchen and grabbing an apple from the counter. "Yeah, sure. And I don't sleep with a machete under my pillow-"

"I'm not really in the mood," Sunny interrupted, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. She wasn't mad at him, just tired—tired of worrying, tired of thinking. She looked away, staring at the half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

Lincoln didn't budge. "C'mon, it'll take your mind off everything. We'll do whatever you do when you're not overthinking everything?" He raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to lighten her mood. "Could take your mind off all your worrying."

Sunny couldn't help but let out a small, almost reluctant laugh. Leave it to Lincoln to call her out on exactly what she was feeling without actually saying it outright. He always had a way of getting her out of her head, even when she didn't want to be.

"Worried?" she echoed with a slight smirk, trying to play it off, though the tension still lingered in her chest. "I don't always worry."

Lincoln's eyes flicked up, pretending to think. "Uh-huh, sure. You don't always worry, but you do about Daryl. You got that look again."

Sunny sighed, setting her bowl aside. "What look?"

"The one that says, 'I'm about to spiral into all the worst-case scenarios in my head.'" He shot her a grin, pushing off the doorframe and walking over. "So come on, before you start thinking he's being held hostage by some biker gang or something. Let's go do something normal."

For a moment, Sunny hesitated, still feeling the weight of everything she'd been thinking about moments before. But Lincoln had a point—sitting here, letting her mind run wild about Daryl, about her father... none of it was going to help.

Sunny took a deep breath, standing up with a small grin. "Alright, alright. You win. What do you wanna do?"

Lincoln's eyes lit up with playful mischief as he nudged her. "Well, we could play video games... but I know you suck at them real bad, so I'm just not sure."

Sunny shot him a glare, though there was no heat behind it. "I don't suck," she countered defensively.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Oh, yeah? You wanna try and prove it then?"

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "I'm great at hangman, I spy, you name it. But... Mario Kart is rigged, okay? Yoshi's always against me."

Lincoln burst out laughing. "Blaming Yoshi now, huh? That's low, even for you."

Sunny huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she nudged him back. "It's true! Every time I get close to winnin', he messes it up. It's a conspiracy."

"Right, keep telling yourself that," Lincoln teased, his laughter still bubbling. 

As they walked out of the house and headed towards Lincoln's house, Sunny felt the tension in her chest start to ease a little. Lincoln kept talking, rambling about something Carl had said earlier, and though she wasn't fully listening, his voice was enough to ground her, pulling her back to the present.

At least for now, she didn't have to think about Negan. At least for now, she could pretend things were normal.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Sunny's head was tucked under the covers, her flashlight glowing softly as she flipped through the pages of her dictionary. She knew Daryl would be mad if he found out she was still awake, so she was trying to be sneaky. He had just returned from the supply run a little while ago, but she figured he was probably on night watch, as he often was.

Earlier, she had spent a few hours in Lincoln's room playing video games, but after losing for the fifteenth time at Mario Kart, she had to call it quits. There was no way he wasn't cheating; stupid Yoshi always seemed to get in her way.

Sunny was tired, but sleep wouldn't come—not yet. Thoughts of her dad swirled in her mind, the relentless "what ifs" keeping her awake. As much as she wished she could see him again, she knew deep down that it wasn't him. It couldn't be.

Negan was tough, but he had also been one of the kindest men she knew. He would tuck her in at night, singing the Joe Cocker song he and Lucille loved so much. They'd spend hours playing baseball in the garden. That wasn't a monster—far from it.

She realized she was overthinking things, as usual. Her dad was gone, and that group was also dead—blown up by a bazooka. Whoever their leader, Negan was, he wasn't her dad.

With a small smile, she pushed those nagging thoughts aside and flipped to another page. Her tongue peeked out of her mouth slightly as she read, trying to memorize the words she had seen hundreds of times.

Suddenly, she heard the floorboards creak. In a panic, she turned off her flashlight, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled the duvet over her head, pretending to be asleep. She didn't feel like facing Daryl's wrath today.

The door to her room cracked open, and she held her breath, keeping her eyes tightly shut. Daryl usually came in to check on her, always trying to see if she was really asleep since he had caught her faking it plenty of times before.

As the door opened a bit more, she could feel the warmth of his presence in the room. She focused on staying perfectly still, hoping he wouldn't notice she was awake. 

But the footsteps didn't come any closer like they usually did. Instead, Sunny heard the door slowly creaking shut. She peeked over the covers and caught sight of long brown hair and a black leather jacket. Her brows immediately furrowed; she didn't recognize this person.

Quickly, she sat up, realizing there was an intruder in their house. Grabbing her baseball bat that leaned against her bedside table, she cautiously got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, trying to make her footsteps as silent as Daryl had taught her.

As she crept closer, she spotted the man sitting on the stairs, staring down at one of the pictures he had taken off the wall as if inspecting it. Sunny raised her bat, her brow still furrowed. If the man turned around, he would probably laugh at the sight of her: in her pink polka dot pajamas and fluffy socks, holding a bat. She looked far from scary.

Just as Sunny was about to speak, Carl emerged from his room, pressing his gun against the back of the man's head. "What the hell are you doing in our house?" he demanded, his voice low. Sunny joined his side, giving him a small nod as she gripped her bat tightly.

The man let out a long sigh and slowly raised his hands. "I'm, uh, sitting on the steps, looking at this painting, waiting for your mom and dad to get dressed," he replied. He wore a beanie and a long leather jacket, and Sunny thought he looked kind of cool.

But his demeanor was strange; it was as if they were having a casual conversation, unfazed by the gun pressed against him. She was more confused about whose mom and dad he was waiting for.

"Hi," the man said, turning his head slightly to look at Carl before his gaze landed on Sunny. "Oh, I didn't even notice the girl. Well, I'm Jesus."

Sunny wanted to high-five herself. Daryl's training in being silent whilst hunting had paid off. Booyah.

Just then, Rick's bedroom door swung open, and he stepped into the hallway first, followed by Michonne for some reason. Why wasn't Michonne in her own room? Rick had his hands on his belt, fastening it, and he was shirtless.

It took Sunny a moment to process what was happening, and she couldn't help but scrunch up her face. "No fuckin' way," she mumbled, looking at the two adults. She definitely hadn't seen that coming.

"Carl. Hey, um, Sunny," Rick said awkwardly. He glanced nervously at the two children. Carl stared back, his brows furrowed, and Sunny almost burst out laughing, but with the son of God still sitting on the stairs, she needed to focus.

Before Rick could offer any sort of explanation about what he and Michonne were doing, footsteps approached, and Daryl rushed up the stairs, his gun aimed at Jesus. Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham followed closely behind, their weapons raised too.

"It's... it's okay," Michonne stuttered, holding her hands out to stop them. Daryl didn't lower his weapon, so Sunny kept her bat raised as well. If Daryl didn't trust him, she didn't either.

"You said we should talk," Rick said, directing his words at Jesus. Now that she thought about it, the name fit the man perfectly. "So, let's talk."

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

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I'm not a fan of this chapter, BUT!! First Negan mention?!?!